Blackout! An Overly Dramatic Retelling

The incessant whirring of rechargeable flashlights will forever sound like the beginning of the apocalypse to me. Anna and Liz were in the Giftsmith when the blackout hit, and Anna immediately went to a display and grabbed rechargeable flashlights in the shape of ducks, tigers, and owls.* They gathered an armful and looked for their compatriots, distributing animals at will, issuing the instruction of 'Keep squeezing!'

Customers fled (and by fled I mean a few of them kind of hung out and kept browsing, using their phones as flashlights). Ric, the ever glorious Ric, kept things calm. He and Liz directed traffic and cleared the store in no time. I was downstairs putting everything away after a really great event with Box Brown, and as the store plunged into darkness I thanked Box, wherever he was (upstairs, actually), for having a shorter presentation. If it were ten or so minutes longer we would have been plunged into darkness together, reaching out to hold onto the closest Andre the Giant fan or comics aficionado until the emergency lights came on.

After the store was cleared, we stood around the registers, rechargeable flashlights whirring. Sandra's rechargeable flashlight was a tiger, the best animal out of the three. Katie was briefly locked out as she was changing the event board outside. I realized I had lost my key, which set me off on a long journey of sadness and whirring, culminating in Katie finding my key because she knows the event space like the back of her hand, and because she was no longer stranded on the sidewalks of Brookline.

We banded together. We used our animal flashlights to illuminate the manager's binder with instructions for what to do during a blackout. Liz called NStar and had the proud title of being 'the first to report an outage.' We made a whirring train of light into the Booksmith back rooms, we checked plugs, turned lights off, and Ric briefly scared everyone by claiming someone was still huddled in a corner of the UBC. 

We survived. The store is open today, shiny, bright, and fully operational, to the point where I could film this handy instructional video starring Anna:

*We actually have easily accessible flashlights, but Anna was shrouded in darkness and could only focus on the rechargeables. I think the blackout was made better for it, and now several booksellers can answer the question, "Do you sell flashlights?" 

Common Bookseller Thoughts

Hullo!

Three kids books I'm excited we got in:
1. Timmy Failure: Now Look What You've Done by Stephan Pastis
I love Timmy Failure. It never fails to make me laugh and these books have some of my favorite opening paragraphs of all time.

2. Faking Normal by Courtney Stevens
I've heard such wonderful things in the lead up to this book's release. I'm thrilled it's finally here for me to read. I can't wait to have her here on the 24th.

3. Coyote Run by Gaetan Doremus
After his delightful Bear Despire I was excited to see a new picture book by Doremus. Off beat and a little bit weird this one has enemies throwing down their weapons to sit around the fire. Later they are saved by swarms of ladybugs.

Shoshana and I switched weeks so you get me two weeks in a row. To avoid overpowering anyone with my rambles I'm doing something a little different.

I'm sure you've seen one of our booksellers standing in the middle of the store with a really confused look on their face. Or maybe not confused maybe just thoughtful or distracted. Perhaps you have spent hours wondering 'What could they possibly be thinking about?'

If you don't tell anyone (except for the whole of the internet) I'll give you some insight into the bookseller brain. I've compiled a handy list of common bookseller thoughts.


Are we looking at a shelf with a furrowed brow? We might be thinking one of the following:

- 'G'...'G'... I know the alphabet I swear.'
- 'Do I have another copy of that?'
- 'I need more authors to have last names beginning with 'F.'
- 'Am I missing a display copy?'
- *groan* 'Did we just sell the last copy?'
- 'I still need to buy that book.'


Do we look somewhat confused and distracted? Perhaps we're pondering one of these:

- 'Do I have time to get coffee?'
- 'Where did I put my coffee?'
- 'Wait...did I have a stack of books in my hand?'
- 'I was just...'
- 'What was that page? Was that my name?'



Are we a little bit frantic? It might be one of these:
- 'What was that sound?'
- 'I definitely think that was my name!'
- 'Oh no, I'm supposed to be on register!'
- 'Phone's ringing! Phone's ringing!'


That isn't to say that I can speak for everyone. We're different people we have different concerns. So, maybe this should be 'Common Amy Bookselling Thoughts.' Regardless, insight is always a good thing.

-Amy

Out-of-Town Booksellers

In a week, an old co-worker of mine will be visiting Boston for the first time.  I first met her when she was seventeen and still settling on her combination between sweet and surly, and even though her name is Krysten I found it prudent and appropriate to attach the 'baby' bit and affectionately call her Baby Krysten, or BK for short. We worked together at another indie bookstore, and as much as I'm looking forward to seeing her face, I'm also interested to see what she thinks of the Booksmith.

Watching booksellers move around a bookstore they're visiting is fascinating.  They walk in, searching the shelves for the section that is their specialty.  They peruse the shelf with a critical eye, murmuring, "I've read that, it was really good," "I loved that one!" and "Avoid." They'll engage you in discussion, asking about particular shelving details and examining the shelf-talkers, roaming the store to see how everything flows and what sections are put together.  Booksellers, having experienced repeated section moves and have the muscles and eye rolling to prove it, understand the entire process behind putting particular sections together and are interested in why science and sports are near one another.  Spend 30 minutes with a touring bookseller (it's impossible to spend less than thirty minutes with one, inevitably the conversation will stretch and you will be loathe to return to the job at hand) and the two of you will have doubly long to-read lists and a burning desire to visit more bookstores. 

I hope she'll like visiting the Booksmith.  I hope she'll like walking around Boston, taking the T, and seeing what the city has to offer.  I also hope she won't mind when I go into frantic Mom-mode by repeatedly asking her if she's wearing enough layers.

Can't wait to see you, BK. 

Customer Assistance: A Poem

(written for last week's Booksmith Staff Talent Show)

Our schedule has thirty names upon it.

The regulars may know us all by face.

But here's a bit of customer assistance

in telling who is who around the place.

Well, Dana runs the show; she's there surveying

the details from her elevated perch.

And Lisa's our Premier of Product Placement,

the maven of the movement of the merch.

There's Peter wading through receipts and errors.

He brings us bags of bagels anyway.

The galleys in our cubbies come from Alie.

We swear we'll get through all of them someday.

When something breaks, it's time to call on Bruno.

His day is full, for furniture is fickle.

Call Daniel for a detailed book suggestion,

a thorough search, or yummy homemade pickle.

The Shire's tallest honorary hobbit

is Erik, always noting and observing.

And Jamie plans events and tweets and tumbles.

Her skills at multi-tasking are unnerving.

In rain or shine, there's Jon receiving boxes

of nearly every book that's introduced.

And Jodie travels 'round the lonely planet

with Waldo and with expertise in Proust.

And holy crime in Italy, our Kobos
would languish if we lacked the help of Kat.
And Katie runs the blog, designs our flyers,
and works on many stuffs on top of that.
When music decades-old is on the speakers,
then Liz is here, and Waltham feels her lack.
There's Lydia; she's dreaming of a kitty
and shelving with a zipper down her back.
The chocolate and the books from smaller presses
and lots of music knowledge come from Mark.
Paul quotes his witty children and informs them
of how to read a C.S. Lewis arc.
At closing or when helping with receiving,
Ric's known for being chill and easy-going.
And likewise, Russ, with saintly stores of patience
keeps often-very-special orders flowing.
There's literary Shuchi, known for Grub Street
and elephants, which populate her book.
And hey, I'll take some pity on the new guy,
so Tom, this time, at least, you're off the hook.

Now, Amy loves YA, and blogs, and magic
and drawing awesome figures out of sticks.
And biased though I am, I think our section's
the best within this mortar and these bricks.
Clarissa joined us recently and added
her energy and voice into the mix.

The UBC is quietly kept humming
by Carl in his uniform of plaid.
Natasha's love of fairy tales is deathless,
so check her chapbooks out - they're crazy rad.

The C and G has windups, earrings, candles
and stuff of every nature that appeals.
It's Kerri who decides on every item.
She gets it right, and does it all in heels!
And Bacon sizzles, belting '80s music.
Her workload gives us all the heebie-jeebies.
A stranger in a wig? Well, that, most likely,
is Julia, creator of the chibis.
There's no one aging quickly at the Booksmith.
We're all kept young by sweet and youthful Tate.
And Joe's returned to find a store of changes
and help a most creative team create.

Well, that's the team in-store. As you can witness,
the group is vibrant, active, and alive.
So how come I don't hear a page of "got it"
for customer assistance to Reg 5?

Drinking with Booksellers

A few weeks ago, I had an after-work drink with some booksellers.  We had just spent eight hours in the same space, and by the time we got to the bar we were aimlessly chatting about inclement weather.  To distract ourselves from obsessively staring at the kitchen doors while waiting for our fries and beverages, I asked a question. "If you had to enter into a relationship with a literary character, who would it be?"

We paused, looked at each other for a bit, and jumped in. (Answers: Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice, George Emerson from A Room With A View, Behemoth from The Master and Margarita)

"If you had to choose two literary characters or authors to be your parents, who would they be?" (Answers: Atticus Finch  + the ever glorious Ric, closing manager and poet extraordinaire, Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Weasley, Moominmamma and Kurt Vonnegut)

"If you had to have an unhappy marriage with a literary character and had to stay together for the kids, the dog and because your mother really liked him, who would it be?" (Answers: Lord Byron, Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre, Ivan Karamazov from The Brothers Karamazov, Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice)

"If you had to get a character's name tattooed on your body, who would it be?" (Answers: Bartleby, Mr.---, Seymour Glass's name surrounded by a piece of broken glass cutting a bananafish)

This is how we solve our problems. Not really.

"Stick with me here, okay?  Remember the literary character you wanted to have a relationship with?  Imagine you looked at their bedside table, and there was a well-worn book on it that you hated so much that it would make you break up with them.  What book would it be?" (Answers: The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Eat Pray Love, Modelland, Anthem I've been corrected: Atlas Shrugged)

"If you had go on an Arctic exploration with one author and one literary character, and one of you had to be killed in a bout of hypothermia-induced insanity, who would you go with and who would kill whom?" (Answers: I refuse to reveal the answers to this question, but the best one invoked the Star Wars tauntaun/Bear Grylls and a deer situation, if you catch my drift)

First of all, we found out that we know an awful lot about books. There are some books that people virulently, virulently hate, and some characters we obsessively, obsessively love.  There were arguments, the construction of parameters, literary allusions, answers we swore we would never repeat, and a glove was thrown to the ground.  It got really intense, but it was fantastic.

In a little less than two weeks, Rosie Schaap will be here for her new book, Drinking With Men.  After the traditional author event at the Booksmith, we're having a Literary Epilogue, where you grab a drink after an event and hang out with the author. We'll head over to Hops 'N' Scotch to have a drink.  Each purchase of the book comes with a drink ticket, and you'll have the opportunity to hang out with people who like the same book you do. Maybe you'll get into a literary argument over how you and your friend like/dislike An Unbearable Lightness of Being and are suddenly unsure if you are supposed to be friends even though you are really really good friends but what does it mean that they love it and you hate it, or maybe you'll have a good time. I sincerely hope it will be the latter.

Alone

"What did you do at school today, Jack?"

"Nothing." Grins.

"...yeah? Nothing, really?"

"I just stared at the wall."

Which of course isn't true, it's a joke that his mom playfully uttered one day when he was stonewalling her, and he's a born comedian so he picked up on it immediately.

I watch him through the open door of the preschool, and he's calling out letters and numbers, stretching to touch his toes with the best of them, shuffling along in line with his eyes on his feet on their way back from the playground. He does stuff. He can't fool me. But, as his teacher assures us is natural for kids this age, he doesn't enjoy volunteering information about stuff that happened when we weren't there.

Maybe that's the key: we weren't there. He shares stories with me about something that happened when he was with Jess. And vice versa. But when neither of us are there...is that perhaps sacred ground? Or is it too real, too personal, to be offered up without a fight? Or is it maybe unreal? A parent is always part of the context, is always there blocking or reflecting light, up to a certain moment. Then suddenly they are not there. For the first time. What does something that happens mean to a child when their parent isn't there? It must take a while to understand events when that context is removed; when all you have is yourself. And then it must take a while before you can really know how to open those experiences up again for mom and dad to share.


I think about writers, about painters, about actors. All of them, all of us, must have had that moment, must have undergone that change, when understanding that our experiences are entirely different when nobody that knows us is around to share them. Other people being in our presence changes the way we experience things. It's why we read by ourselves, and it's why we perhaps join a club to discuss what we've read. We're getting a dim flicker of the warmth that we felt when we read books together with mom and dad.

And then I think about books in the future, if, as many say, the paper book is not long for this world. And how it may be that someday soon we will all be able to download any book in the world onto the screen in our palm, from the solitude of our own home. And I wonder how that will change our understanding of each other. And of what we experience. And will we curl up and get in dad's lap and download Dr. Seuss and he'll leap off the screen and start talking to us and the walls of the room will sprout floppy trees and I say, no Dad, not this one, we did this one last night, and when I look up at his face to tell him I don't want this one tonight, I want the ocean one, he looks like Sam I Am but that doesn't scare me, in the books he never looks like dad unless I want him to.

How will I know what it is to be alone, then?

What do you think reading will be like in a hundred years?

I'm still at the register.

I'm not complaining, just making a general observation. A fella came in to see if we sold Kindle cases. I bought some facial toner. I ate some crackers...so that was a lot of excitement. In a few minutes I'm going to drag what's left of me to the front register and handle some books, interact with some cool people. After two hours I will walk 2 miles home and read some poetry by Nick Flynn. http://www.brooklinebooksmith-shop.com/search/apachesolr_search/nick+flynn+some+ether. I will probably watch a psychological horror movie with my fella, and eat leftover something. I will have a small glass of some type of Korean rice vodka that was a lovely gift from a family friend. I will pet my cat; remember childhood knee injuries, forget to call my grandparents, regret eating those crackers, wash my face, floss (maybe), crawl into bed and read more Per Petterson. http://images.indiebound.com/835/343/9780312343835.jpg

Reading is a safe telenovella... Engaged escapism... Associative dissociation.

Booksellers at the Mic - 9/24/2010

Working backwards,
Ric's wiry words crunched my crowns
and Unrequited bought my breath,
for the length of the poem I was me of evening rehearsals half asleep classes and timing my passage between so that we could be face to face, just for seven steps. I don't remember where her locker was but I remember her profile, chin up brow down, unnecessary tiptoes as she reached for the top.

Emily's spelling bee socks and her bold-on-the-inside girl with a master plan that makes no sense but will probably work if we can only get the rest of the story, you gotta give us the rest of the story, you know I won the school spelling bee two years running. Can't spell arugala.

Kate kills can you tell when you want to laugh, or is that your throat closing up, which is it, don't let on. The silence that is born out of each poem is correct, neighbors not knowing if something is expected of them. Don't let them off the hook, just say the words with your laughter and rage tongueing the air that delivers them.

Eric took the big names and whipped them around the room so we all could take a swipe from our seats, and they swirled for a moment before coming to rest in a three part harmony of kisses first last and promised.

Shoshanna took us up and set out to reframe and turn around, and her day will taste of Smarties while it waits for chocolate, and no question is really quite answered, even when you ask it twice, right? And friends with bad breath are still friends.

Evan's dream was ghostly and lyric, memories flowing mercurial through phone lines and "waist high libraries", wonderful idea, I imagined snow and sadness while he measured his breath a stately pace, planting each word footfall by footfall.



I don't want to sit here and write, but that is what I'll do. This is the juice that should be flowing in the studio, with paper and scissors and a big tray of paint on the floor before a sheet of wood leaning against the wall, where I'll remember my friends tonight, and what it takes for each of them to get up and open up their mouths so the deep down can be heard.
I hope I feel this good when I get home tonight, so I can pour a cup of this juice, mix it up with what I've got and make a cocktail that burns, so I can sing in fire and color.