Northwesterners tend to spend a lot of time wondering what it is to be a Northwesterner. In fact, that may be the most Northwesty trait of all. (Do you want to know what it is to be a New Yorker? Fuck you. That's what it is to be a New Yorker.) And so the few dozen people who gathered last Thursday at the Fireside Room in the Sorrento Hotel could have been taking part in the most Northwestern evening that's happened in Seattle for quite a while: a reading for several small-press titles that concluded with a long discussion about our immediate geography.

The event was a launch for a new bookstore in the Sorrento called 12 Books that only carries 12 books at a time. These books, which patrons of the Sorrento can order like room service, are displayed on a small table in the lobby, and the lineup will change with the seasons. Many of the titles are from Matthew Stadler's new line of books, Publication Studio, which Stadler explained was designed to be immediate and light on its feet. At the beginning of the evening, 12 Books founder Michael Hebb announced his intent with the bookstore and the ongoing Night School seminars at the Sorrento was nothing less than "the revival of literary culture."

After announcing that books were irrelevant and explaining that he didn't mind being irrelevant because relevancy is overrated, Bruce Benderson read from his Northwest-skewering new novel Pacific Agony (my review is here). Matt Briggs read from Shoot the Buffalo (originally published by Stadler's previous effort, Clear Cut Press), a novel that was out of print until Publication Studio rescued it from limbo. Both readings ran a bit long, but the crowd, warm from whiskey drinks, remained appreciative, especially when Long Winters frontman John Roderick played two beautiful songs and read from Electric Aphorisms, his collection of Twitter posts.

The conversation about regionalism at the end of the night was brainy, dense, and also slightly overlong. The back-and-forth between East Coaster Benderson and Roderick about the difference between friendliness and intimacy was occasionally leavened by a very drunk heckler in the corner, who shouted, "Are you trying to say that Northwesterners are douchebags?" Roderick, a confident performer, implied that there was only one douchebag in the room. This was later confirmed when the heckler bellowed, "Hey, guys! The asshole over here is saying bullshit!"

The question at the end of the evening: Was literature revived? It was a good start. If Stadler continues with his nimble publishing endeavor and if Hebb stays focused on his efforts at the Sorrento (he's been known to abandon projects before), then the two men have a shot at changing the face of literature in the Northwest. Which is, of course, the only literature that matters to true Northwesterners.