Science Fiction Bokhandeln

In Gamla Stan, the old city, there exists a triptych of shop windows supernovaing with Science Fiction and Fantasy books, DVDs and other more shapely paraphanalia intended to stop even the most oblivious passerby dead in his tracks. And I use 'his' not as the gender-neutral term that it once was, but as a reference to virtually all the sons, grandsons, boyfriends, husbands, and gentleman strollers (and also a hand-holding lesbian couple) who happen along, for these are the ones, as if by Sorcererforce, who cannot proceed any further once they come into contact with the divine essence that is the Science Fiction Bokhandeln of Stockholm, Sweden.

The female counterparts of these gentlemen stray to the opposing side of the narrow, gray brick street, inching slowly forward with all their might, hoping to lure the boys along (for really, they are all boys when in the presence of this window). But then they themselves notice the next window, a small one, lined with tea cups of white china, displayed in a moderately uninteresting way. But as it is, ceramics are much more appealing and much less offensive to these women than the alien warriors and spaceship-attacking dragons so popular amongst the menfolk.

With the exception of the loving Lesbians, only a few women ever go into the shop. This occasional entrant of the female sex is always elderly with golden earrings and short, curled, henna-dyed hair, with her eyes cast downward towards the fold of paper in her hands. It is a list, declaring EXACTLY which videogame sequel to purchase for which grandson. She doesn't browse the store at all. She heads straight for the counter and mispronounces every game name to the long-haired, bespectacled fellow, who knows exactly where each item is located, and has plenty to say about them all. He also has recommendations, and reasons why another version of the same game is better than the one the woman wants. He persuasively (and with all of his heart) causes the Mormor to buy the alternative, because if it is BETTER, then the grandson will no doubt like it more.

It's open from 10 to 6, but the window is of course available at any hour. And indeed at every hour, this phenomena which I have described occurs. But ask almost any man here in Stockholm if he has checked out the storefront and he'll deny it, for one of two reasons. Either, he is young and would be ashamed if anyone knew he were a scifi fan, because that's for nördar, or, it is such an unconscious effort that he simply doesn't know that it happened.

Pontus, my host here in Stockholm, admits to eyeing the window a couple of times. But I, though often easily engaged by clever window displays, didn't even notice the store until I was situated in the window of the coffee shop directly across the street, nursing a tea cup of my own, staying out of danger. Alas, such is the way when dealing with dragons.