Apparently, you guys like YA-adult crossovers. And Boston. And also other stuff.

Before Alie worked her computer magic to calculate the kids' bestsellers of 2012, I told Tess that I would figuratively eat my hat if the top 6 weren't the Hunger Games trilogy, Make Way for Ducklings in hardcover and paperback, and the latest Diary of a Wimpy Kid book. And then we looked at the list.

1. The Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins
2.Catching Fire, by Suzanne Collins
3. Mockingjay, by Suzanne Collins
4. Zolocolor: Doodling Between Black and White, by Byron Glaser
5. Make Way for Ducklings, by Robert McCloskey (paperback)
6. The Duckling Gets a Cookie?!, by Mo Willems
7. Make Way for Ducklings, by Robert McCloskey (hardcover)
8. Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Third Wheel, by Jeff Kinney
9. Good Night Boston, by Adam Gamble
10. The Fault in Our Stars, by John Green
11. Library Lion, by Michelle Knudsen
12. Goodnight, Goodnight, Construction Site, by Sherri Duskey Rinker
13. The Phantom Tollbooth, by Norton Juster
14. The Lightning Thief, by Rick Riordan
15. The Mark of Athena, by Rick Riordan
16. The Very Hungry Caterpillar, by Eric Carle
17. Harold and the Purple Crayon, by Crockett Johnson
18. Divergent, by Veronica Roth
19. The Perks of Being a Wallflower, by Stephen Chbosky
20. Goodnight Moon, by Margaret Wise Brown
21. 642 Things to Draw, by Chronicle Books
22. I Want My Hat Back, by Jon Klassen
23. Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak
24. Good Night, Gorilla, by Peggy Rathmann
25. The Snowy Day, by Ezra Jack Keats

I'm very glad I said "figuratively," because I'd want my hat back.

Happy New Year!

What your bookmark reveals about you

This post by the folks at the Strand brought me a little epiphany. The books we read often speak to our aspirations. They are small hand-held gurus or friends or vacations - temporary extensions in which we stretch our brains. But it's bookmarks that reveal our true selves; those meager scraps and pocket-scrapings tether us to reality like the string Theseus unwound on his way through the labyrinth. Our choice of anchor in a thousand-page sea says more about us than any astrological sign.

Post-it notes - You can't really remember your phone number or how old you are but you rule at pub trivia and have beautiful hand-writing.

French flap - you have a clean, tastefully appointed living room and a beagle named Darwin.

Coolidge Theater ticket stub - You're the rootless, aimless type. You've moved across country at least twice and harbor a little guilt at your lack of home-sickness but you feel nostalgic when you least expect it. You cried at this movie. You're a good person. Call your mother.

Ribbon - your cologne has top notes of pipe tobacco and sun-warmed leather and you own at least one steampunk accessory. In high school you were a borderline goth and your hair is enviably curly. You are literally the only person in the world who likes anchovy pizza.

Something with an inspirational quote - You own a juicer and went through a serious Joni Mitchell period.

Something with a picture of a unicorn - You've never tried karaoke but sweetheart, do it SOON because you don't know it yet but you have a voice worthy of the golden age of Radio - like a honey-soaked tiger purring an aria straight into the ear of God.

$20 bill - You know the power of a good incentive and aren't allowed to spend this until you finish Ulysses. 

JP Licks receipt - You consider yourself brutally practical but clearly know when to indulge. You either are or will be a great parent/pet-owner.

Smaller book - You're intense. Your muscles have muscles.

Polaroid - You're the poster-child for vintage ephemera but hate the words "vintage" and "ephemera" almost as much as the people that use them. You're not really a people person at all, in fact. Maybe that's why you're preternaturally good at craigslist, that midden heap of virtual iniquity and cast-off treasure. You can sniff out the flea market gems faster than a bloodhound but you relish the hunt and have a soft spot for well-curated kitsch. We're all jealous of your record collection.

Bonus: Dog-eared pages - you actually are brutally practical. You're bound to survive the zombie apocalypse and the rest of us will follow you loyally into the dystopian future. Less than wisely, as it turns out: when push comes to shove you resort to cannibalism with nary a shrug.

The store is alive with the sound of shoppers...

New-minted readers at round wooden tables.
Young browsers squealing at Anne of Green Gables.
Rhyme-reading parent who quietly sings.
These are a few of my favorite things.

Readers of ponies and dinos and kittens.
Scrooges and Grinches and warm woolen mittens.
Booksellers flying - caffeine gives you wings.
These are a few of my favorite things.

Folks with old favorites, and folks trying new books.
Stories outlandish, and eye-catching true books.
Crazypants winter, whence all this joy springs.
These are a few of my favorite things.

When the store's closed,
when you're cold-nosed,
home and filled with cheer,
we hope you're surrounded by favorite things
to bring you a glad new year.

End Times Approacheth

It's madness, I tell you.

Forget 12/21. It's the Saturday before Christmas, folks, and the Retailpocalypse is upon us. I've stolen away to the deepest recesses of the Booksmith's labyrinthine bowels, but even here the walls throb under the booted feet of the shopping hordes. Only crumbs remain from my meager stash of gingerbread men and the battery icon on our store laptop flickers like a dying candle.

I will not last much longer. So I have some confessions to make.

- I judge books by their covers (SO PRETTY).

- When you buy my staff-pick, I secretly give you a discount. We're in this together.

- I don't get the Handerpants. We have a million novelty gifts (I counted) to make you the prince(ss) of any yankee swap. Probably no fewer than half are lewd variations on lingerie. You guys love them all and usually I'm on board with that. Squirrel underpants? Fine. Emergency underpants? Ok. Handerpants? No. I'm sorry.

They're here. I will sell them to you. But we will never see eye-to-eye.

- When I say "I've heard good things," what I mean is "this book you're asking me about just took on the symbolic weight of each and every book I've never read and it is now a beacon of my shame. Buy it. Read it. Go on without me."

- I haven't read Moby Dick. I haven't read War & Peace. I have read Game of Thrones and you know what? The HBO version is better.

Lots more dirty secrets where those came from but Xmas is almost here SO - once more unto the breach, Brookline! Been an honor and a pleasure. If we live through this, I'll see ya next year.

Breakaway Trousers

John Hodgman has told the world about our breakaway trousers on the Best Show with Tom Scharpling (around 38:00).    Naturally, everybody wants one. They are blue, have gold buttons, a glitter logo of “Brookline Booksmith” and are useful during dates and emergencies. 

HOW TO GET BROOKLINE BOOKSMITH BREAKAWAY TROUSERS

1. Be John Hodgman. 
2. Find the Booksmith leprechaun.  Instead of giving away gold, he gives away one pair of Brookline Booksmith breakaway trousers.
3. Win a dance-off against Ric, the reigning store break dance champion.  Many an attempt has been made to take away his crown, and the losers end up sitting by the dumpster wondering if 4Loko could have made a difference.
4. Give four or five booksellers $500.  They will say thank you and ask you to wait outside near the dumpster with the dance-off losers.  They’ll be out in a bit, I swear.
5. Wrangle an invitation to an ultra-exclusive Brookline Booksmith dance party.  At the door, we give you a pair of complimentary breakaway trousers. 

I swear these things are true, kind of. 

...

Not really.  HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Destination of the Month: Paris

I have only been to Paris in the summer. When the Champs Elysees is crowded with tourists looking for a bit of shade for relief from a relentless sun. When you decide to save yourself from the metro crowds by walking everywhere until your sandals smell so bad you throw them out rather than ruining everything in your suitcase. When you can spend long evenings watching the sky turn the stone white edifices rose from Montmartre Butte, the Sacre Couer at your back, a bottle of wine on hand, or dance the summer evenings away on the banks of the Seine.

I’ve never been to Paris in the winter, but I can imagine the lamp lit streets and bridges, the snowflakes melting softly into the Seine. And Paris is a city that is always in someways more imagined than experienced, half romance half real. This month, we’re celebrating the city of light with some lovely gift books–for the traveler who has been and wants to remember those fading summer nights, or for someone who is on their way to the sparkling snow-covered boulevards. And for the rest, there are narratives to help you imagine the trip you’ve never taken but someday will.

Flipping through Paris: An Inspiring Tour of the City’s Creative Heart is almost as good as a ticket there. JanelleMcCullough takes the traveler through eacharrondissement by way of gorgeous photographs and alluring prose. This book is coffee table and guide book in one. Looking for something more compact and practical? We have two shelves of guidebooks devoted to helping you navigate the city. Secret Paris, for example, can unlock the city and show you un-looked for corners.

Paris is a city full of stories, imagined and real. Paula Mclain has taken the well-known classic story, A Moveable Feast, and turnedHemingway’s memoir of 1920s Paris into a novel. This time, however, the women speak. The Paris Wife is told from the point of view of Hemingway’s first wife, Hadley Richardson. She narrates the well-known story: from falling in love, to meeting other members of the “Lost Generation” to the final heartbreaking betrayal.Hungry for more stories set in Paris? The NYRB has collected Mavis Gallant’s Paris Stories into one brilliant edition. This would be the perfect read for your flight to France.

And finally, the slim The Night Before Christmas in Paris makes a sweet stocking stuffer for the francophile in your life. Santa Claus is frantic because Mrs. Claus has slipped off to see the sites of Paris. Santa’s sleigh visits the Montmartre, the Left Bank, the Notre Dame, the Ritz in search of his wife. In the end, “His memories were sweet of the City of Light,” as we hope everyone’s are this holiday season, and, of course, to all a good night!

We get a little cheesy this time of year, and not just because Kate brought pizza.

"Booksmith was my childhood," an adult customer told me this week as she checked out. She shared a few early memories of finding specific books, all of which have since flown out of my head, because the store is gloriously insane these days. But amid that insanity, it's bolstering to remember that that's what we're doing: we're helping people make memories. I'm reminded of this now as a group of customers ask me to take their picture from my post at Infosmith. I'm reminded of it every time a dog drags his or her owner from the street straight to the register. (Psssst - we have dog biscuits.) I'm reminded when a longtime customer calls us by our original name, "Paperback Booksmith," or tells me, "I've been coming here since before you were born."

Young repeat visitors clamour to see their old friend the bear, and yesterday, an even younger, newly talking visitor said "books" so clearly, I could've sworn she was about to give me a dissertation on her favorites. Everyone from preteens on up waxes nostalgic upon encountering childhood favorites; even the adults who think they don't remember anything about children's books melt at the mention of Beverly Cleary, Richard Scarry, or both.

I don't know whether they'll remember that Little Mermaid book from the spinner or whether they'll stump future booksellers by half-recalling the titles of the books they get this season. (Write 'em down now, kids. "Mysterious Benedict Society" is quite a mouthful to remember for a generation.) But everything I'm seeing these days - the crazy moments when everyone's being paged in twelve different directions, and the quieter moments of reflection on this special thing we've got here - makes me suspect that fifty-plus years from now, there will still be booksellers to stump.