Over the course of thirty years, Tsunami Books in Eugene, Oregon, has hosted thousands of readings, theater revues, writers’ workshops, and concerts. The eclectic stock includes new and used books, with a strong selection of local authors; anything you can’t find, they’ll gladly order. It’s my neighborhood bookstore. I’ve attended readings, listened to music, and read from the stage myself.
Murals, sale racks, and a glorious fig tree frame the entrance. Inside, the light is warm and comfortable. There’s a welcoming quiet, the scent of beeswax from a shelf of candles, the up and down hum of conversation among browsers and staff. Kept afloat by a talented, hardworking crew of worker-owners, Tsunami has enjoyed unusual community support and investment. Now, in addition to a full calendar of music and book events and publication projects, co-founder and general manager Scott Landfield is leading an effort to buy the building.
Scott and I sat down on the stage—built, like the surrounding shelves, from gorgeous recycled lumber—to talk about Tsunami past and present. It’s been thirty years. It’s been a struggle, every month, scrapping for rent. At the start, they occupied only the front of the building. In 1998, they were told they had to take over the whole building or move out. The back half, a former grocery warehouse with two inches of standing water on the floor, needed extensive remodeling.
The recycled lumber used to build the shelves and stage is a clear point of pride for Scott. Schools and colleges across Oregon and Washington were pulling out their wooden gymnasium bleachers, replacing them with plastic or aluminum. Wood from some thirty-five schools is incorporated, as well as Lane County native wood.
There’s a lot to be proud of. Over 5000 events and activities. Musicians who come praise the acoustics. Scott has been active in making the street more pedestrian friendly and hospitable to business, convincing the city to install a traffic light and reduce the speed limit. Tsunami Press has published a couple of books. Their second book, Bookstore Clerks and Significant Others, got a starred review from Kirkus, and Kirkus picked it one of the top 100 indie press books of 2024. They’ve hosted a lot of wakes, Scott told me, including a living wake for a man in his nineties; they had to bring in a hospital bed. They’ve hosted three weddings.
And the community. “The thing about this place is the way the community has stepped up, so many times,” Scott said. The first round came in 2005. Burnt out and considering bankruptcy, Tsunami announced a going out of business sale, aiming to sell everything and get out of debt. Instead, a trio of community members offered a $35,000 stake if they’d keep the store open. At that point, Tsunami established a Neighborhood Shareholder Corporation. Shares were limited, with consensus required to move any shares. When the building owner later decided to sell, giving Scott thirty days to come up with the purchase price, a local developer stepped in at the last minute to buy the property, allowing the store to continue for two years on a handshake agreement. When it came time to sign a new lease, however, Scott didn’t own a house he could put up as collateral—a standard requirement—so he was asked to place $302,000 in an escrow account. That led to the second big fundraising push. Scott created a form of local crowdfunding that quickly raised more than was needed (the overage immediately returned to donors).
Why try to buy the building now? There are a few reasons. After thirty years, they’ve paid almost two million in rent. It feels like time. They’ve been able to hire and retain a skilled and imaginative staff, yet the crew, despite earning a respectable hourly rate, lack health insurance; none of them are homeowners. Scott takes home less than minimum wage. The current building owner has been decent, has made accommodations, but rent is still a stretch. A new partnership with the Eugene Foundation, supporting the store’s arts events (not rent or payroll), got people thinking about the possibility of a nonprofit ownership structure. [https://www.eugeneparksfoundation.org]
Most of all, the initiative is a response to hard times, to war and frustration; it’s a move to do something proactive. Last year was difficult. When Scott wrote an article in the Eugene Weekly about buying local during hard times, supporting your favorite local businesses, business took off for about two months. That’s when the Parks Foundation came in.
Scott choked up when he talked about being in the store the Saturday after the war in Iran broke out, grappling with the senseless deaths of so many girls when their school was bombed. It hit him hard. And at the same time, the store was packed. Scott told me it was like COVID, as if people got a notice: time to get some groceries, get some books, and hang out at home for a while. It was three days of worried customers looking for books and some kind of reassurance. People needed to be together, needed to laugh. He described it as a weird form of hysteria: on the one hand, his grief and anger at the war; on the other, the urge to comfort people, put them in a good mood. “It’s best if hysteria leads to hysterical laughter,” he said. “Some of the best one liners I’ve ever had in my life, and not about the system, not about the war, none of that stuff. So there was a lot of laughter in the building.” But after three days—three days of record sales— it was too much. What could we do? he asked himself. Tsunami had to do something.
Scott announced his intention to buy the building. He got permission from the other bookstore owners. The goal: keep a key place of property in music and arts. Then he built a tip box. The plan was to put out the tip box for thirty days while they figured out what to do next. To buy the building, Tsunami would need to raise a million dollars.
The box, built using wood scraps from six different sets of grade school bleachers, raised $14,000 in thirty days. The idea caught on—now people come into the store excited, asking how the purchase effort is going. They want to take part, join in.
The next step is a GoFundMe, slated to go live on May 1. Scott hopes to bring in $5 or $10 each from a hundred thousand people. If they can raise a solid chunk in small donations, he’s optimistic he can find a few larger donors. A successful purchase will include a legal covenant, one that will keep the property in books, music, and the arts in perpetuity. If it changes hands, the covenant goes with it. Nothing will come out of the GoFundMe until it’s clear a deal is going forward—if they can’t raise enough, everything will be refunded.
Why might readers beyond Eugene be moved to contribute? Because of that promise. Because of community, art, survival. Worker-owners. Laughter in the face of grief and frustration. Musicians from twenty-five countries playing their songs and telling their stories. Poets reading their poems.
What’s Scott looking forward to? Reasons to stay active for another ten years. Staffer Emily Poole’s book is coming out in September and they plan to fill the building with artwork. She’s also working on the cover for a second Tsunami anthology. There’s a secret stash of unpublished Ken Kesey work, other local treasures Scott has an eye on.
“We wanted to come up with a big idea,” Scott told me, “but the big idea came up with us. We have built a country where we can rest on our laurels very well. Very well. But we need to be proactive. You don’t create world peace by creating a department of war. Keeping a key piece of property in simple arts, in music and books, is what we can do here.”
He concludes, “It’s a counter-offensive. I’m not using the term war. It’s not a battle. It’s just people getting by in the world.” He thinks, ultimately, that’s what a great many people are looking for. People who want to read books, hear music, and go home to a roof over their heads.
Amalia Gladhart is a writer and translator in Oregon. A former bookseller—both new and used—she is always on the lookout for a good indie bookstore. Her novel, Edge Pieces, is forthcoming from Regal House in spring, 2028. Learn more and subscribe to her newsletter at amaliagladhart.com.
