In response to: General Letters to the Magazine
Current issue
July 2025
On the cover: Wilton Virgo ’00 and his classmates celebrate during the P-rade.
On the cover: Wilton Virgo ’00 and his classmates celebrate during the P-rade.
Labyrinth Books, of the university, the town, and beyond, though across Nassau Street from campus, pulls its weight in the community. Sadly, its chatelaine, the radiant Dorothea von Moltke, passed away this week so swiftly that our breath has been stolen.
After returning to Princeton with my family in 2010 — I had had the good fortune to live abroad for almost three decades — I set to work on my second book, which I finally self published. The word was out that Labyrinth simply did not touch indie books. Such a pronouncement was like a red rag to a bull; I wanted to make a pitch but was unsure as to how to approach the bookstore. In the course of a casual conversation with a pal about my frustration, she offered to introduce me to the boss, making no promises. By email, a brief meeting was set up.
Book in hand, I made my way to Labyrinth in anticipation of a meeting with a woman whose surname was so grand and oozing with history that I grew more pessimistic about my prospects the closer I drew to the bookstore. As I asked for her at the front desk, I was unsure of how I would comport myself in the presence of some imposing European dowager. I was so busy being nonchalant and nervous at the very same moment that I hardly took notice of the woman approaching me; handsomely beautiful with the breeziest of airs, Dorothea introduced herself. Imparting a delightful ease along with gravitas, she ushered me over to two chairs for our chat. She seemed to have been well briefed by our mutual friend which let her graciously dispense with too much small talk.
“If your book were to appear on our shelves,” she suddenly asked, “what books would you like on either side of it?”
For once, speaking before thinking served me well.
Middlemarch and Oliver Sacks’ The River of Consciousness, I replied, the quirkiness and speed of my choices both vexing and pleasing Dorothea.
“You’re in,” she said, with a broad and sweet smile, thus beginning our splendid friendship, which came to include our families.
The best was yet to come. Julian and I were invited to a party in the bookstore’s basement one evening. The music was right up my street and there Dorothea stood. As though on automatic pilot, I swooped her up and she threw me around on the floor. What a dancer!
We are diminished by her loss.