Used Books: Boston Novels & Stories

“We go to the big Barnes & Noble. You buy every single book you want.” “First of all, we would go to The Strand. Shop indie. Second of all, no.” “I’m offering to buy you booksandlet you drive. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life within a 50-mile radius of Boston?” “Doesn’t even matter.” I sank back in my seat, my hands wrapping around each other in my lap. My thumb itched to dig into my skin, to stop my thoughts from plummeting down the hole that was the inevitable finish line of this. Constance Montana would vanish from public life. I’d stop seeing Alonzo . There was no next month for us. Cape Cod had been a blip. Two days of forgetting the outside world existed. But it did, a

*** There was something magical about Boston. Puritans founded the city in 1630, so perhaps magic would be considered blasphemous, but that was the word that came to mind. After Salem, this big city was my favorite place. A hum, or a vibe, pulsed through the city, uniting its occupants. We started at Boston Common. Salvatore brought a Frisbee, and we played on the grass for a while. The air was humid, hot. After an hour, we were all sticky and in need of liquid refreshments.

Lyra — Age 18 Boston, Massachusetts Boston did not smell like home. That was the first thing Lyra noticed. There was no resinous pine in the air, no sharp tang of snow melting against stone, no comforting plume of woodsmoke curling toward the sky. Instead, the city exhaled heat off dark pavement, the rich bitterness of ground coffee drifting from crowded cafés, oil-sharp exhaust from idling cars, and a briny hint of salt carried inland on the harbor breeze. Thousands of feet hurried across sidewalks too narrow for so many bodies; the city pulsed with urgency. It should have been claustrophobic. Instead, it felt like the first deep breath she’d ever truly taken.

“The Boston Massacre. There’s nothing about a ring, but that certainly qualifies for blood.” She looked at him. “What do you think?” she asked. Caleb studied the map. Finally, he looked at her. “Let’s do it.” * As Caitlin and Caleb left the park, turning down Court Street and heading into the heart of the historic district of Boston, the old Statehouse came into view. It was a large, brick building, perfectly preserved from the 1700s, with multiple historic windows and topped by a large, white cupola. It was stunning in its simplicity and beauty.

I beamed. “That sounds pretty cool. What kind of stuff do you like to write about?” Boston asked as he opened a large, heavy mahogany double door for me to walk through. “Scandals…corruption…I like to use the history of the situation to really do a thorough repor….” I began explaining when I turned to walk into the library, I was rendered speechless.

Henry gestured to his assistant to drive around the city, giving Jasmine a chance to take in the world outside. "The growth... it's so rapid." Jasmine gazed out at Boston's vibrant nightlife with wide- eyed wonder. She had been to Boston in her teens when it was a less developed place. She remembered Evan saying that only San Francisco counted as a big city and Boston was just the sticks. Jasmine had argued back then, believing that every city had its own unique cultural charm and characteristics. Now that it had developed, it seemed to lose some of its former beauty. "These high-end malls, hotels, and entertainment venues; they're all Mr. Patrick's properties," his assistant said with a smi

Hillary I don’t know much about Boston aside from Ben’s house, the airport, and his two offices—the theoretical one and the practical, heavily guarded building where the technology was kept safe. That building alone was the size of three estates combined. Anyway, I found a fancy restaurant not too far from home. I saw it every time we drove by, and I had been dying to try it, so I picked that and booked us a reservation. “Is this what you called expensive?” Ben asks, one eyebrow arched, hands shoved casually into his pockets.

"But you still got to spend your days here. Might as well get a feel for it." Boston's an old city. Where western cities were made after the invention and spread of cars, East Coast cities were too entrenched and dense to really accommodate the change in driving habits. Streets are tight out here, not four-lane monstrosities that cut through the middle of Dallas. Out there, they're one-way, cobblestone in the historic districts, traffic everywhere, pedestrians everywhere, the streets cutting in and out seemingly at random. But it's beautiful. I'll give Boston that. Old, historic brick buildings mingled with massive skyscrapers. There's character here, real history. It's not my city, but I co