Ms. Manners Does Books

Dearest Reader,

The other day, I, Ms. Manners, walked into my favorite boutique, Mint Julep. I saw the most striking dresses from L.A. Made. I said hi to the super nice salesgirl, the one that helped me pick out earrings for my friend's wedding. She showed me some different colors and necklines.

I tried on the one I liked best. Not to toot my own horn, but I looked fantastic. I hung the dress up and walked out of the fitting room. "How'd it work out?" the salesgirl asked. "It looks great on me, and it's super well-made!" I replied. She took the dress out of her hands and made her way over to the cash register. "Great choice! That'll be $129.25 with tax."

"Oh, I'm not going to get it here." She looked at me, confused. "I'm going to order it online. I can get it for at least $20 cheaper on shopbop.com. Thanks for your help! See you later!" What a nice girl! What a nice store! I thought, then I was off to Starbucks.

As a bookseller, I have been on the other end of this very same interaction many times, with a couple differences. First, instead helping someone find a dress, I've been asked to write down the title of the book (don't think I don't know what you're up to, mister). Next, the stakes are far lower -- hardbacks are generally only $7-9 cheaper on Amazon, and that's only if you buy more than one and qualify for free shipping.

Far be it from me to want to talk about brick and mortar stores vs. giant faceless warehouses (I agree with the independents argument, obvs.) but years of having people tell me about their decision to shop at the A-word has lead me to believe that they don't know any better.

I came to this realization on Saturday, when a young couple, standing there at the front of the store, yelled loudly about hardbacks being much cheaper online. They seemed perfectly nice -- they didn't have any prison tattoos or racist slogans on their shirts. And they seemed perfectly smart -- they were speaking in grammatically correct sentences and they even had glasses! They made me wonder why a perfectly smart, nice couple would be so rude and horrible.

Again -- they just don't know any better. Nobody ever told them that booksellers have feelings. Nobody ever told them that bookstores were businesses subject to the vagaries of the market like tax, rent and inflation. I'm telling them now: I am a person, the store owners are people, and our livelihoods depend on your not doing exactly what you're talking about doing, right in front of me.

Would you tell a homeless person you were giving money to the beggar down the street because they asked for thirty five, not fifty cents? Would you tell a neighbor kid you were getting your lemonade one block over because of his ten cent markup? Of course not. Well, quit bragging to me that you're downloading a $10 e-book on your $400 e-reader.

I kind of take it as a compliment that our store seems to be a library to some people. But not that much. Cut it out! I mean, please cut it out!

Your friend,

Ms. Book Manners

I AM NOW A PAPPY.

Sometimes life rules. Case in point: this weekend I welcomed a beautiful 92lb baby into my life thanks to my wife. Woah, slow down, there. I'm talking about an actual letterpress. A Kelsey 6x10 Model X letterpress. Battleship gray. Oh My.

Last week the Chapbook Festival, most of my free time was spent drooling over various press's letter pressed work. I mean a lot of the stuff was downright gorgeous. Criminally gorgeous. I will refrain from going into great detail how excited I get around printed matter.

One week later, my wife is paling around with some chums. One of the chums mentions he has a letterpress sitting in his basement. Its there for the taking. Long story short, cash was exchanged. The machine was hoisted out of a basement and into our hatchback. The machine still is sitting in our hatchback while I look for a sturdier desk.

I'm sure the joy of having an actual flesh-baby is one of those unbearably wonderful moments of joy, but this tops it by about a factor of 100. I literally cried tears of joy in the shower the other day.



Sure it needs a lot of work. There's quite a bit of rust. It needs new rollers, trucks, and a chase. But the springs are intact. Nothing is bent or broken beyond repair. There're places to go locally for parts and knowledgeable folks at hand who can help me with the restoration process. I guess I'm really excited more about the process of taking it apart and spoiling my hands with grease, oil, and ink, and really getting to know my machine as if it were an actual flesh-baby. Plus I'll be able to make my own letter pressed books someday. Stay tuned for restoration updates!

Also, another lucky break: the Brimfield Antique (info)show is this week. Its a huge beast. I'll be looking for type and paper. And a new table.

Mothers and Museums

Mother's Day was a blast, start to finish. With a 3 1/2 year old boy who will usually tell you "I don't want to do that" once you mention that something might be fun, and a 1 year old girl who believes it is her duty to bring a smile to the face of every person in JP, on the Orange Line, in Harvard Square, and on the 66 and 39 buses, my wife (the mother) and I visited the Harvard Museum of Natural History. Jackson, in heaven, ran from one animal to the next for what seemed like hours, "I want to see even MORE animals!". Libbie pointed knowingly at birds and monkeys and sharks and fossils and nodded her head emphatically, as if to say, "What's that?, Oh, yes, I thoooooought so.", before retiring her sweet head (her breath smelled of french fries and ketchup) to my shoulder for a walking nap.

None of us had ever been there before, and of course we now smack our heads for having taken so long to go. The museum is perfect. It feels like you are stepping back in time just walking into the first exhibit. The wood framed glass cases, the dried-out, in places stitched together animal hides that often expose the stuffing underneath, the haphazard (at least, in comparison to the modern way of organizing in museums) organization, so that you come to expect the odd juxtaposition: chimp next to whale, thrush next to otter. I may be remembering incorrectly, but I like a museum where a mammal is a mammal, and there isn't any space left for wall sized descriptions of why mammals are important, and what our connection to them might be. Here are the mammals, here are their names. Marvel, and move on, young sir.

Jack loved it, and Libbie loved it and then had a nap. And, as I'm sure most moms and dads would agree, when the kids are happy, everyone is happy.

Kind of on the topic of families and species and manners of organizing, we're doing some re-organizing of our own. You may have noticed some new signs in the aisles of the store. Biography is now "The Examined Life". "Modern Thought" encompasses what used to be Cultural Studies, and most of what used to be Essays. "Here on Earth" was Nature. We were thinking of changing Education to "The Study of Test-Taking Skill Set Enhancement", but that seemed too bleak.
We're attempting to be more specific - a memoir is not a biography, as you know - and more thoughtful. Let us know what you think.

Always let us know what you think!

Mothers

The week before Mother's Day is a fun one here at the store. As the day itself draws closer, the shoppers grow more focused. We have a table full of ideas - many, many books from funny to moving, fanciful aprons, just-add-water minigardens, ruffled dishwashing gloves, flowered hammers - at the front of the store. We do pride ourselves on being a one stop shopping emporium for all things bookish with "trimmings". Being at the register or out in the aisles on Saturday was a fine little study of human psychology. I observed a Dad with his 6 year old son explaining why the gorgeous Italian cookbook might be a better match for Mom than the big polka dot bouncy ball. The boy came to agree but stated that he, then, wanted the ball for himself. Or the preteen girls browsing our jewelry collection seeking Mom -appropriate items and having a great time trying on this or that. Another Dad was heard to say to his young daughter, "No, she's not MY mother but she does expect a gift from me, her husband." Ringing up the selected gifts at the register was a short course in the variety of things Moms are interested in. Don't think for a minute that it was all predictable either. Vampire tales, make furniture manuals, guitar shaped spatulas, pirate-themed lunch bags and rather naughty humor all made the cut. I especially love seeing the cards people choose. It's a rather bonding experience, honestly.

I know alot of folks consider these "holidays" crassly commercial, made-up occasions for the profit mongers. It's true that some of the faces in the crowd here on Saturday had a certain distracted, stressed look. Dads with small kids in tow had their work cut out for them, sure. And I'm not saying one has BUY something for such special days. But by the time each person fetched up at the check out counter, they were proud and pleased to have thougth about the Mom(s) in their lives and picked something to show appreciation. To me, that's a good thing.

Summer Reading

I just returned from a vacation in glorious Los Angeles. In between jaunts in the white Mustang convertible we rented and celebrity sightings (well, sighting, and it was only Kevin Connolly from Entourage), I read. I'm thrilled to report that the glowing reviews of Tom Rachman's blowup first novel, The Imperfectionists, are in no way exaggerated, and Us Weekly still does a bang up job of proving that celebrities are just like us.

My time in the sun and the nice weather that greeted me upon my return got me thinking about summer reading. It takes a special kind of book to hold your attention in the park. (Incidentally, can you imagine taking a Kindle to the beach? I can't. Last I checked, sand and water are anathema to electronic devices.) DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince know what I'm talking about.

This year's contender for #1 Summer Beach Read is Holly LeCraw's The Swimming Pool. Check out the publisher's description:

A heartbreaking affair, an unsolved murder, an explosive romance: welcome to summer on the Cape in this powerful debut.

Seven summers ago, Marcella Atkinson fell in love with Cecil McClatchey, a married father of two. But on the same night their romance abruptly ended, Cecil's wife was found murdered—and their lives changed forever. The case was never solved, and Cecil died soon after, an uncharged suspect.

Now divorced and estranged from her only daughter, Marcella lives alone, mired in grief and guilt. Meanwhile, Cecil's grown son, Jed, returns to the Cape with his sister for the first time in years. One day he finds a woman's bathing suit buried in a closet—a relic, unbeknownst to him, of his father's affair—and, on a hunch, confronts Marcella. When they fall into an affair of their own, their passion temporarily masks the pain of the past, but also leads to crises and revelations they never could have imagined.

In what is sure to be the debut of the season, The Swimming Pool delivers a sensuous narrative of such force and depth that you won't be able to put it down.

My only question is, where's the darn swimming pool? I'm sure it will come up, but they could be a little more forthcoming. I'll be sure to bring up my tiny quibble with Holly LeCraw when she reads here on May 24th.

Empty Hands

It's Sunday May 2 and some 20 towns in our area are under a "Boil Water" order because of a major water main break in Weston, Ma. This means the polluted water (they do keep working to correct this) from the Charles River is now mixing with clean water supply. It's a mere trifle in the world of woes around the planet, weather-related or caused by humans. But it is striking in some ways. To wit.

We open at 9 a.m. on Sundays. By noon our two trashcans at the front door are already overflowing with empty coffee cups of an amazing variety. Mind you,we have Starbucks on one side of us, Peet's on the other, Dunkin' half a block away, ditto Panera - just to name a few of the local "watering holes". Today, nary an item in our trash. None of the restaurants can make coffee because they cannot boil water in any quantity. We might have empty water bottles in the trash, as usual, but for the fact that the two CVS stores and Walgreen's and everywhere else are already empty-shelved on that score. I'm picturing fleets of Poland Springs trucks clogging the highways coming down from Maine.

I walked over to our bank to put the deposit bag in the overnight vault and was quite amazed by all the empty hands I saw. We have heavy pedestrain traffic in our area on any day. Today is sunny, 80 degrees and the weekend. Normally, one would see literally hundreds of folks strolling with their beverage of choice. It's quite amazing, this change. I think it must mean something major about our society. I saw one woman in Starbucks pretty much flipping out with the Barista. "If I don't care about taking the ecoli chance, why should you??", she protested with arms akimbo. There's now a sign on Starbucks' door saying they are closing at noon. Wise move.

So now I'm wondering about two things. What if all the money spent on all these bought coffee drinks went to good causes? Same thing with all the bottled water. Wow. And if most of the population drank a heck of alot less coffee all day long, would there be less road rage, rudeness, lack of consideration for others and lots more civilty, do unto others and kindness?

I like a cup of coffee as much as the next gal, but brewing at home or in the break room is a nice alternative to the buy it elsewhere habit. I guess I just hadn't totally grasped how big a piece of modern culture the specialized coffee thing has become. Reading about the successful purveyors of it is one thing. Seeing it completely missing like this is another. As I look out over the store, I realize that a huge percentage of our customers are always coffee or water in hand as they browse. Today, inside the store and out, everyone just looks really different.

This must be a "duh" moment for me, not exactly like an "aha" moment but similar.

p.s. We did fill our dog water bowl for out front from our water cooler and put a sign on it to say so. This is a big dog neighborhood, after all.

Reading Toys. (kindle talk.)

Dana graciously lent me the kindle that we bought for the store to see what all the fuss was about...."know thine enemy" and so on...I took the device home intent on giving it a real chance...and the following is exactly what happened.

I downloaded a few magazines with diet and exercise tips (don't judge me)....and I began reading Dexter Filkin's "The Forever War." On the train home I began with the magazine and was disappointed with the grainy black and white images...It was nice to have no little white subscription cards falling everywhere...but the images were a B-.

As I progressed onto book-readin' I found myself feeling oddly claustrophobic. There was something disorienting about not really knowing, or feeling where I was in the book. The gradual transition from East to West of the page-girth was something I only really missed when I didn't have it.

On the subway I felt self conscious, in the way I always do when I'm holding something expensive...which is infrequent. This is a larger class issue I'm tentatively broaching here....but it still warrants unpacking. Holding the thin, delicate sleekness of a device out of my price range made me feel uncomfortable. I felt like I was an easy target for theft, or gravity. God forbid the train stops short and I huck the thing... If my book gets stolen, that's heart breaking too....but less economically devastating. If the train stops short and I drop my book, the most I can loose is my page.

Then there was the problem of moisture. I had to be chronically aware of that. No bath reading. No post- shower handling. No beverages near by. This may sound paranoid...but it is absolutely not when one has invested serious cash into a toy. This delicacy limited my intimacy with the text.

There were some cool things about the reader. I like the idea of not accruing crap-tons of magazines, but getting to read the articles I want without the detritus of advertising. I think If the screen were larger a la Ipad...reading newspapers, and email would be great.

The kindle, for me is just silly. It is a one trick pony. If I'm going to have to be hyper vigilant with something, it better be serving more than one function for me...such as email, word processing, picture storage, and e-reading/music downloadin' capabilities. If you must sell your soul...make it for the best possible model. Amazon's audacity is pretty righteous, when you consider the fact that you don't have a choice where you can purchase your books from on the Kindle. breathtaking really.

Now, I must come clean. there was an accident. It involved me. It involved the kindle. It involved gravity. It slipped out of my hand...and fell 10" onto my linoleum floor....(I was already crouching over my purse, I'm not that short)... I picked it up sure nothing was wrong, (as it was such a modest fall...)but no. The screen was bifurcated, torn asunder mid- image of a page holding- gryphon, and chapter 3 of "The Forever War." You may be asking yourself, "maybe she's one of those people who just can't have nice things?" I offer you this... I have managed to keep my Ipod alive through 2 marathons and 4 years of training, including many a public spill of both myself and the device. I am not a careless lady, I took meticulous care of the kindle. There was simply a moment of humanity that caused the thing to leap.

I am going to contact Amazon (as it is still under warranty,) and I am going to hope they do the right and noble thing, and replace the kindle.

I am going to email Dana, and throw myself on her mercy.

I will update more on my progress next week. With the installment I shall call...what do you do when your kindle stops working? hint: (Go back to your bookshelves and beg forgiveness)

say a prayer, light a candle (not your kindle)