The department store--the once-revolutionary, then indispensable, now dying mainstay of high streets around the world--is a relatively recent development. Starting as hopped-up general stores in the late 18th century, they grew increasingly large and comprehensive by the late 1800s, reaching their zenith in the first half of the 20th century. One of the great architects of this retail apotheosis in the late 19th and early 20th centuries was also arguably the inventor of shopping as entertainment: Harry Gordon Selfridge. This book is the story of his rise and fall, and with him the revolution in merchandising he brought about.
Selfridge escaped the wilds of Wisconsin for Chicago in 1876 when he joined the staff of Field, Leiter & Company--better known by its later name, Marshall Field & Co. Over the next 25 years, he rose from stockboy to junior partner. He was a perpetual motion machine all his life, always ambitious and innovative, and always looking for the next big thing that would drive customers to the ever-growing, palatial State Street department store. When Marshall Field passed him over for a promotion, Selfridge retired with a fortune that could have kept him in whiskey and green fees for the rest of his life. Predictably, retirement didn't suit him. When he discovered that London didn't have a grand emporium like the ones in New York City and Chicago, he decided he'd build one of his own there. Selfridge & Co. opened on Oxford Street in 1909. London was never the same.
This background fills the first 70-some pages of this book; the rest is about Harry's adventures and misadventures in London. Mass merchandising in England (such as it was) was still rather fusty in 1909, having outgrown its general-store roots in scope but not in attitude. Bringing his unstoppable energy and showman's drives fully to bear, Harry made "Selfridge's" inescapable around town, in the press, and on Oxford Street itself, where he replaced a mess of potty shopfronts with a gigantic retail cathedral that still exists today.
The author catalogues all this activity--the building, the publicity stunts, the innovations--with an evident affection and admiration that luckily stops short of hagiography. She had full access to the store's extensive archives as well as a deep lode of primary sources. Her tone is warm and light (this is shopping, after all, not statecraft) and she pulls in supporting players when needed without letting the camera stray too far from Harry and the store. She sometimes turns her lens on the competitive environment in England to keep the store tethered to the world in which it had to operate.
The author doesn't stint on Harry's many failings, saving the book from becoming a whitewash. The showman in Harry often elbowed aside his inner businessman, dreaming up stunts that rarely paid for themselves. He was a sucker for a sob story and rarely did his due diligence before forking over his money. He was a compulsive--and unsuccessful--gambler, squandering vast sums in French casinos and the poker tables of English society until the casino at Monte Carlo cut him off in an overdue act of mercy. He had an over-fondness for pretty women, especially after his wife Rosalie died in 1918, and carried on serial liaisons with a string of very expensive lovers, all of whom cost him enormous amounts of money he didn't have to spare. The author documents all this in detail, following the confluence of these faults to his inevitable downfall.
I would've liked to have more pictures in the book, especially of the famous Selfridges display windows and of the store's interior. Much of the store's impact came from its visual contrasts with the competition, none of which we get to see. The end notes and bibliography are comfortably extensive, and the index is reasonably useful, a blessing given the size of the cast.
Shopping, Seduction & Mr. Selfridge is an ode to recreational shopping as well as a profile of a dreamer whose reach finally exceeded his grasp. Harry Selfridge is the kind of man usually called "larger than life"; in this case, the story justifies that description for better and for worse. If you're at all interested in the roots of modern mass consumerism or simply want to watch an essentially good man's virtues drive him to self-destruction, you could do way worse than this book.