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responsible for the transgression. In later medieval periods, the notion of female prophets became largely repressed. Popular traditions have emerged, which depict Iblīs as having a wife - rather than being an ambiguous, hermaphrodite character. Yet this conceptual complexity nevertheless exists in the religious Islamic tradition, often in mainstream sources, including the Qur’an itself. Its enduring significance is in recognising, validating, and allowing for a more composite world view, where even Satan is not completely negative. This invitation for a more nuanced perception can act as a reminder for us, who live in a world dominated by binary- based technology, to mind the sequential gap between the zero and one, shadow and light. Zohar Hadromi Allouche is assistant professor in Classical Islamic Religious Thought and Dialogue in the School of Religion, Theology, and Peace Studies in Trinity. Her research explores transitional and ambiguous contexts and characters within the Islamic religion, as well as intersections between diverse literary and religious traditions. It examines the qur’anic dialectical retelling of biblical texts; Islamic engagement with Greek and Zoroastrian traditions; and the relationship between folktales and religious texts. She coordinated the recent Demons: Good & Bad conference in Trinity in October 2022, and is co-editor (with Michael McKay) of Betwixt and between Liminality and Marginality: Mind the Gap (Lexington 2023; forthcoming).
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Memoirs of a second-hand bookseller Shaun Bythell, BL (1993), on running Scotland’s largest second-hand bookstore, publishing his diaries, and why he’s so delighted to swop affidavits for Victorian travel books W hen I checked my inbox this morning, there was - hidden amongst the outstanding invoice demands - an email from a man in Shetland with 5,000 of his late brother’s books to sell; another from the widow of John Cunliffe (the creator of Postman Pat ) who is moving house and has to sell their library in Ilkley; and a third from a woman who has a tatty 1917 copy of Patsie’s Bricks , by Lilian Staple Mead. She thinks it’s worth a fortune. It isn’t. I often wonder what would be in my inbox if I’d pursued a career in Law, the subject in which I scraped a degree from Trinity in 1993. Probably considerably fewer outstanding invoice demands. I wonder, too, how many people follow careers in the subject they studied at university. I have a feeling that probably about half of my year of aspiring lawyers now work in that sector. That’s not to say that it’s not worthwhile spending four years studying law, but the main advantage to me has been the deeply satisfying look of utter astonishment on the faces of strangers when they discover that I have any sort of qualification, let alone a Law degree from Trinity. The life I lead now - running Scotland’s largest second-hand bookshop - requires little in the way of academic training. A love of books, and a few years of experience are all you really need. Education, though, is never wasted - or so my school Latin teacher used to assure us (on the rare occasions when he’d bother turning up for class). Following graduation (I think I was the only person in our year who failed to attend) I drifted through a series of pretty unfulfilling jobs before finally falling into the world of bookselling almost by accident, but what a happy accident it has proved to be. Although it is arguably a fast-track to relative poverty, it is the most rewarding thing that I’ve ever done. When I open the door of the shop in the morning, I have no idea who or what will come through. Admittedly, more often than not, it will turn out to be someone annoying who wants to sell books that I have no desire to stock - but not always. Among my customers over the years I can count Olympic athletes, polar explorers, convicted criminals and thousands of others about whom I know not a thing. In the million (or so) books that I’ve handled in the past two decades, I’ve had in my hands some of the most beautiful objects I’ve ever seen, as well as rare editions of the most culturally and scientifically significant works of literature. Who wouldn’t want that? The small town in rural Scotland where my shop is based is Wigtown. Every year we host a book festival which attracts a programme of luminaries from across almost every part of the cultural, scientific and academic worlds (as well as some politicians). The drawing room above the shop serves as the green room during the ten day festival, and over the years I’ve rubbed shoulders with people who would probably otherwise never have come to Wigtown. When I say ‘rubbed shoulders’ I mean that literally, as I’ve been clearing their plates from the table, or topping up their glasses of wine rather than engaging in witty conversations with them. Hopefully now we can bid farewell to the digital festivals of the COVID years and return to the bustle and crowds of the past. In the last few months, Ireland has acquired a new booktown: Granard in County Longford. I can’t wait to visit. In 2017 my first book, The Diary of a Bookseller , was published by Profile - an independent UK publisher. I’ve written three books subsequently, two of which are further diaries. The books came about because the extraordinary diversity of customers and their even more extraordinary comments has led almost everyone who has worked in the shop to suggest that someone should write a book about it, but as my mother has often said, ‘When someone says ‘someone’, they mean you.’ So I decided to keep a record of the daily goings on in the shop, purely as an aide-memoire for some imagined future endeavour. After a year, and through an agent, the first book somehow made it into print to everyone’s amazement, particularly mine. Today, as I write this, my agent has just messaged me to say that we now have an Israeli publisher translating it into Hebrew, making that 32 languages. I have another six years written in draft form, largely because the daily exercise of writing is enormously cathartic. Transferring the troubles of your day onto paper seems to remove them from your head, even if only briefly. Writing has unquestionably been rewarding, but the second- hand book trade is still where my heart lies. The thrill of seeing a collection of early Victorian illustrated travel books, or a copy of Bleau’s 1662 hand-coloured atlas of Scotland and Ireland, will never fail to excite, nor will the as-yet-unknown contents of Postman Pat’s library fail to quicken my pulse as I approach the house some time soon. If you ever see me leaving The Long Room, straining under the weight of a heavy rucksack, call security…
