Magus Books was named Best Metaphysical Supply Store in Minneapolis (Minneapolis CityPages 2008).
Emporiums catering to alternative spirituality stand tall among the few
remaining bastions of independent retail. Part of the reason is that few
corporations have the chutzpah to launch, say, Tarot R Us or the
Pentacle Depot, because they figure they'd get unwelcome attention from
the religious right. Plus, succeeding in the industry requires a passion
for more than the bottom line. (Have any of Target's corporate buyers
ever smelled the yucko incense they sell?) Hence, the biz usually
defaults to neighborhood operations, of which the metro has a plethora.
Eastern Uptown's Present Moment, western Uptown's Stonehenge,
Lyn-Lake's Eye of Horus, St. Paul's Evenstar, and at least half a dozen
similar establishments cater to their clientele's needs, offering books,
herbs, crystals, candles, and whatnot, along with healing services,
readings, and classes in everything from astrology to Zen. But even in
otherworldly affairs, size sometimes matters—which is where Magus comes
in.
The Dinkytown institution's vast subterranean chambers
harbor the Upper Midwest's biggest, most eclectic occult book inventory,
often venturing boldly into realms other local purveyors don't dare
enter. Want to learn how to conjure H.P. Lovecraft's horrific critters?
You're sure? Store owner Roger Williamson, a respected occultist,
author, and artist with eight books and a new Tarot deck to his
credit—or one of his comparably educated minions—will gladly guide you
to Asnath Mason's Necronomicon Gnosis ($28), distributed in the
U.S. exclusively by Magus. But the well-organized bookcases hold tomes
galore for vanilla tastes, too. Even Christianity gets ample shelf
space! Factor in a schedule packed with readings, classes, and all kinds
of healing options, along with an incomparable selection of candles
(including the hard-to-find penis-shaped variety, available in red or
black for $6.50), incense, jewelry, statuary, crystals, wands, bulk
herbs—gear for just about any kind of ritual, really—and you get the
closest thing to a supernatural superstore on either side of the
Mississippi. Or, for that matter, the Nile.
MINNEAPOLIS CITYPAGES 2008
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