Theatre in Review: The Bookstore (New Jersey Repertory Company/59E59) The weather outside is frightful. The world is going to hell in a handbasket. What better time for a little civilized amusement? For fast relief, try The Bookstore, a low-key yet beguiling tale of literary life among Village people -- Greenwich Village, that is. The emporium of the title is run by Carey, who came to the city in the 1970s, enjoying a career in publishing during the day while running around at night with a trio of gay male friends. Having buried them all during the AIDS epidemic, she opted for reinvention, opening a bookstore that functions as a neighborhood salon. Carey is at her happiest when mentoring the young, especially her employees: Abby, an aspiring novelist now in the eighth year of working on her magnum opus with no end in sight, and Brittany, a boy- and girl-crazy free spirit who isn't as aimless as she first appears. Taking refuge in the store from a gay-bashing incident is Spencer, an aspiring actor new in town, whom Carey tutors in the joys of PG Wodehouse, the Film Forum, and martinis. It's a funny, friendly evening of book chat and small, but honestly rendered, emotional dustups: a friendship imperiled by professional jealousy, allegations of a possibly inappropriate relationship, and the never-ending horrors of trying to launch a stage career. The name-dropping dialogue is filled with amusing nuggets: the fact that Edith Wharton's youthful nickname was Pussy Jones (sounds like a Bond girl); the homicidal ways of William Burroughs and Anne Perry; Victor Hugo writing Les Miserables nude except for one gray shawl. (That's one way of staying on deadline). A discussion devoted to disentangling the relationships in the Bloomsbury Group offers literary gossip at its frothiest. Binding these little incidents is a secret to which the only audience is privy. The play unfolds across 2017 and, very early on, Carey puts us on notice that she has cancer, and, within the year, she will be dead. This revelation gives the otherwise casual action a solid dramatic spine. As she comes to terms with her ill health, there's a bookstore to dispose of and relationships to be made right. Indeed, it's not just Carey who is facing the end; a way of life -- bookish, genially boozy, and fully engaged with the city's culture -- needs to be preserved. The playwright, Michael Walek, doesn't lean on this point too much -- he deftly avoids the overly sentimental -- but the play is suffused with an appreciation for a vanishing way of downtown life. It may be that, as a longtime Village resident, The Bookstore may strike me as especially poignant. But for anyone, it is a lovely account of young strivers who come to town, finding generous mentors who open their minds to the incredible riches New York has to offer. William Carden's production maintains a light touch throughout, and his cast underplays with uncommon skill. Janet Zarish's Carey is a flinty, independent, yet wildly enthusiastic New Yorker who has an opinion about everything and is only too happy to share her thoughts. She also makes clear how the experience of seeing so many young friends die has informed her own end-of-life choices. Without overacting, she provides the action with a solid anchor. Zarish is surrounded by a trio of fine younger performers. Arielle Goldman is both cagey and touching as Abby, a talented artist forever struggling to keep at least one foot out of her mouth.Ari Derambakhsh provides a strong contrast as Brittany, whose love life has a Scheherazade-like hold on the others. "How do you meet people?" asks Carey, baffled. "I don't know," Brittany muses. "They always seem to be around. It's a blessing and a curse." (One beau comes from a family so wealthy that none of them have ever ridden the subway. "I feel like Jane Goodall with the gorillas," Brittany notes.) Quentin Chisholm is full of puppyish charm as Spencer, whose debut as Hamlet is less than stellar, due to circumstances beyond his control. Noting Carey's attendance at one especially dire performance, he asks, "Was that one of the nights the set fell down?" "It fell down multiple times?" Carey asks, appalled. For a play in which atmosphere is everything, The Bookstore hits all the right notes. Jessica Parks' charming bookshop interior suggests she has been hanging out in such real-life Village shops as Three Lives & Co. Jill Nagle's lighting invests the set with an incandescent glow. Suzanne Chesney's costumes have a fine appreciation for the differences between Abby's buttoned-up style and Brittany's more bohemian ensembles. Nick Simone's sound design includes some apt musical choices and effects that evoke life on the street outside. The Bookstore is a casual entertainment that is highly suitable for our January chill. In its way, it is like one of the better offerings in Carey's inventory: a literate piece infused with wit, warmth, and sensibility. It is well worth a drop-in visit. --David Barbour 
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