For 50 years, Lemuria Bookstore has been more than a place to buy books. It has been a refuge, a cultural cornerstone, and perhaps most importantly a reflection of its founder, John Evans.
“Well, if you’re gonna do something, you might as well go for it,” Evans said, reflecting on the leap he took in 1975.
That simple philosophy, equal parts risk and resolve, became the foundation for one of Mississippi’s most beloved independent bookstores.
In the mid-1970s, Jackson looked very different. Metrocenter hadn’t opened. Chain bookstores hadn’t yet arrived. And for Evans, a recent Ole Miss graduate with a general business degree and a love for reading, something was missing.
“Everywhere I traveled, I went to bookstores,” he said. “And I found books that you couldn’t find in Jackson. I felt like there had to be other people looking for harder-to-find books than commercial rooms.”
So, he built the place he wished already existed.
Lemuria opened in 1975, born not from expertise but instinct. But that year marked more than just the start of a business, it was the beginning of his family, too.
Evans met his wife, Mel, while living in Belhaven. Within a year, they were married. In that same year, he opened the bookstore.
“I decided I better go to work,” he said with a laugh.
Launching a marriage and a business at the same time, Evans stepped into both with the same mix of optimism and uncertainty.
“I was too naive and stupid to be scared,” he said. “You go into something completely naive; you’re just motivated behind dreaming a desire.”
That desire came with a cost. After the first 90 days, Evans was waiting tables and tending bar at Poet’s just to keep the doors open.
“From the time I woke up to the time I went to sleep, I poured my whole life into it.”
The name itself often sparks curiosity and for Evans, it reflects the store’s original spirit.
“I was very much interested in metaphysical books, psychology books, creativity, the counterculture of Middle America,” he said. “Lemuria was a mythic civilization, people transferred thoughts through books, symbols, and music.”
It was an ambitious vision: a bookstore not just for mainstream titles, but for ideas, exploration, and discovery.
From its early days in the Quarter to Highland Village and eventually its current location in Banner Hall, Lemuria evolved out of necessity.
“Space,” Evans said simply.
But behind that was strategy. As chain stores expanded in the 1980s and ’90s, he saw what was coming.
“I knew the box stores were coming,” he said. “The only way to compete was to get big enough to have more sections that were complete. We couldn’t have as many books, but we could have better sections.”
When Lemuria moved into Banner Hall, Evans wasn’t just thinking about size, he was thinking about respect.
In the earlier store, author signings were intimate, but sometimes too much so. Crowds would gather tightly, pressing in from all sides. At times, people would even come up behind Eudora Welty as she signed books.
For Evans, that moment stuck.
There was something about it that didn’t sit right, not for a writer of her stature, not for the quiet, personal act of signing a book.
So when he began designing the new space, he made a decision that it would be different.
He thought about places that felt both open and intentional. One of them was Crechale’s Restaurant, where the layout allowed you to see the room, to feel part of it, without being crowded.
He wanted that same feeling at Lemuria.
In Banner Hall, the signing space was built so authors could sit facing the store, where they were more visible, grounded, and given room. Readers could approach, connect, and share a moment, but with a sense of order and care.
It wasn’t just about logistics. It was about honoring the exchange between writer and reader.
That philosophy, thoughtful, intentional, human, became part of Lemuria’s edge.
Even as Amazon and big-box retailers reshaped the industry, Evans stayed focused on something they couldn’t replicate.
“Focusing on value rather than price,” he said. “We couldn’t sell books for less, but we could add value.”
Lemuria didn’t just sell books, it brought authors to Mississippi.
Evans began writing letters to writers he admired, inviting them to Jackson.
“If I read their books and liked them, I’d just write them. ‘I’m a bookseller down in Jackson, Mississippi, if you’d like to come visit, you’re welcome.’”
It took time. Years, sometimes. But eventually, they came.
From Walker Percy to Barry Hannah, Elmore Leonard to Jim Harrison, Lemuria became a destination.
One moment still stands out.
“We got to open Jim Harrison’s book nationally, seven days after we moved over here to Banner Hall,” Evans said. “I think I was more excited than anybody.”
Those events, once attended by 20 or 30 people, helped shape Jackson’s literary identity.
“A bookstore’s mission is to contribute to its culture in every way it can figure out,” he said.
Few industries have changed as dramatically as bookselling. Evans has weathered them all including chains, computers, the internet, e-readers.
When Books-A-Million arrived in the early ’90s, it forced a reckoning.
“I realized anyone over there could look something up on a computer and give better customer service than I could with my brain,” he said. “It was time for us to get computers.”
Later came websites, email lists, and e-commerce, tools that ultimately helped Lemuria survive even the upheaval of covid.
“If we hadn’t done the website, we wouldn’t have had the web business,” he said.
Even the rise of the Kindle didn’t shake his confidence.
“Here is the greatest thing for us to draw the line as to who we are,” he said. “Real books from a real bookstore.”
Walk into Lemuria today, and the feeling is intentional.
“Relaxation,” Evans said. “There are a lot of people who can’t relax and this is a place where you can.”
That sense of belonging has created generations of readers.
“I love seeing three generations at the same time,” he said. “Grandparents, parents, grandchildren, that really makes me smile.”
The store is, in many ways, a living conversation.
“You’re learning from your customers as much as you’re sharing with them,” he said. “That’s one of the real differences about selling books.”
For Evans, the store has never just been a job.
“If you’re in small business, you really just about have to live it,” he said.
That life extended to his family. His son, who grew up working in the store, is now an entrepreneur and co-owner of Cathead Distillery in Jackson. His daughter, based in Charleston, South Carolina, has followed a creative path of her own, opening an art gallery and later a vegan restaurant.
“They grew up with the idea of entrepreneurship,” Evans said.
There were sacrifices such as long hours and constant uncertainty, but there were also deep rewards.
“Friendship,” he said when asked what he’s most proud of. “Friends with writers. Friends with readers.”
Reading itself has been his anchor.
“It was my quiet time,” he said. “I enjoy knowing about so many different kinds of things.”
His personal tastes reflect the kind of reader and bookseller he has always been. While he hesitates to name a single favorite, he points to The Old Man and the Sea as one he loves, and counts Ernest Hemingway among the authors he most admires.
He also has a deep appreciation for crime fiction, especially writers like Raymond Chandler and Ross Macdonald.
“I love the language,” he said. “The hard-boiled style, the directness.”
At 50 years, Lemuria stands as one of the last independent bookstores of its kind in the region, a survivor in a landscape that has seen many others fade.
Now, Evans is thinking about the future.
“I want to be smart enough so the bookstore doesn’t run out of gas when I run out of gas,” he said.
He hopes to step back gradually, allowing younger staff to shape what comes next.
“It’s only fair to let them expand.”
To mark its 50th year, Lemuria is celebrating with a full day of events on April 11, true to its spirit of community and creativity.
The store will close for the day as festivities move to Cathead Distillery’s green space, featuring children’s readings, live music, and appearances by writers. The evening will culminate in a “soul blues throwdown,” bringing together musicians and the broader creative community.
“It’s a festival,” Evans said. “I call it a Dixie picnic.”
When asked if he ever imagined reaching this milestone, Evans doesn’t hesitate.
“No.”
There was no grand 50-year plan but if the walls could talk?
Evans laughs. “They’d say, ‘He’s crazy.’”
