Jamie's Summer 2014

This summer has gone by in a flash. Maybe it was the reappearance of the polar vortex, reducing the nights I fell asleep with my face pressed against my a/c unit dramatically. Maybe it was because I started being excited about summer at the end of April. Maybe it was actually a short summer.

A lot of things squeezed themselves into this summer. I had a week-long vacation. My events team and I won Boston Magazine's Best of Boston 2014 Best Reading Series. I discovered the joy of having an undercut when it is humid outside. I lost my office key at least 20 times. I bought a bird from the JFK Presidential Library and Museum gift shop. Garrison Keillor rubbed my hair. I read at least 30, if not 40 books this summer. I discovered how wonderful Elizabeth Gilbert is. I went to the beach. I planned our fall event calendar. I had a good time.

I'll end this with my submission for the Booksmith Staff Talent Show. I wrote a sestina about spatial reasoning and filmed myself in my parents' backyard in the Southwest. It was 107 degrees outside, and I would have done more takes if I thought I could survive any longer. My siblings helped out by showing off their skills (my sister is especially brilliant at it but not when she's trying really hard not to laugh), and poetic magic was born. Enjoy.

How to Select a Beach Read: A Quiz

Last weekend I went to the beach and brought along a giant jug of water, a picnic fun blanket, a ton of sunblock (reapply every two hours!), and Knausgaard's My Struggle: Book 1 in paperback. I was the weirdo on the beach holding a 400+ book with a Norwegian guy's face on it instead of lighter fare, stepping out of my friends' conversation to read about Karl Ove's funeral preparations for his father and jumping back in only to make comments like 'Such visceral descriptions! Can I tell you how they really found his dad?'

I'm pretty good at deciding what constitutes a good beach read. Here is my list of important questions to ask yourself when selecting one:

1. Will the book fit over my face so I can have a brief respite from the sun?
2. Will I be mad if any of the following touches it?
1. liquids, including but not limited to: water, saltwater, beer, slushie
2. sunblock, especially the spray kind
3. hot dog remnants
4. sand
5. a child or a sweaty friend
3. Will I regret carrying it however long I need to carry it? 
4. My brain will be in a delicate, overheated and possibly dehydrated state. Will this book push me over the edge and make me monologue about esoteric topics? 
5. Can this book be used as self-defense against seagulls?

Important things, all. If you guys need me I'll be at a beach with Book 2, talking about whatever minutiae Karl Ove writes about in this one, completely engrossed.

Knausgaard goes along really well with my beach bag, even though he's published by FSG.

Post-Keillor Roundup

Last night we hosted Garrison Keillor to a full and enthusiastic crowd. Months ago over a beer, I had promised Paul that he could do the introduction after he confessed how adamantly he loved A Prairie Home Companion. He did a magnificent job getting the audience amped and ready, and when Garrison Keillor took the mic we were all holding our breath because we couldn't quite believe that he was there, within arm's reach, leaning against the pole Rob Sheffield once danced around, breathing the same air we were while talking in that voice we knew so well. 

He spoke for about an hour and a half, telling stories, reciting a poem, and at one point walking so far into the audience that he unplugged the microphone by accident. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard and so consistently during an author event at the store ever, and when I looked around the room everyone was laughing as hard as I was, if not harder. He signed books, posed for pictures, and charmed the daylights out of everyone. At the end of a two+ hour signing line, he gamely posed for several photographs with booksellers. I had just gotten a haircut, and Garrison admitted that he wanted to ruffle my hair. I offered up my head, and he placed his giant hand upon my head and ruffled my hair a few times, much to all of our amusement. 

Shuchi, Garrison, Paul and I laughing about our "double date" pose

This was definitely one of my favorite author events, and I'm glad we were able to host him. The audience was delighted (and delightful!) and I'll sign out with my favorite photograph of the evening: 

Paul was really really starstruck.

 

Samesies

Yesterday, I walked into the break room to say hello to Tom. We would be running an event together later in the day and I wanted to check in and see how he was doing. When I saw him, I stopped. Tom was wearing a dark blue button up and black pants, notable only because I was wearing the exact same thing. When I pointed this out, Tom argued that we were wearing different shades so it wasn't completely the same, but it didn't matter. It was no longer a Tuesday, it was a Samesies Tuesday.

A few minutes later, Tom paged me with another coincidence. Our manager, Dana, was also wearing a blue button up and black pants. This type of thing happens too often. Is it because we like the same things, is it because we are on the same wavelength, is it because we read the memo? Is it because we see each others' clothing and think, "I want that too and I'm sure I will look excellent wearing it"? The bookstore may never know. 

Springtime Fever

I have spent the past six days in a feverish state, slowly wading back and forth between thinking I'm well and acknowledging that I've caught the cold that everyone seems to have, but really, really hard. Yes, I had a fever, yes, I have been blowing my nose on Vicks-scented tissue for the past week, yes, I have been coughing up a lung. All of these things are terrible, but the worst part about this is that I'm too sick to read, electing instead to sit in bed with my eyes closed and moaning every so often to indicate I'm alive.  That's horrible too, but what's even worse is that I am 65% done with The Empathy Exams and it's been eating at me that every time I crack the book open I find myself with a splitting headache, which makes me even more furious because the book is really good and I want to finish it already.

Maybe I should have seen this coming. Friday night, I settled down to bed with a galley of Megan Abbott's The Fever, which I finished with glee. I fell asleep shortly afterwards, and when I woke up the next Saturday, there it was. A fever, 100.3 degrees. Now that I am out of my feverstate, I find it amusing that was the book I read. Did The Fever induce my own? I've asked another bookseller to read it to test out my theory. If Tom is struck down next...

I think I'm getting better. I just picked up a galley of Dear Committee Members by Julie Schumacher. It's an epistolary novel, and I adore epistolary novels, and I also adore the fact that I seem to have enough brainpower to recognize that it is an epistolary novel. I'm on the mend!

Moore-mania

I've loved the work of Christopher Moore for years. I remember reading Fluke in the summer between high school and college, not sure what to make of it but also being astounded that you can write that in a book and get away with it. Absurd, glorious, bawdy--I thought it was all fantastic.

As a full-fledged adult, I've been lucky enough to meet Christopher Moore and even luckier to meet his legion of equally irrelevant fans. They've made bad jokes and I've made worse jokes, but it makes me love them all even more. Over the years I've collected bits and pieces of publisher-distributed Christopher Moore paraphernalia: bookmarks, a Fool t-shirt, a poster with the cover of Sacré Bleu. Yesterday morning, though, I found my favorite Chris Moore item, a three-pair of stockings sent to me from the man himself.

Christopher Moore-commissioned stockings, a copy of The Serpent of Venice, and a little gnome just because.

We have a whole box of them, which Chris will be randomly distributing during the event. Want some of your own? Well, get your tickets at brooklinebooksmith.com/tickets and head to Coolidge Corner on May 7. You'll know you're there when you find yourself among a legion of rabid fans, all wearing thigh-high stockings and clutching their own copy of The Serpent of Venice.

In Three Bookmarks

After lugging my borrowed copy through four countries, I finally finished The Goldfinch just in time for its Pulitzer Prize win. I borrowed it from Lydia, who borrowed it from Natasha, who had grabbed a galley copy of the book over a year ago. It has been loved, very, very loved, with three bookmarks, unintentionally bent pages and all.

Bookmark #1

When I was in Boston Logan waiting for my first of (too) many flights, I opened the book and discovered this bookmark on page 37, holding Lydia's page. It was made by the insanely talented Julia while she had a broken arm, and I'm not surprised that while wobbly, the entire image is legible! I'm happy to say Julia is completely healed (yes, it took me that long to finish this book) and is in tip top shape. I used it for my bookmark for a little bit, until I realized that meant Lydia would be at a loss when I returned the book.



Bookmark #2

I have to go to bookstores wherever I go. In Jakarta, I was attempting to navigate a mall with a friend and extremely limited knowledge of Bahasa (terima kasih!) when we happened upon a machine next to the mall directory. After using the touch screen to type out 'book,' out came this slip with very careful directions to the closest bookstore.  I don't think I've ever been so happy to see a touch screen in my life. This slip of paper made me so delighted, and in my desire to keep it forever I put it in the safest place I knew--the book I was currently reading.


Bookmark #3

Once I had gotten back to Boston, I put The Goldfinch on my kitchen table in an attempt to read it during breakfast. Almost immediately my roommate noticed and mentioned that she wanted to read it, so we started reading it in tandem. It was fun to see our respective bookmarks jump ahead bit by bit.

My roommate's bookmark of choice is a Brookline Booksmith bookmark (of course), continually supplied by me.


I'm glad to part from it. I have held this book in my hands, used it as a pillow among a sea of airport sleepers, been furious at myself for carrying a four-pound book with me when I am notorious for going over my luggage weight--in short, spent more than enough time with it. The Goldfinch is now safely nestled in Lydia's box, sans duct tape, ready to be read again.

Wait

Coolidge Corner is full of pedestrians, and I'm one of them. After being born and raised in suburbia, this ability to walk everywhere is a delight. Every day I run into someone I know, whether it be on my way to work, at the coffee shop, or when I'm getting a sandwich. I know you, you know me, we keep an eye out for one another. This is a very tangible community, and I'm glad to do my part in keeping it that way. 

During yesterday's event with Boston Globe's Scott Helman and Jenna Russell, I was standing next to one of our event coordinators and looking out at the crowd. It was a little after 7, and Katie was waiting for the right moment to start. I was getting worried because one of our regular event attendees, a polite older gentleman, hadn't shown up yet. He had sworn he would attend, and I asked her to wait a little bit longer. A few minutes later, we heard footsteps on the stairs and there he was. Katie started the event, no one was the wiser, I breathed a sigh of relief. 

Vignettes

I was walking in to our back rooms the other day with a piece of seaweed in my hand and one in my mouth when I passed Paul, who was holding a muffin in his hand, which was lovingly made by our store manager Dana. We looked at each other and started laughing. I should thank Dana for this, the fact that she has brought together a horde of snack-obsessed booksellers that are comfortable laughing at themselves.

A French woman came in to ask if we had any books about food trucks, and although we didn't have food truck specific books on hand I recommended L.A. Son by Roy Choi. Mei from the food truck Mei Mei Street Kitchen was browsing the Cooking section at the time and struck up a conversation with the woman. It turns out that the woman's son ran an Asian food truck in the south of France, and later that day she and her daughter-in-law went to visit Mei Mei Kitchen over in Audubon Circle. A chance meeting became a full-blown friendship.

A customer e-mailed us to ask if we could take a picture outside of the store to wish her boyfriend a happy birthday. Brookline Booksmith helped solidify their relationship--they bonded over their mutual love of our store, which continues even though they've moved from the area.

A few months ago, sidewalk renovations were being done right outside of the bookstore. I remember looking at the sidewalk, the concrete peeled away to reveal layers of brick underneath, remnants of Coolidge Corner's past. This space has gone from Paperback Booksmith to Brookline Booksmith within the past half-century, but before that this space used to be a grocery store and before that? I'll have to ask Marshall.

We're so aware that this is a place where people find each other, building friendships and relationships that continue long after you've set foot in this bookstore. The bookstore is the backdrop for several unfolding dramas, customers and employees alike. I could tell you so many little stories about this place, and you could do the same for me, vignettes coming together to make this bookstore all of ours.

Love, Love, Love.

I am possibly the loudest person who works at Brookline Booksmith. I talk incessantly about things I like, and if there is a book or author I'm obsessed with, you will know. I regularly attempt to give up coffee to try to curb my enthusiasm but I keep going back because I love talking with our local baristas.

Yes, this is a pitchfork. The construction is questionable,
so please do not spear villagers or rampaging monsters with it.

Last night we held an event for Jeremy P. Bushnell's crazy new book, The Weirdness. Booksellers loved it, so upon arrival he was presented with a pitchfork. Rather than run screaming from the bookstore, Jeremy was delighted that his inaugural event came with a lovingly-crafted present. Katie even used the pitchfork in her introduction to emphasize how The Weirdness "skewers the lit machine." The audience was appreciative, and I hid in the back so that I would be less likely to fist pump Katie (for such a great intro!) and Jeremy (who actually used the pitchfork!) during the event.

While my crafting skills don't come out for every author event, I try to make sure we have events that we can all be excited about--whether it be a fledgling author, a poet we've admired for ages, or someone whose work has struck us. The more times the word 'love' is invoked, the better.

How to Make a Bookseller Fall in Love With You*

It's Valentine's Day. Cards are flying off our racks, harried-looking men are running into our store with bouquets of flowers bought from Trader Joes, and my gentleman caller sent me a box full of Bon Chon chicken (all drumsticks!!!).

Since I'm in the holiday spirit (and no longer ravenous for snacks) I'll dispense some advice for making a bookseller fall in love with you and your book. I hope you didn't think this was about making a bookseller actually fall in love with you, even though I think it would probably involve a lot of food and bookshelves we wouldn't be ashamed to merge with.

Consider us Kept!

1. Tell us we are pretty. I mean, don't tell me that, tell me that the bookstore is pretty. Tell us you like our selection, the recommendations we write, how pretty our colors are. We like compliments, and you'll see us blush a bit when you give us props for our spatial reasoning skills. 

2. Give us chocolates. We talk about food on a daily basis. It is not surprising to see booksellers pop their heads into the break room with a hopeful look that asks, "Are there snacks?" You haven't seen heartbreak until you see a hungry, snack-less bookseller who really wants a potato chip. 

James Scott (The Kept) left us a kind note with chocolates. We liked him already, but we like him even more now. "I've worked at a bookstore before," he said. "I know about snacks."  

FirstSecond can do no wrong.

3. Send us free books. I'll be honest--I love everything FirstSecond puts out and I would have been talking about these books anyway, but since I have it now? My poor co-workers will be hearing about this book for months. (By the way, we're having an event with Box Brown for his illustrated bio of Andre the Giant on 7/1!)

4. Be nice. I've put books at the forefront of my to-read list because an author was nice to me.

5. Write a good book.  This is really the most integral part of having us fall in love with you, and after you've created a work that we're bound to get excited over, send us chocolates.

*Note: This is not a ploy to get more chocolates.  Noooooooooo

March events? Already?

Here's a preview of our March schedule, and I'm really excited. I did a little dance in the Booksmith break room and alarmed a few of my co-workers, so I'm taking it to the Internet where I use words and consciously abstain from exclamation points.

• Michio Kaku, March 5.  I'm secretly in love with science (please do not tell my father, he wanted me to study biology and I staunchly refused in my not-so-rebellious youth) and Michio Kaku is one of my favorite scientists.  In addition to being an engaging speaker, he was on The Science of Doctor Who special talking about the viability of time travel and that made me adore him even more. Tickets are on sale February 3, and if you can't manage to get to the store, visit brooklinebooksmith.com/tickets. 
• Andrew Knapp and Momo, March 6. I am openly a dog lover.  There is a picture on the Booksmith Instagram of a dog kissing my face, of which I feel no shame.  I admit that I take any and all opportunities to pet dogs, their owners standing to the side to wait for the end of our love-fest and my boss standing to the side waiting for me to go back to work.  Well, Momo gives me the opportunity to work and pet a dog.  Visit gofindmomo.com to see this adorable border collie hiding Where's Waldo-like in various locales, and visit us on March 6 to meet Momo. 
• Austin Kleon, March 17. The man behind Steal Like An Artist visits with his latest, Show Your Work.  People love him for all sorts of reasons, and I love him for Newspaper Blackout, which had me laughing, crying, and then buying a pack of Sharpies and a few newspapers to see what I could create myself. 

There are so many more events on our calendar (the brilliant Helen Oyeyemi on 3/8, local Jeremy Bushnell on 3/11, Yarn Harlot Stephanie Pearl-McPhee on 3/12, and MORE) so I expect to see you waiting at the door at 9am on February 1st, pounding on the door and rabid for the release of our March event calendar...

...or you could check our website some time in February to see what our March events look like, or pick up the calendar when you visit us like you usually do, or read our whiteboard to see what's up ahead, or look at the author posters board and our event window, or visit brooklinebooksmith.com/googlecalendar.  The powers that be ask me to ask you to abstain from door pounding, so in exchange I will give a hearty high five if you ask. 

Slowly But Surely

When I moved to Boston a few years ago, I left my full collection of books at my parents' house, electing to bring select volumes and sending for more as I needed them.  Every time I go home or have a visitor from home, I bring (or ask them to bring) at least 10 books. I know I'm going to box them up and send them to my Boston address via media mail one day, but I'm holding off because this way is more fun.

Last week, I called my little brother to see if he could put together a stack for a friend of mine to pack.  I e-mailed him a list, which he promptly ignored, and when I got him on the phone it was only because he was avoiding his homework.  I had him go through a few shelves, reading aloud title after title, asking him who wrote what.  We reached San Francisco Poems by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, and I asked him to pop it open and read a random poem to see if I wanted him to send it along.  After sighing repeatedly, he started reading "The Great Chinese Dragon" in a very inspired fashion. Halfway through, I asked him if he knew what it was about. "Dragons taking over Chinatown, and then people telling the dragons they can't take over Chinatown and stuffing them in basements" was his reply.  I told him what I thought it was about and debated, somehow managing to draw my sister in and starting a three-person argument about poetry, ending with my brother threatening to do his homework.

I asked for the next title. "You suck." my brother said.  I was aghast. "...by Christopher Moore."

Media mail can wait, I'm having too much fun with this.