Graphica grows!

Just when you thought you had the kids' section figured out, we've changed it on you again. Slightly.

The graphic novel fans among you may recall the little bookcase that until recently held our Kids' Graphica section. Well, Kids' Graphica isn't so little anymore. Just in the past two months, we've had a number of new graphic novel releases that made it clear we need space to show off these books' covers. Our young customers have snapped up two new Big Nate books, a new Amulet book, Raina Telgemeier's Drama, and others. Now, thanks(!) to the help of several intrepid shelf-shifters, Kids' Graphica inhabits a much larger bookcase directly across from the Picture Book section. Besides letting us bring huge quantities of books out of overstock and onto the shelves, the change means that the oft-requested Tintin series is back in the kids' section.

In many ways, graphica works as a great equalizer. Lots of readers, many of them also avid readers of prose novels, love them for the adventure or the humor they offer, or in some cases, for their new ways of looking at familiar stories (did you know there's a graphic version of A Wrinkle in Time coming out this week?). But graphic novels don't really have reading levels, since so much of the "reading" comes from understanding the pictures. Got a reader who's learning English, or whose comprehension skills are ahead of his or her decoding skills? Graphic novels are a great way to practice and enjoy reading, and because the pictures are there no matter how old the intended readers are (most of these books have a really wide range), a sixth grader won't get stuck reading a book intended for, say, second graders.

The Odyssey in gorgeous watercolor. A troll-fighting 11-year-old Orthodox Jewish girl in Hereville: How Mirka Got Her Sword. The entire Bone series. Get in here.

SCARVES: a blog post.

Sorry to consistently pad my blog posts with nostalgia from my childhood (just clawing at my eyeballs for that emmy nod, dudes) but I kind of don't know how else to write a blog post. My life is kind of like a psychadelic drudgery, if you can imagine that. I work a lot, it's wet and grey out, and nothing makes sense. Emotions and urges kind of float around in the ether and I pluck at them at random. I bought a pair of earrings today because they matched my outfit. Like that's a thing I can afford? Nope. Wrong. I ate popcorn for dinner last night. I basically just arrange greeting cards and watch the clock run out on the grace period on my student loans, cultivating unrequited longings and pointedly not going to the gym.

Oh my god I'm so sorry, am I OVERWHELMING YOU WITH A NAMELESS DREAD?! Sorry sorry sorry. That happens sometimes. Moving on.

WHEN I WAS A KID I didn't really adhere to a collecting mentality. The idea of collecting things just for the hell or it wasn't something that interested me, possibly due to a complete aversion to anything remotely competitive that I honed early on in life. Beany babies, trading cards, GI Joes, countless childhood fads passed me by and while I participated, I didn't really feel the same wild fervor that a few choice other kids did. Unknowingly, I just let the tide of all these one hit wonders collect and abate on my tiny, undeveloped brain.

Despite all that, a collection snuck up on me when I wasn't paying attention, and it's one I can't really quantify or explain. I think it probably has something to do with my maternal grandmother. I have two grandmothers, as one must, at least on paper anyway, and while they are not entirely unalike they don't share many similarities, in appearance especially. My father's mother enjoys a style that has a purpose; a lot of sweaters, slacks, a lot of black and khaki. Fancy shoes abandoned long ago for an all-purpose, all-black men's sneaker (genius, in my opinion, and I can't wait till they call my number on that matter) which cushions and supports just right.

My Mom's Mom, however, is a much fancier lady. If anybody can be described as "swanning" about, it's my maternal grandmother. She tends to swan about wearing billowing, sheer floral blouses, tens of gold bangles on her thin wrists that glitter and clack as she gesticulates or opens a tin of cat food. She has forever wound her grey hair into a foot-high bouffant on top of her head, and we spot her that way, in supermarkets and malls, a soft grey thumb bobbing away from us in the distance.

It's those blouses that caught my attention; like paper, water; I'm finding it hard to explain them without using the word "silky", which is odd, using a word to describe itself, since some of them where at least part silk or meant to look like it, at any rate. Fabric that floated, made itself seem precious or important in some way, probably just in its utter uselessness. Scarves have a very small section of use, and even then, purpose is relegated to warmth, which completely negates the existence of the sheer. Light summer scarves, sheer scarves; there's no place for them in reason, they hover just outside of utility but are firmly grounded in the decorative.



The lovely and fragrant Helena

I took to collecting scarves without realizing I was doing it, I just started wanting them. I kept them in a hinged basket and then later, an additional faux suitcase and then later, an additional plastic bin. I never wore them, I would play with some of them but for the most part they where just there to be had, and touched and appreciated, but never used for anything. Occasionally, on Halloween especially, they would come in spectacularly handy, and I would think yes, why doesn't everyone have a scarf collection, it makes total sense. When I grew up, the scarves went away for a little while, but once I began to create a style for myself I brought them out again. I wear scarves I've had for decades, holding on to them for a reason I was never quite sure of. I am somewhat known around the store for buying scarves before they even hit the floor and have a chance to be sold organically.



Cheeseball's Anonymous



Sometimes we all have to step into the decorative circle, or else we go banana pants and start stockpiling for the apocalypse. So I will see you there, Brookline. Come check out our newest scarf shipment in the card and gift room. I've already bought three. I'm not even joking. You have to get here before I buy all the good ones. As this autumn creeps into our beds and our lungs and our hearts, so much becomes about necessity. Boots for the rain and snow, heavy coats, thick scarves, hats, gloves. No more bicycles or straw summer hats, just fleece and four wheel drive and Halls mentholated. If you need to stop in and get yourself something a little precious, a little floaty, and a little sheer? I promise not to tell. Oh my god just kidding, you know I'll tell everyone, but who cares?

Pretty Things

Just some basic snaps of real pretty things that came in the UBC this week:

Love this cover of Muriel Spark's Memento Mori:

A beautiful book of poetry and Tibetan calligraphy that my picture can't do justice. Come in a take a look:

I don't know why but I want to live inside the cottage on this cover of Wordsworth poems:

And finally, the woman who once owned and collected these fine Modern Library editions we acquired sure had immaculate handwriting, it almost looks like its own brand of calligraphy:

Come get lost in your own aesthetic reverie in the basement with me. Carl's on vacation so there's no classic rock playing. 

But seriously, Carl, come back.

The Electoral College. Before High School.

So I don't know if you've missed this minor news item, but there's an election coming up pretty soon here in the U.S. Caucuses, conventions, debates, debacles, balloon launches, accusations of buffoonery... it's a lot to keep straight. But if there's someone in your life who's not old enough to vote yet, but who is old enough to wonder what on earth everyone's talking about, we've got a few books to help you explain things.

See How They Run: Campaign Dreams, Election Schemes, and the Race to the White House takes a cartoonish approach, but the light tone doesn't mean it's light on information. Starting with the Ancient Greek origins of democracy, it takes readers right up to the present and delivers plenty of vocabulary and honest, age-appropriate information about the contention that occasionally accompanies elections. Similarly, Where Do Presidents Come From?: And Other Presidential Stuff of Super-Great Importance uses the graphic format to explore lots of aspects of choosing--and being-- a president. The Election Book: The People Pick a President does the same, but in a more traditional prose form.

If you like a little fiction with your facts, there's The Kid Who Ran for President and (spoiler alert) The Kid Who Became President. There's also Bad Kitty for President, because who can resist "the purrrfect candidate?" (It says that on the cover. You can't blame me for this one.)
That's just a few of the election-related books for kids that we have on display. Come in to find more!

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For Those Who Devour Books

  

As Zoe mentioned a couple of weeks ago, I'm new to the Booksmith. Hi there Brookline! You're a lovely bunch!

Pros of this new job: There are books. Everywhere. And people who love books. And some people who don't ordinarily love people but who, through that particular alchemy of tacit bibliophilia and a slow Sunday afternoon, agree to share the planet and maybe even a coffee + scone.

But! Cons: I'm gaining weight. Why the heck am I gaining weight?

Fancy-pants logicians might draw conclusions. They might point to the industrious yet generous bakers and gardeners among my new colleagues. They might mention the creperie across the street, the pizza joint on the corner or any one of the numerous little cafes which prove so irresistible on lunch-breaks. They might question the wisdom of a staff candy-jar. But you know? I blame the books. 

(Image courtesy of We Know Books )

(Image courtesy of Design Mom: Book of the Week)

Consider: who among us doesn't hunger for literature? Whether you voraciously consume your latest Booksmith purchases or savor them, page by delicious page, you're in good company here. Take, for example, Oliver Jeffers' The Incredible Book-Eating Boy (above) which I recently found in our Children's section. It's the story of Henry, a young boy who develops a literal taste for books (red ones are his favorite).

(Images courtesy of Creative Review)

 Elsewhere in the genre of Books With Symbolically Significant Bite Marks is the aptly titled Eat Me: Appetite for Design. I'm crazy for this book, you guys - not just because its wafer-textured cover and creamy two-toned pages remind me of a layer-cake. It's a compilation of projects by modern artists and design firms who draw inspiration from food. When both form and content make you salivate, you clearly have a winner.

(Image courtesy of Playing with Flour)

 All this is to say nothing of the cookbooks, about which I could go on for pages. But to continue in the vein of really lovely design, I'll leave you with a gem that recently caught my eye. Any pastry aficionado will be familiar with Ladurée, the ultra-luxurious Parisian pâtisserie and purveyor of the quintessential macaron. This cookbook, daintily packaged to resemble a box of the bakery's infamous confections, holds in its gilt pages what I can only assume are the best-kept secrets of the cut-throat meringue and creme industry. Buy it for the Francophile in your life and save it from my clutches - my bookshelf and I are going on a diet.

Autumn Reads

©artist Robert The; www.bookdust.com

It's that time, dear Reader. I shook my head and ignored it when I saw pumpkin beers infiltrating the market, and on my birthday a week ago when I had to bring a sweater, but the death knell came this week when two important things happened:

1) My craving for a pumpkin smoothie won out at the end of a long shift, and
2) When I got a hankering to read Virginia Woolf.

Typically, Orlando is my favorite, and reading Woolf in autumn started with Mrs. Dalloway, but this year I was thinking of that scene with the deer head and the veil when I saw about the 800th horned-animal accessory (so hot right now) in a row. Sometimes, kids, you just have to surrender to what the universe is telling you to read. I just finally got caught up on Mad Men, and some lines that stuck with me might be subconsciously pushing me to pay attention to Lily Briscoe this time around. Who knows?!

Other Booksmithereens have similar seasonal traditions. Bonnie in the C&G reads Raymond Carver as the trees die. And other friends, my bestie Katia for one, reads Oscar Wilde.

How about you? Any big autumnal reading plans? If not, stop by and get inspired! Or if you're soured on reading, get inspired by Robert The's super-cool book sculptures, then come in and buy cheap $1 to hack up. Autumn is the perfect, contemplative weather for crafting beside a cup of tea.

Tattoos, (or) The Death Knell in my Modeling Career (and it was going so well, too)

Last wednesday, between going to the dentist and trying my hand at making gimlets (wooooooo gimlets!  Glass of gin and some syrup, wooo!) a coworker (whom we will now refer to as Princess Bubbblegum) and I stopped by Regeneration Tattoo in Allston, MA. Up until recently I have lived within a 10 mile radius of Regeneration for 4 years, but never went in. I have two tattoos: a small bird on my arm that I got the minute I turned 18, and a bicycle wheel on my lower left leg that I forget about every winter. The bike wheel had been done in Maine, and many moons ago I got the little bird inked onto me in a small room at Chameleon, in Harvard Square.

When you get a tattoo, the first thing everyone wants to know is 1. Did it hurt, and 2. what is its significance? And while answering these questions again and again might get annoying, its easy to see why people want to know. I, too, ask the questions of other tattoo-havers, because choosing to alter your body permanently usually has a good story attached to it. The little bird I got mostly because I was 18 and I wanted to get something I drew myself; it's a silhouette really, its very simple and kind of abstract, a lot of people don't know what it is. Looking back on it, while I don't dislike the tattoo, I might have advised a younger me to get something else. Now, the tattoo just reminds me of being 18, and now, almost 6 years later, the little bird is very much just part of my body. If I dislike it, it's the same level of dislike I might have about a freckle, or my body proportions. It just is there, it's been there for a while now, it's not going away.

The bicycle wheel has a more subtle sentiment to it. Bicycle building used to be a hobby of my Dad's, and I felt it was the first thing we really bonded over. For a while at the end of high school and the first two years of college, I was really into riding bikes, especially since I lived in the city and I didn't have a license. I got the wheel as sort of a tribute to that connection with my Dad. Also, the picture I got the wheel from is a picture of one of the Duchamp "Readymades", and while I'm not a huge Duchamp fan, I felt that getting this picture of the readymades would be a good testament to my art school background, a sort of tongue-in-cheek nod to my art school dropout status, which is also permanent, unless I went back to art school (shudder).

A month prior to Wednesday, Princess Bubblegum and I had taken a rough draft of an idea we both wanted tattoos of to Cathy at Regeneration. Cathy worked her magic, took a rough idea and made it into something amazing, and a month later, here I am, wearing  it permanently etched into my skin.

I hadn't been tattooed in a while; it's been at least 2 years since I had the bicycle wheel done. I found the experience to be far more enlightening than I remember. I lay down under Cathy's needle and breathed my way through the initial pain until my adrenaline kicked in and the process was merely uncomfortable. Suddenly, I felt all the trouble of my life begin to fade away. I knew, with distinct certainty, what to do about all the little twitchy matters that have been haunting me these past few months. I came off of that table with a clear mind; it felt like I had been doing yoga for hours, but instead I just got jabbed repeatedly with a needle - and now I have this nifty souvenir.

Tattoo culture has changed from when I was a kid, and drastically from when my parents were kids. Lena Dunham, creator of controversial HBO series "GIRLS" and well-documented haver of tattoos, has written some of her real tattoo experiences into her character on the show. Hannah, Dunham's character, mentions that she got her tattoos in high school after gaining a lot of weight really fast and wanting to feel in control of her own body. I cannot claim what level of truth this quote reflects in regard to Dunham's personal experience, but I think for a lot of women, its sentiment rings true.

For me, tattoos are a way of reclaiming and reconnecting with my body. As an average female adult, my body and the rights it has access to are often up for debate, but having a personal connection to one's husk means more than just fighting the system from a political stance. Women from all over the world live in a media culture that urges us to manipulate our bodies, that places arbitrary values on the shape and size of our physicality. Women are taught to take up less space, to be diminutive, silent, and passive. Tattoos don't have to be a symbol of the rejection of this lessening, but mine are.

And what does this newest tattoo mean? Well it's got some history to it that I won't divulge here, but I feel its core message is appropriate to the whole act of tattooing, and so I will leave you with it: "tempus fugit" is latin, and it is often misinterpreted as "time flies", but its real meaning is slightly more nuanced, it closer translates to "time flees". Time is fast, it slips by unnoticed, and leaves us chasing after it, always looking for more. You have to pay close attention to the small amount of time you see as it flits away from you. Be sure to do and enjoy all the things you can while you can; you have to eat the strawberry while it's ripe. It won't be ripe forever.

you can see my other little bird tattoo in this photo, I didn't notice until now. Hey buddy!