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Fair Oaks Books, 626 Union Street, Selma, AL (2026)

08/12/2026

All,

Here's the August Hooked on Books column in the Selma Times-Journal about David Sedaris. It wasn't easy to write because Sedaris provokes such contradictory feelings (in me at least). Are you a fan of his? Or not?

"Being David"

Sometimes I wish I knew David Sedaris. And other times, I don’t.
You’re familiar with David, right? Award-winning humorist, best-selling author, edgy talk-show personality and all-around opinionator?
If you aren’t, not a problem. His fans in Alabama seem few and far between. (His recent 50-city promotional book tour stopped only in Fairhope and Birmingham.)
So, you’re not alone. But that’s OK. And he’s OK. He can live without us. Sales of his latest book, The Land and Its People, are pushing 16 million.
And what does that signify? That a lot of readers like to be toyed with. Played with. Because that’s what David does. Nicely, mind you. Deftly, surely. He’s like a cat with a bunch of willing insects. (We’re the insects.) He might begin a story with a savage observation about his late father. A few sentences later he’ll be making you giggle at the job he had as a Macy’s Christmas elf. Next thing you know, he’s off on a beguiling tale about eating tires.
Let’s pick a chapter from The Land and Its People to show you how slyly David can trick you into finding him endearing one minute, and the next, showing you how mistaken you might be.
After beginning the chapter with news of the death of an almost-forgotten childhood pal, David takes us back to happier days, with the two boys in grade school, being pranksters together. Spying on naked carnies at a circus. Shoplifting pet mice from a department store. Fighting over ownership of a turtle.
At 14, David meets a girl. He introduces her to his friend, who falls for the girl. At a mall, the new lovers decide to ditch David, humiliating him and destroying the boys’ friendship.
But does David feel resentful? Maybe for a second before he turns big-hearted, managing a (rather cringey) admission: “That’s how it was with [Dan]… He allowed me to feel that some part of myself was likable …”
The chapter ends, David at home with his husband Hugh, who’s fallen asleep in front of the TV. David covers the sleeping Hugh with a blanket, then quietly fastens three clothespins in his hair. (“[when he wakes up] I like him to know I ------ around with him.”)
Moments later, sitting alone in the silence of his Upper East Side apartment, he muses: “This is my life, but different now, diminished, because my old friend, who was there at the start and who made it so very worthwhile, has died.”
No irony. No quips. No evasions. It’s at moments like this that I want to know David Sedaris. Not just the talented writer, or the fun-meister, or the engaging celebrity, but someone who can confront a difficult friendship with grace while turning clothespins into gestures of love. All at the same time.
Now that’s one cool cat.

The owner of Selma’s Fair Oak Books, D.B.Tipmore is the author of My Little Town and the forthcoming novel, Barefoot Boy, to be published by Rattling Good Yarns Press. He can be reached at [email protected]

07/01/2026

Here's the July Hooked on Books column in the Selma Times-Journal. I'm not trying to pot-stir, but sometimes you just can't help yourself. Enjoy. And a Happy Fourth to all!

I’ve always thought Socrates was on the mark when he said, “An unexamined life is not worth living.”
So how about this: “An unexamined faith is not worth having.”?
I was taught from an early age not to ask questions about the Bible. I obeyed. I sang “The B-I-B-L-E, yes that’s the book for me!” I went to Sunday School and dreamed about Mrs. Lukens’ flannelgraph depiction of the parting of the Red Sea. I even conjured up my own vision of Hell, where I was strapped on an ever-spinning rotisserie, while a sharp-clawed devil in a red leotard basted me in molten lava.
I was reminded how far those days were behind me when three books were dropped off at my bookstore this past month. These books--The Separation of Church and Hate by John Fugelsang; The Bible Says So by Dan McClellan; and Jesus and John Wayne by Kristin Kobes du Mez—would have set Mrs. Lukens’ hair ablaze.
Fugelsang examines the theology of Christian Nationalism. McClellan looks at “what we get right (and wrong) about the Bible.” And du Mez investigates militarism and patriarchy in the religious right. As I read the books I found myself agreeing with much of their evidence, placing myself squarely at odds with my old self, some of my neighbors, and not a few colleagues on this Opinion page.
My Christian faith continues to be a magnificent mystery, but, in our terribly divided culture, a faith that is pushed and pulled and manipulated until it sometimes seems as much a source of grief as joy. All this manipulation means that I often feel a need to ensure that my faith is well-grounded. I want to believe that the Bible translation my church advocates is as accurate as possible. I want to acknowledge when evidence about disputed theological sticking points has merit. I want to be able to admit when this evidence persuades me that a belief seemingly based in fear or a need for ideological control is no longer convincing.
And so, locally, as I watch one denomination wrestle over the idea of female pastors, as I see another fractured by anguished hair-splitting about sexual orientation, as I hear many around me reiterate how often they are discouraged about asking questions of their faith, I am even more convinced that we must not be afraid to challenge ourselves whenever the “old time religion” some of us sing about fails to provide adequate answers. Just because we realize we might have gotten something wrong about the Bible is not to invite Armageddon or put us on a glide path to atheism.
Going forward, I’m going to stick with Socrates and keep in mind a quote from Jewish theologian Abraham Joshua Heschel: “We are closer to God when we are asking questions than when we think we have the answers.”
Doesn’t that sound about right?

The owner of Selma’s Fair Oak Books, D.B.Tipmore is the author of My Little Town and the forthcoming novel, Barefoot Boy, to be published this fall by Rattling Good Yarns Press. He can be reached at [email protected]

06/12/2026

Words matter. We think because we have words. Freedom is a word. Freedom matters, especially if you’re feeling a bit “cancelled” lately. Which is why Sebastian Junger wrote his book and why I'm inviting you to come and have a conversation about what it means to be free at Minnie Sue’s Cottage, 622 McLeod Ave., on Tuesday, June 23, at 7 p.m. Stop by for an hour and enjoy a discussion led by local attorney Elliott “Skip” Barker while sipping on a cool beverage with some of Selma’s most interesting people.

06/03/2026

Greetings!

Freedom seems to be on everyone’s mind at the moment. What it is. How we hold on to it. How it beds down with power. The sacrifice it requires. How it allows us to be who we are. In this months’ Selma Times Journal column I'm touting a book —and an event—perfect for these troubled times..

Here goes!

What if you had the chance to escape for a while? What would you do?
Probably not what author Sebastian Junger did. 51 years old, childless, facing divorce, with successes such as The Perfect Storm far in the past, he took off with his dog and a few friends on a 400-mile-walk along the railroad tracks of Pennsylvania to see if he could find his footing again.
I’m happy he made the effort. Freedom, the slim volume that came out of this adventure, is like one of those triple-decker club sandwiches you get at The Sandbar. It’s a pure pleasure to bite into, so to speak, but it’s a mouthful. The book serves up layer upon layer of information. When Junger isn’t running a sailcloth thread through his blisters to help them drain, he’s sharing research that weaves through stories about Dublin’s Easter Rising, the Ottoman Empire’s invasion of Montenegro, the conquistador Coronado gobbling up chunks of Texas, and Geronimo pillaging his way around western Pennsylvania long before it was the Keystone State. Add to these tales more facts about gender contradictions in running track, pro boxing strategies, and some of the grislier episodes of the Mongol Horde, and you understand why some readers take some time to finish their sandwich.
Weaving through all these stories are big questions about what it means to be free. Is freedom dependent on a sense of community? Is it the product of being feared? Does it demand suffering and sacrifice? Does it require courage? Is it the antithesis of power? Does wealth destroy freedom? Or is freedom simply the ability to walk away from it all?
And, significantly: what is happening to freedom in this country?
These are whopper-sized questions that Junger serves up as you’re barreling alongside him down the railroad tracks. His foot-level perspective flattens and lengthens the journey into a dramatic obstacle course. Railroads turn into steel snakes slithering through towns and fields, bringing dark surprises and, occasionally, a good Samaritan.
It’s a fine kind of sandwich, full of the writerly bravado Hemingway would have applauded and written in vivid, precise language that goes everywhere, all at once, fast.
I’d like you to get to know Junger’s great escape for yourself and to talk about what freedom means in these chaotic times. I’ve invited one of my favorite readers, Vietnam vet and Selma attorney Elliott “Skip” Barker, to introduce you to Freedom on Tuesday, June 23, 7 p.m., at 626 Union Street. Stop by and enjoy an hour of thoughtful conversation in the best possible way—sipping a beverage in a relaxing atmosphere with some of Selma’s most interesting people.

05/07/2026

This month's Selma Times-Journal opinion column,, Hooked on Books. Apologies in advance to lovers of Theo of Golden.

Thoughts on Theo

Is it my imagination, or have more than a few local women fallen in love with Theo of Golden? If so, they’re joining a long line of ardent fans. A quick read-through of Amazon’s customer reviews would lead you to believe more female hearts have been warmed by the book’s 400 pages than the last time Mitch Albom published anything. These warmed hearts have fueled a sizzling word-of-mouth, pushing sales of the novel past the million-sales mark and locking it on the New York Times bestseller list—three years after it was published. Book-club members here, there, and everywhere have opened their tear ducts—and purses—to it.
By all rights, none of this should have happened. A first-time writing effort from Allen Levi, a retired, small-town Georgia lawyer, Theo has no best-seller staples: dead bodies, seedy love triangles, or warring aliens. The title character is a mysterious old man who arrives with a secret one day in the small Southern town and is charmed by some drawings on the wall of a local coffee shop. He likes them so much that he decides to give them back to their subjects as gifts. In doing so, he befriends the residents, shares their stories of grief and resilience, and, going by percentages, heals more lost souls than Buddha and Ghandi combined.
And now I’m going to step in it.
I’ve tried at least three times to lose myself in Mr. Levi’s well-intentioned and gracious book and failed each time. These failures bothered me enough that I thought I’d try and lay out why.
I might have failed because, after promising a secret at the beginning and a surprise at the end, most of the plot is a list--a long, long, list--of the residents’ individual stories. Story follows story follows story, told in prose that, from its uniform rhythm, steady pacing, and consistency of tone, is the literary equivalent of warm milk. Or AI.
Or maybe I’ve failed because that same plot structure—and prose—seem to flatten the characters into caricatures. Theo himself is so unrelievedly kind and good that, somewhere around page 300, I was ready for him to take a pratfall. (My preferences for Jesus-like figures in popular culture lean toward Ted Lasso.)
I’ve possibly failed because of simple professional envy. Mr. Levi’s book is not only a smash, but a smash with legs. Compared to the millions of Theo sales, my last book is gathering dust in a warehouse. It’s enough to make a person bitter.
Ultimately, however, I’ve most likely failed because, along with most male readers, I’m not drawn to the gentle joys and soulful empathy which thrill so many women reading this book. Whatever we men are reading these days, we don’t seem to be reading for empathy, let alone joy.
And that particular failure is both sad and dangerous.

D.B.Tipmore is the owner of Fair Oaks Books in Selma and the author of My Little Town. His new book, Barefoot Boy, is coming out this fall. He can be reached at [email protected]

04/02/2026

Hi, everyone,

Below is the latest entry of Hooked on Books, which appeared in an "altered" version in this week's Selma Times-Journal:

Title: Isn't it Iconic?

It’s everywhere, like litter.
That word iconic.
Iconic books. Iconic islands. Iconic films and buildings and speeches and singers and mountains and—you get the point.
Clearly, we live in an iconic world. (I recently heard the word used four times on a recent podcast.)
Have you ever noticed whenever a word becomes popular, it loses its power? Take another look at the verbs you see in today’s headlines.
Shock. Rip. Target. Cancel. Skewer. Attack. Stun.
And the newest favorite: obliterate.
These verbs fit nicely with iconic. They’re just as bloated and shrill.
And, thanks to their over-use, just as powerless.
Been there, heard that.
We know all about mission creep in war. (We might be living through it now.)
What we’re dealing with here is meaning creep, when a word’s use exceeds its grasp.
We pulled iconic out of the thesaurus, after all, to juice up awesome and amazing and incredible and fabulous and the latest competitor, epic, even as these words are already becoming old hat. So now we seem to be upping the ante. Since fabulous seems incapable of capturing the indescribable wonderfulness of, say, a Lainie’s BBQ Platter or a Gulf Shores getaway, we add a little more intensity. Really iconic. Totally awesome. Absolutely amazing. Truly fabulous.
The way we talk to each other is now so inflated and extreme—no, it’s super-extreme, it’s hyper-extreme—that we have nowhere to go but crazy. Or maybe obsessed. Or even insance, our latest version of a compliment.
The longer we traffic in these exhausted words, the more quickly we erode our capacity to think. Don’t believe me? Here’s motivational coach Tony Robins on the subject: “Simply by changing your everyday vocabulary, you can instantaneously change how you think, how you feel, and how you live.” Or (slightly mad) philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein: “All I know is what I have words for.” Ditto from American idol Joan Didion: “The ability to express ourselves determines our ability to think.” Or finally, the writer Maggie Stievater: “People shout when they don’t have the vocabulary to whisper.”
Hard to deny there’s a whole lot of shouting going on these days.
So where do you go to find some new words?
Books, of course! Pick your medium—kindle, audio, zine, hardcover, whatever. Pick your genre--fantasy, romance, sci-fi, history. You name it. Anything with words that might halt this troubling meaning creep and connect you to some new words with fresh views of the world. J.K. Rowling. Mark Twain. Toni Morrison. Tolkien. James Baldwin. Open your ears to their voices and attitudes. Jack London’s voice in White Fang. Salinger’s in Catcher in the Rye. Ralph Ellison’s in Invisible Man. Dr. Suess’s in The Cat in the Hat. George Orwell’s in 1984. John Kennedy Toole’s in A Confederacy of Dunces.
Most of these books are easy enough to find in the library. You might even find one of them coated with a little dust on your own bookshelves. Either way, within their pages, I bet you’ll find a word or two that might turn out to be, well, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.
Or, at the very least, iconic.

D.B.Tipmore is the author of My Little Town. His novel, Barefoot Boy, will be published in the fall by Rattling Good Yarns Press. He can be reached at [email protected]

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