Jamie Lutton stands in the middle of her bookshop on Capitol Hill, surrounded by shelves that stretch from floor to ceiling, stacked with titles accumulated through decades of careful acquisition and patient waiting for the right reader to discover them. The space feels lived-in, bearing the patina of years rather than the manufactured aesthetic of a newly designed retail environment. She wears a Lord of the Rings t-shirt, fitting attire for someone who has spent most of her life immersed in the world of books.
She has operated on Capitol Hill since 1987 and at this specific location, Twice Sold Tales, since 2008, giving her an unusually long tenure in a neighbourhood known for its rapid commercial turnover. Over the years, her customers have included college students seeking affordable textbooks and literary classics, local residents building personal libraries, and tourists seeking Seattle-specific titles or unique finds they cannot find elsewhere.
Her shop stands as one of the last independent used bookstores in a neighbourhood that has experienced dramatic transformation. Where chain stores and new developments have reshaped much of Capitol Hill, replacing older buildings and independent businesses with condominiums, corporate retail, and upscale restaurants, Lutton’s operation remains rooted in the old-school practice of knowing books intimately, understanding their value both monetary and cultural, and maintaining the expertise to locate specific titles within seemingly chaotic stacks.
When asked how she sources the thousands of volumes that line her shelves, she explains that the process has evolved considerably over the decades she has been in the trade. She started handling books when she was 13, spending her teenage years searching yard sales, libraries, and small stores for anything she could trade or add to her growing collection. Her mother introduced her to Friends of the Library sales when she was 9 or 10, but by 13 she was riding her bicycle independently in the summer, hunting for books at yard sales and small shops throughout her neighbourhood.
In her teens, she frequented libraries and yard sales with increasing purpose, building an inventory she could trade or resell to other collectors and dealers. As she progressed through college, she began making appointments to buy books directly from private sellers, often visiting homes where families were liquidating collections after deaths, divorces, or relocations. For years, she operated as a wholesaler of sorts, buying books wherever she could find them and selling them to local small booksellers who had established retail spaces.
She recalls, with amusement, that she would drive one particular bookseller mad by bringing in unlikely titles, obscure books that did not fit obvious categories, and persistently trying to get store credit for them. At the time, she was not necessarily focused on selling for cash profit but rather trading up, exchanging common books for rarer or more desirable volumes she wanted for her own collection or that she knew would command higher prices.
Later, when she was attending college, she started selling directly on college campuses like Shoreline Community College, driving to campus to sell books to students who appreciated the lower prices compared to campus bookstores. However, she primarily sold wholesale to established booksellers like Major’s Books and others with retail storefronts and steady customer traffic.
Over time, as she transitioned from wholesaling to operating her own retail space, local residents and tourists became the core of her business model. Regular customers who appreciate the serendipity of browsing physical shelves and the expertise of an owner who can recommend titles or locate specific books form the foundation of her operation.
The used book trade has required constant adaptability as market conditions, sourcing channels, and customer behaviours have shifted. Sourcing methods that worked efficiently in the 1980s, when yard sales and library discards were plentiful and competition was limited, do not work the same way now. Estate sales, library discards, and private collections still provide inventory. Still, the competition has intensified as online marketplaces have democratised bookselling, allowing anyone with internet access to list and sell used books.
Staying relevant in this transformed marketplace means understanding both the old systems that relied on personal relationships, physical presence at sales, and expertise in valuing books, and the new systems where algorithm-driven pricing, online sales platforms, and shipping logistics dominate. Lutton has managed to balance these worlds, maintaining her physical storefront whilst also understanding how online competition affects what she can sell and at what prices.
When the conversation shifts to Capitol Hill itself and the neighbourhood businesses Lutton values, she is quick to name her favourites amongst the establishments that have survived alongside her shop. Vivachi, a coffee shop that has operated for decades, receives her vote for the best coffee on the hill, a judgment based on years of morning caffeine purchases. For pizza, she unhesitatingly names Hot Mama’s, another long-established business. These are the kinds of places that have endured whilst so much else has turned over, establishments that have managed, to maintain their presence through economic cycles, neighbourhood gentrification, and changing consumer preferences.
The independent bookstore is not merely about selling books, though that commercial function obviously sustains the operation. It is fundamentally about maintaining a kind of cultural continuity that is increasingly rare in cities undergoing rapid transformation, where older businesses are routinely displaced by newer concepts deemed more profitable or trendy.
