Leading independent bookstores into an equitable, post-2020 era means accommodating patrons and staff who have physical and sensory challenges. While the Americans with Disabilities Act sets minimum standards, booksellers who are visibly or invisibly disabled, neurodivergent, or living with chronic illness have found room for improvement on ADA compliance and in the standards themselves. Whether lowering shelves to reachable heights, displaying titles face-out for easier browsing, allowing seating behind registers, or encouraging continued masking, shop owners and employees are rethinking diversity and disability.
If you build it
State-of-the-art accessible bookstores often require new construction or dedicated arts and literary funding. Porter Square Books: Boston Edition occupies an ADA-accessible space thanks to its partnership with GrubStreet creative writing center, which received funding to relocate to Boston’s Seaport district.
“We have accessibility features that would cost most bookstores hundreds of thousands of dollars,” says store manager Katherine Nazzaro. “A lot of times you’re constrained by the space you already have,” but GrubStreet’s arrangement enabled the writing center and bookstore to design for inclusion. Porter Square’s fixtures constitute a veritable wish list for indies: the 1,700-sq.-ft. space, opened in 2021, has an event stage with a ramp, movable bookshelves on casters, and a dimmable lighting system for sensory comfort.
More commonly, bookstores make do with less-than-ideal floor plans and equipment. “Often our stores are in existing buildings built by able-bodied owners,” says Annie Carl, who owns the Neverending Bookshop in Edmonds, Wash. “The only thought they usually give to a building is what the ADA dictates,” such as parking spots and ramps. She recommends Sara Hendren’s What Can a Body Do? as a primer for building or retrofitting user-friendly environments.
Doylestown (Pa.) Bookshop provides seating for customers, a ramp to the back entrance, and a spacious bathroom, but its overall footprint is from another era. “Our basement was a stop on the Underground Railroad,” says store supervisor Honor Ford. In addition to being concerned for customers, Ford thinks about employees’ sense of belonging. “Our staff is constantly moving books, unpacking boxes, doing heavy lifting,” she says, and based on her experience, she worries they might feel compelled to push beyond their capacities: Ford has mild cerebral palsy, and the resulting limp and occasional headaches from a shunt can influence her workday. “I was not a great advocate for myself when I started, and I’d agree to picking up an extra shift or come in when I didn’t feel well, because I liked the store.”
Ford learned to set boundaries to protect her long-term health: “I feel much more equipped now to say I’m probably not the best person to be moving those boxes or setting up chairs for an event,” she explains. She speaks out on behalf of those like herself who need time off the floor, flexible shifts, and unscheduled breaks.
One size does not fit all
Creative solutions can address long-overlooked industry flaws. One approach brings the bookstore to the reader: Candice Huber recently turned their queer- and genre-focused bricks-and-mortar shop, Tubby & Coo’s in New Orleans, into a traveling pop-up that offers local delivery for a small surcharge.
“One of the reasons I converted was accessibility, especially for queer folks to have access to queer books,” Huber says. “New Orleans does not have a good public transit system, so a lot of people couldn’t physically come to the store.”
Other booksellers stay rooted and wonder how to improve imperfect spaces. “Why aren’t there grants to make a store more ergonomic?” asks Julie Karaganis, who in 2019 took ownership of Copper Dog Books in Beverly, Mass., with business partner Meg Wasmer. Karaganis imagines a program that would allow indies to apply for funding and qualify for accessible and sensory-sensitive updates.
Karaganis and Wasmer installed work-arounds in their century-old building, including a foam standing mat and a height-adjustable computer monitor for staff. “It’s not one size fits all,” Karaganis says. “If I didn’t own the store, I couldn’t work in it. Bookselling is a physical industry,” and activities like shelving and climbing stairs limit participation for those with chronic pain and other restrictions.
Wasmer, who must minimize repetitive motion and lifting, agrees. “This is a labor-intensive job,” she says. “Accessibility isn’t just about disabilities or assistance, it’s about making a welcoming space for everyone. Are we creating an environment in which people with disabilities can thrive?” She suggests that bookstores install lever door handles instead of doorknobs and keep baskets available for hands-free shopping. Her book recommendations include Deafblind professor Elsa Sjunneson’s Being Seen and Paralympic skier Josh Sundquist’s We Should Hang Out Sometime for their inclusive perspectives.
Nondisabled booksellers can become allies as well, as Jonah and Ellen Zimiles demonstrated when they established a vocational training center for profoundly autistic youth and adults at Words bookstore in Maplewood, N.J., and as Julia Davis proved at the Book Worm in Powder Springs, Ga.
“I don’t have any sensory issues myself,” Davis says, but “as an African American woman, I know what it means to be in a space where you’re not comfortable.” She reached out to the organization Autism Career Pathways to learn how lights and noises (such as her historic store’s creaky floor) can unsettle people with sensory processing issues.
Davis gladly turns off door chimes and music, supplies earplugs, and hosts a virtual autistic-led book club. For hard-of-hearing or nonspeaking customers, she offers a magnetic letterboard and dry-erase board. After she posted a sign about her sensory-inclusive training, Davis says, “customers began saying, ‘I appreciate this—this is me.’ ”
On the same team
After Sarah Hollenbeck and Lynn Mooney purchased Chicago’s Women & Children First in 2014, they shut down for “a major renovation,” Hollenbeck says. The shop, established in 1979, “had become a puzzle of fixtures. We measured each corner, each turn, to make sure people could get into the alcoves.” A few years ago, they persuaded their landlord to add an accessible restroom.
When it comes to disability and neurodiversity, Hollenbeck questions bookselling business-as-usual. Rolling fixtures may be convenient, she says, but “not everyone can move them. They’re very heavy.” Hybrid events require less rearranging of furniture, yet “it’s not equitable to have a low-quality hybrid option for folks who can’t come. I do think the future of bookstore events is hybrid, so how can we pay for the video, the sound, and everything involved with creating a great experience?”
Hollenbeck also champions health benefits—the store pays 75% of the premiums for full-time staff—and mental wellness. “We’ve always done our best to schedule folks according to their needs,” she says. “Our staff, from day one, know their schedule, and we don’t change it unless they ask,” to minimize the stress of “constant flux.”
Nicole Brinkley, manager at the Rhinebeck, N.Y., location of Oblong Books, likewise considers neurodiversity and staffers’ physical capacities. “Some people are good at figuring things out on the fly, and some need a detailed instruction sheet to double check,” she says. “For some people it’s easy to get back on track; for some it’s not how their brain works”—whether due to ADHD, chronic fatigue, or recent surgery. Still, everyone can contribute, she says: “It’s a team sport.”
