At 77, Naomi Frisch opened Still Out-of-Print in Liverpool during the pandemic, working seven days a week without pay—not out of necessity, but to build a legacy she hopes a younger bibliophile will inherit, redefining what it means to sustain a community cornerstone.
In an era where independent bookstores fight for survival, Naomi Frisch embodies a radical form of devotion. The 77-year-old opened Still Out-of-Print on Liverpool’s historic Smithdown Road in 2020, amid the COVID-19 pandemic, and has worked there every day since—without drawing a salary. Her mission isn’t profit, but preservation: she’s building a viable business she dreams of handing to a younger lover of books who can add online sales and make it wage-paying.
Frisch’s journey began after her partner’s bookshop closed, leaving her with “a vast quantity of good, secondhand and antiquarian books” in storage. Rather than see them disperse, she seized an opportunity on Smithdown Road, a street already bustling with a pizza parlor, vegan shop, and convenience store—a mix that attracts a diverse, book-loving clientele. “There is a great mix of people, old, young, working, students, professionals… which translates into a lot of book-loving people,” she says. The store’s very name, Still Out-of-Print, signals a niche for hard-to-find titles, a magnet for collectors and casual readers alike.
Her decision to work seven days a week unpaid flies in the face of conventional retirement. Frisch originally retired in 2017, but this venture is a second act fueled by passion, not necessity. “I am building it up as a viable business, [but] my dream is for a younger person who loves the book business to come along and add an online sales function,” she explained in an interview with People. This isn’t a business plan; it’s a plea for succession, highlighting a quiet crisis in independent retail: who will carry the torch?
The financial reality is stark. Still Out-of-Print is “holding its own,” but without a digital arm or additional staff, it remains a labor of love. Frisch’s hope for a younger steward speaks to a broader intergenerational gap in trades and small business ownership. Many boomers like her have the capital and know-how but lack the tech-savvy or energy to scale; millennials and Gen Z often seek stability and digital integration. Her vision bridges that divide—she provides the curated inventory and community trust; a successor provides the e-commerce engine.
Beyond the storefront, Frisch anchors the local literary ecosystem by organizing the Liverpool Book Market, a bimonthly gathering of 10–12 local sellers in the city center. Events like these, running through November 2026, transform book-buying from a transaction into a communal ritual. They also underscore her role as a curator, not just a shopkeeper. In an age of Amazon algorithms, Frisch champions serendipity—the chance encounter with a dusty tome that changes a perspective.
Locally, she’s affectionately known as “the late Naomi,” a nickname that hints at both her relentless schedule and her wry self-awareness. “I treasure my mornings with fresh coffee and crossword puzzles. I travel on the bus and just need a deadline to galvanise me. Not sure why, but I usually run a bit late for everything. So sack me,” she jokes. This humor softens her steely resolve, making her a beloved figure. Patrons, she says, are “lovely,” each with “their own interests and their own story.” That human connection is the currency she values most.
Frisch’s story resonates because it flips the script on “success.” In capitalist terms, she’s not winning—she’s unpaid, overworked, and seeking a successor. Yet in cultural terms, she’s preserving a space where books are objects of curiosity, not commodities. Her store’s survival post-pandemic is a microcosm of the indie bookstore revival, where community support often trumps margins. Still Out-of-Print thrives on Smithdown Road’s foot traffic and Frisch’s encyclopedic knowledge, not on viral trends.
For fans of literary culture, her mission is a call to action. Independent bookstores are more than retail; they’re cultural anchors that foster local identity. Frisch’s unpaid labor exposes the fragility of these spaces—they rely on owner sacrifice. Her Instagram, @stilloutofprint, showcases the shop’s eclectic shelves, inviting global support while rooted in local soil. The hope is that a younger entrepreneur sees this not as a burden but as a baton worth picking up.
Ultimately, Naomi Frisch represents aGenerational bridge. She’s proof that entrepreneurship in later life can be about legacy, not liquidity. As bookstores worldwide shutter, her defiance is both poignant and practical: she’s not waiting for a savior; she’s training one. The question for Liverpool—and for all of us who cherish these spaces—is whether we’ll ensure her dream outlives her seven-day workweeks.
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