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.

I smell goodness approaching :-d

Happy Official First Day of Fall!


Leaves are just beginning to turn yellow. I can hear the wind is passing through. Even the thermometer agrees that it is time for apartments to stop feeling like ovens and welcome in the seasonal tastes of autumn. Not to mention that fall is the best time for baking because there are so many delicious vegetables ripening just above the ground. But, I'm not here to comment on baking -- though I do a lot of it (while listening to audio books usually...) -- maybe some other time.

What if you didn't know about fall? Would you think your favorite tree was sick and not getting better? Would you be so brave as to tie the leaves back on to the tree and stop other woodland creatures from taking its precious leaves away?


Meet Fletcher, who is the fox I speak of. The best autumn book out there, no doubt, is Fletcher and the Falling Leaves written by Julia Rawlinson and vibrantly illustrated by Tiphanie Beeke. This year, it turns four. Every time I pick it up I feel the curious essence of fall and the surprises awaiting, especially when winter comes (Look on the last page spread. You are in for a lovely sight!).

If you already familiar with this book, be prepared. Booksmith is getting a new Fletcher title: Fletcher and the Snowflake Christmas. This fun-Christmas book is nearing the top of my list for best holiday books of the year. But more on that later when we get closer to the holidays.

Happy Fall!

Fall at the bookstore

Regular readers of our blog may have noticed that posts (at least my own) have been a teensy bit sporadic lately. The reason for this is that we are BUSY! Holy cow, are we busy. I never noticed how much more intense things get at the start of September until this particular September happened. Usually I'd notice the increase in traffic on the road or the lack of parking spots around town. But this month it feels like everything is happening everywhere, all at once.

The store is truly bustling. A Wednesday afternoon feels like a Saturday afternoon with phones ringing off the hook, customers lining up and lots of questions in the aisles. Part of the reason for this is our amazing fall event lineup that just got going: Gary Shteyngart and Per Petterson last week, William Gibson tomorrow night, and Michele Norris of NPR on Thursday. People are really excited about these authors and tickets are flying out the door. (So call and reserve yours today for our other exciting fall events. Amy Sedaris in November!!)

Obviously, the start of school is also responsible for some of the increase in phone calls and foot traffic. But I've also heard the words "Christmas shopping" uttered in a few of my transactions at the register. You guys are already starting! And I don't blame you. Kerri has brought in a ton of awesome jewelry and bags and fall-oriented home items into the Card and Gift Room. Not to mention cute and goulish Halloween stuff. Yup, it's already that time, too. Yikes. (Seriously? Halloween? Wasn't it just July??)

And don't even get me started on all the new, truly excellent books coming out. Okay, maybe you should get me started since that's the whole point of our store. I'm currently in the midst of Moby Dick, Skippy Dies and The Cookbook Collector and every week I get inspired to read something else that just arrived. There are some seriously good reads on our shelves and we are doing our best to keep those shelves full.

Fall (which officially arrives tomorrow) at Booksmith is exciting and crazy. Come on in and join the fun!

Women, Whiskey, Per Petterson and Other Sweeping Generalizations.

Today marks the end of my short relationship with Evan Williams brand Whiskey. Last night, the events manager and I got in a "little" debate about Franzen on the cover of Time. At least that's what I think we were arguing about. It may have been about the cable bill ...I can't say for sure but I can say this; women are the driving economic force in the book industry. We run the stores, buy the books, read the books and gift the books. For all the men out there, I acknowledge you and thank you for your presence too, though today I am just giving the ladies a "what what."

I don't want to detract from Franzen, or any other white male novelist, goodness knows I love Raymond Carver. I just want to see all the lady novelists getting equal critical attention. I don't think we are quite there yet.

Name Drop Time:

When I was walking Per Petterson back to his awaiting line of (mostly female) fans, he said to me....this industry is a woman's industry...but men are the ones getting published.... (or something to that effect). When he said that, I nearly planted one on him, but I'm a professional so I restrained myself. I complimented him on how he answered Diane Rehm's question about one of his character's apparent "alcoholism". Rehm was pushing the topic, and I thought it was so typical, how we in the states rush to pathologize ....everything. The character got drunk a few times....and she needed a diagnosis, from Per. Sigh.

I guess it took Per mentioning this gender discrepancy for me to finally have license into feeling the way I did when I rethought the Time cover..."Great American Novelist". I of course note the dissonance in needing a man to agree with me in order to bring this topic up publicly....but I am working on it...and it doesn't hurt my case that Per agrees.

What do I take away from these loosely connected meditations? I love the ladies of Brookline. The women who work here, shop here, and speak here. Sometimes deconstructive literary diagnostics are just reductive, and miss the point.

Also, no more whiskey. It's better to read about.

a quality of light

Per Petterson's feet, and I don't know if anyone noticed this or if anyone else could see, were lifting, releasing themselves one at a time from the burden of holding him in place for the length of time he had been asked to spend in front of us, reading his story.

My father told me that Out Stealing Horses was less like an exceptional reading experience, and more like being introduced to a new quality of light. He told me that as he read it he was brought back to his boyhood in Maine, to the barn, and to the shafts of light falling through the air, catching the motes of hay dust. I Curse the River of Time, and To Siberia, and, I will hazard a guess, In the Wake, all share that same quality; perhaps none are quite so crystalline as the former, but what Petterson does (and this I am lifting from my father's words, too) is to leave the light alone in the center of everything he writes. Weightless, illuminating light. So unlike all of the things of this world about which we tell stories. About which he tells his stories.

Letting light be the center, his words are quick, his sentences piercing. Petterson doesn't need to buttress a cathedral in his books, he needs to balance needles in the sunlight.

I don't have the faintest idea of what it means to write like that, but to whoever it was that asked him tonight what lessons he hoped his readers would get from his books, that is why I think he had no answer for you. Asked about how he creates his characters, he said that you have to imagine them, and then place your self above them, and then sink your self right down into them, until you can see out of their eyes. The best novels, the best paintings, the best songs, the best people...they leave that space in the middle of themselves, for you.

Per Petterson knows how to write a story in such a way that you find yourself in all the things he doesn't say. His books are cradles built for light, and air, and people.

A Sock Bonanza

Kate DiCamillo and Alison McGhee's book, it's really here!

The moment I saw Bink trying to put on her new "outrageously bright" striped socks, I fell in love. Of course, I will admit that I have a great sock obsession, even though I wear my Chacos 300 days out of the year in just my bare feet... But, cool socks are cool socks (provided they're not made from cotton), and so are their owners. Socks...socks...socks! :)

Oh, what is this book I like, no, absolutely LOVE? It is written by Newbery Medalist Kate DiCamillo (author of Because of Winn Dixie, Tale of Despereaux, and numerous other awesome stories) and by New York Times best-selling writer Alison McGhee (author of the wonderful Julia Gillian series as well as several picturebooks). This book would not be complete without Tony Fucile's illlustrations. Oh, sorry, the title...is Bink and Gollie -- two girls who have completely different personalities but in the end manage to stay the best of friends.

Bink and Gollie, comprised of three adventures, is a cross between a picture book and early chapter book. In the first adventure, after Bink buys the socks that Gollie finds brightfully painful, they must strike a compromise or else be very lonely (without eating the pancakes). In the second, Gollie decides to climb a mountain in the Andes. She leaves a note on her door: "'To whom it may concern I am on a journey. Thus I am unable to answer the door.'" Bink is baffled, "'Am I whom?' Knock, knock, knock!". For the third I will only tell you that it involves a fish, roller skates, and a bit of jealousy. Each story will leave you laughing out loud -- guaranteed!

Ooh, and Bink's socks show up in each story in very humorous (but practical) ways.

If you can't get a hold of a copy right away, check out this website to read more about the book, authors, and raving reviews while you wait! (P.S. I've heard that Kate DiCamillo bears a resemblance to Bink, and Alison McGhee to Gollie.)