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Shelf Awareness for Readers
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Books & Bookshelves as Infrastructure

"The bookshelf, like the book, has become an integral part of civilization as we know it, its presence in a home practically defining what it means to be civilized, educated and refined. Indeed, the presence of bookshelves greatly influences our behavior.... They are infrastructure." --Henry Petroski, The Book on the Bookshelf

Before shelving commenced.

A miracle is taking place. The books in our house are currently being alphabetized and organized by category--fiction, nonfiction, poetry and art. This is an epic undertaking. There, I said it. My long, un-alphabetized era of biblioshame is finally coming to an end.

The process does feel like bolstering infrastructure, and I'll tell you why. But first, a history lesson: In 2006, I wrote: "My living room is the closest thing I have to a personal library. On my bookshelves, which take up significant space in this large room, are, as you might suspect of a lifelong reader and longtime bookseller, hundreds of books. I've managed recently to get them into a kind of order--fiction, nonfiction, poetry, art--but alphabetization still eludes me."

That "order" was painfully short-lived, but last September, in a different house and city, I noted that we were planning an ambitious bookcase-building project. Several years had passed since the move, and our substantial book collection, while readily accessible, existed in a state of barely contained anarchy. Locating a particular title was often a fraught and disappointing enterprise. "This will change soon and our home will at last be fluent in the language of books," I wrote.

And so it has. There is a new bookcase upstairs for titles currently "in play," and our renovated basement guest room/library features bookshelves constructed to fit an intriguing wedge of space. A year-and-a-half after buying this house, we're beginning to feel that the infrastructure is finally near completion, as we dust and shelve books that have been huddled in exile for much too long.

I knew when we began this stage of the process there would be pleasure in seeing our books take on a less amorphous organizational shape, but there have been a few other surprises as well:

Shelving books as an amateur: For years, shelving was part of my job description as a bookseller. Bookcarts constantly emerged from the receiving area and finding time to shelve was a daily challenge, as well a matter of ongoing negotiations with colleagues. Now, however, I'm shelving as an amateur and it has been fun, which is a little shocking.

Unanticipated memories: My mother long ago gave me a four-volume, leather-bound set of Oscar Wilde's works, which had belonged to my grandfather. He spent his life working in Vermont marble mills. I have no memory of him reading... anything. But I have the mystery of these beautiful books, which I just rediscovered in a box.

Shelving in progress.

Stunning inventory gaps: As the alphabetical infrastructure gradually filled in, I asked myself more than once: How can we not have a single title by ______? You fill in the blank. I'm too embarrassed.

Discovery: There it suddenly was, a book--almost in tatters from page-flipping and awash in marginalia--I hadn't seen for years and had long given up as MIA. I'm not going to tell you the title because you have some of these, too. Just imagine losing, and then finding, your book.

Loss: Even the discovery that a book I was certain had traveled along with us for years is no longer part of the herd can be a source of bittersweet pleasure. The realization provokes new questions: Where did it go? Should we get a new copy?

Javier Marías observed that "although the various apartments in which I've lived in various countries have always been very temporary and not, of course, mine, I have never been able to feel even minimally at ease in them until I have acquired a few books and placed them on the shelves, a pale reflection of that childhood bounty. Only then have I begun to think of the place in question, be it in England, the United States, or Italy, as habitable.... the walls need to be totally covered so that the books can speak to me through their closed mouths, their motley, multicolored, and very silent spines."

"Reshelving in the bookstore is never done," Granada Books, Santa Barbara, Calif., recently posted on Facebook. The same could be said for reshelving in the home, but we're getting closer every day. Our new bookcases, and the books gradually lining their shelves, have become a key part of the infrastructure that supports this house. --Published by Shelf Awareness, issue #2427


When a Frontline Bookseller Retires

Many of my favorite bookseller stories begin, "There was this customer who...." Here's one: There was this customer who regularly came into Manchester's Northshire Bookstore looking for fiction recommendations, and for a brief period took some of mine. She was a brusque, intense New Jersey lawyer who owned a weekend getaway place in Vermont. "I liked this one," I'd say, launching into my 25-words-or-less bookish moment of passionate intensity. Then she'd lock her steely, cross-examination courtroom eyes on mine and demand, "Well, did you like it or did you love it?"

Though I managed a few successful handsells, she quickly discovered that her reading tastes were more closely aligned with those of Louise Jones, a colleague of mine the lawyer was also consulting about great reads. It was only a matter of time before the attorney acted in the decisive manner you would expect, and even though we continued our friendly bookish banter for years, Louise became her handseller of choice.

Louise Jones
(photo: Mary Allen)

I was thinking about that customer Tuesday night when I returned to the Northshire for a party celebrating Louise's retirement after more than 30 years as a bookseller. In addition to current and former staff members, the guests included many longtime customers for whom Louise has played an important role--equal parts friend and reading guru.  

In the bookstore's e-newsletter recently, Northshire co-owner Chris Morrow observed: "As many of you know, Louise's specialty was mystery books. She has turned generations of visitors on to the latest mysteries--whether mainstream or obscure. But Louise's impact is much broader than that. She helped train countless booksellers in the art of master bookselling, she wrote and edited many of our newsletters, and she steadfastly advocated for excellence. Please join me in thanking Louise for her dedication to the bookstore and the community for these many years."

Hired by the Northshire in the spring of 1992, I was one of the countless booksellers Louise trained. During my interview process, someone explained the absurd concept that customers would expect, even demand, book recommendations from me. As a customer at many bookshops, I had never asked for such a thing and wondered why anyone would want to know what I liked to read. Fortunately, I kept those reservations to myself and was hired.

How, then, did I make the substantial transition from skeptic to passionate handseller so quickly? I watched and learned and emulated. From day one, I saw how Louise turned conversations into sales without pushing; how she condensed the essence of a book into an irresistible paragraph; how she could handsell a suspense novel, cookbook, historical biography or book about fishing with equal adeptness (and sometimes to the same customer); and how she moved across the sales floor taking care of business while always being available for customer interaction. I learned that bookselling was not just a retail job. It could be a vocation, even an art.

During Louise's retirement party, Ed Morrow, co-founder (with Barbara) of the Northshire, said, "A bookstore is really a culture and a society of like-minded people. Louise has been an example right from the start of the epitome of bookselling. She helped the bookstore to grow and to create a culture."

Observing her, I learned the cultural value of being a great frontline bookseller. Gradually, I also came to realize that when the book trade used the term "bookseller," they were most often referring to bookstore owners rather than staff. In 2004, I launched a blog called Fresh Eyes: A Bookseller's Journal in part to showcase the important role frontline booksellers like Louise play in the business, particularly since they are usually the only direct point of contact the book-buying public has with the publishing industry.

I think perceptions have changed in recent years, with the growth of social media interaction among booksellers and more publisher awareness, as well as the creation of venues like ABA's Winter Institute. Still, it is often headline news in local newspapers and industry trade publications when bookstore owners sell or close their shops, while the retirement of a gifted frontline bookseller, which can also have significant community impact, receives less attention.

Louise is one of those gifted booksellers and she will be missed. Former publisher sales rep Bill Andrews, who called on the Northshire for many years, summed it up nicely in a Facebook comment: "I guess all good things must end. Congratulations Louise! You are without doubt one of the absolute best booksellers I have ever seen, a true pro in every way, and as nice as they come. Thank you for the many kindnesses you have shown me down through the years. Enjoy the party--such a classy move--and enjoy all those fantastic books that await you in retirement. You are fantastic!!" And she is. Happy retirement, Louise. --Published by Shelf Awareness, issue #2423


Looking Busy, Until It Gets Busy Again

Bunch of Grapes, Vineyard Haven, Mass.
photo: Timothy Johnson/Vineyard Gazette

"Winter is icumen in." Quick, look busy!

Do you still recall those merry, intense times on the sales floor during the 2014 holiday season? Every day, you could feel the momentum as you fed off your customers' energy and soared to handselling performance heights that touched upon retail greatness. Was it really just last month? Now, another cold, bleak January has arrived and far too many of those motivated customers seem to be hibernating. The bookstore is quiet, too quiet, and you're looking for something to do to pass the hours.

That, my friends, is where the art of looking busy comes into play.

I know, I know. You have plenty to do. You can recite, on demand, a long and ever-expanding litany of items clamoring for your immediate attention, like a sword of Damocles--forged from reminder notes, to-do lists and publisher catalogues--that hovers over your teetering stack of to-be-read ARCs.

Ignore all that. The angel on your shoulder may be advising you to get to work, but the devil offers a more tempting alternative, whispering that you've earned a January break. This time of year, a subtle strain of bookseller cabin fever can set in. It's not the good, permissible kind that involves drinking a mug of hot cocoa while reading a fine book next to a blazing fireplace at home after a hard day of work.

No, this version is the devil's counsel: Just look busy. Your boss or staff or customers won't even notice if you do it right. A delicate subject, I concede. On a bookstore sales floor in January, however, looking busy can sometimes be elevated to the level of survival skill, perhaps even fine art.

If you want to do this properly, there is a learning curve. From the customer's perspective, you should always appear occupied, yet approachable. This means no reading books when you're working behind the counter and limited socializing with other booksellers on the sales floor. Stroll whenever possible. Carrying a small stack of books is your passport because it appears you are on a mission. Idly straightening shelves and displays works well as a diversionary tactic. You're a little busy, but available if needed. On the other hand, shelving books as if your life depended on it is frowned upon.

Maybe you recall the old days, when staring at a checkout counter computer screen was a looking busy option? To the uneducated eye, you appeared to be doing something constructive--ordering a book for a phone customer or searching inventory. That, of course, was before social media and the age of cyberloafing. Now, even if you're legitimately tracking comparative section sales on Above the Treeline, you will appear to be checking personal Facebook updates or tweeting about customer fashion choices as they showroom your bestseller list with smartphones.

As might be expected, retail experts (as well as would-be experts) have addressed the "look like you're busy" issue from every angle. Don't go there for guidance. For every well-intentioned "50 Things Retail Employees Can Do When They're Not Busy" ("If you let them just wait for customers, the entire energy in your store will suffer."), you will find a "How to Look Busy When You Really Aren't" ("The key to looking busy is to keep moving, and the faster you're moving, the busier you look.")

It is also recommended that you resist the advice of perennial get-a-life coach George Costanza: "Right now, I sit around pretending that I'm busy.... I always look annoyed. When you look annoyed all the time, people think that you're busy."

Okay, I confess. The art of looking busy is really just a forgery.

Bookstores are expected to be a quiet refuge from life's clamor, but the post-holiday season lull can be a little disquieting. You do need a momentary break, even as you miss those jam-packed aisles and the smart cacophony of cheerful voices as patrons talked--and purchased--books. Their abrupt vanishing act can make your sales floor look as if it has been vacuum-sealed until spring.

Great bookselling requires focus, energy, financial sacrifice and... well, you know that list, too. Sustaining this level of commitment is a challenge, and yet you continue to meet it and to resist the lure of surrendering to routine. You deserve a moment to exhale in January. And if you take a little more time to get the engine revving on these chilly mornings, that's okay, too. Sometimes, if only briefly, it's better to look busy than to be busy.


Working It Out, 2008-2015

Maybe the book trade's sky wasn't falling in 2008, but the cloud ceiling was low and visibility limited. "With some exceptions, news about general holiday sales was grim, all for obvious reasons: the economy, bad weather, the economy, heavy discounting, the economy," we noted in our first issue of 2009.  

And yet, for reasons I still don't quite understand, I wrote the following in my last column of the year:

As 2008 comes to an end, I mourn neither the hazardous present nor an illusory past. For 2009, I'll simply begin a new conversation by imagining possibilities:

  • What if the shop local movement continues to gain momentum nationwide?
  • What if we work even harder to nurture the readers we have instead of bemoaning those we've lost?
  • What if we begin paying more attention to all the fine books, including translated works, being published by independent and university houses?
  • What if some of those bright minds and good people who are unfortunately no longer working for major publishers decide to create more smart, dynamic and lean indie presses?
  • What if, with common sense, fierce adaptability and, yes, imagination, it all works out?

Here's to an imaginative New Year.

Acknowledging that objects in the mirror may be closer than they appear, let's revisit 2008 and the economic meltdown that at the time seemed quite possibly the death knell for any number of businesses, large and small. In October of that year, the Dow Jones Industrial Average had its biggest one-day decline, responding to a report that retail sales had reached a three-year low as well as a prediction by Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke that economic recovery would be slow.

Earlier that month, I'd attended some of the fall regional bookseller shows. My notes from 2008 indicate a disconcerting pattern, with far too many bookstore owners telling me they were seriously considering the possibility of closing. It seemed, at the time, like a trend. The conversations and education sessions were often about survival. A panel at MPIBA's fall show was appropriately titled "Bookselling in Challenging Times."

That was then.

Bidding farewell to 2014, we have to like much of what we saw.... all things considered. New indie bookstores opened and longtime indies expanded; James Patterson doled out a million bucks and e-book sales leveled off. During the fall bookseller trade shows, conversations and panel discussion topics focused on getting better rather than just getting by. And, once again, the sky did not fall.

The industry's mood, which we try to gauge daily with our Shelf Awareness Booksellerometer (patent pending), has generally been positive as well as hearteningly realistic. Those two words seem well matched to me. It's too early to talk about phoenixes rising from ashes, but we didn’t become a flock of Icaruses either.

As Dan Cullen, American Booksellers Association senior strategy officer, observed during the Heartland Fall Forum general meeting, booksellers at all of the regionals he'd attended in 2014 "have been incredibly upbeat, incredibly energized.... There is a real resurgence of indie bookstores in America.... We are finally seeing the media decouple the word 'beleaguered' from indie bookstore."

This is not to say that bad news took a holiday in 2014. Wonderful book people passed away and they will be missed. Some bookstores had to close, while many others sought help locally and through crowdfunding. Amazon's retail floodgates remained open, even as Mr. Bezos absorbed staggering personal and corporate losses. Well, you know the headlines.

What's next? My 2008 year-end column was titled "What if It All Works Out?" I'm still not sure why I took the optimistic route. Anyone who's known me for 10 minutes can attest to the fact that I'm a devoted fatalist. In so many ways, 2008 made perfect sense for my Eeyore-ish worldview, but this is what I wrote:

Since this is my final column during a year that has seemed fully in tune with that old curse, "May you live in interesting times," I decided to end on a positive note by considering the role imagination plays in our lives as professional book people.

Look it up. In the Oxford American Dictionary, imagination is "the faculty or action of forming new ideas, or images or concepts of external objects not present to the senses." It is also "the ability of the mind to be creative or resourceful."

We are in the imagination business by either definition, and because of this we, more than most people, should be aware of the dangers and possibilities inherent in that magic word.

Happy New Year! Here's to a creative and resourceful 2015. --Published by Shelf Awareness, issue #2413


A Bookstore Cat Guy's Christmas Story

"A Fur Person must be adopted by catly humans, tactful, delicate respectful, indulgent; these are fairly rare, though not as rare as might be supposed." --from May Sarton's The Fur Person, which isn't technically about a bookstore cat, though protagonist Tom Jones is a very literary feline indeed.

Bookstore cats and booksellers share many traits, perhaps none so much as a keen awareness and appreciation for the homes they ultimately find in bookshops after long and arduous journeys.

Molly, a Shelf Awareness editorial cat, finds a copy of Wendy Welch's The Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap in the stacks.

It was destiny, I suppose--a crucial moment in infancy--that sealed my fate as a bookstore cat guy. For my first Christmas, when I was eight months old, one of my aunts gave me an autographed and inscribed copy of The Blue Cat of Castle Town by Catherine Cate Coblentz, illustrated by Janice Holland. It was a Newbery Honor Book in 1950, the year of my birth, though of course I wasn't aware of that at the time. My initial review was probably that it tasted good when I chewed the cover.

My aunt lived in Castleton, Vt., which served as the 19th Century setting for this tale of a blue cat searching for "a hearth where a mortal understood and sang that song" of beauty, peace and contentment.

Unfortunately, I never worked in a bookstore that had a resident cat. Some of my favorite bookshops do, but I couldn't begin to showcase them all. We occasionally highlight bibliocats of note in Shelf Awareness, like the award-winning Amelia of the Spiral Bookcase, Philadelphia, Pa.; petcam-wearing Molly Bloom at Annie Bloom's Books, Portland, Ore.; or Franny the Instagram sensation at Skylight Books, Los Angeles.

And I have my personal favorites:

Wendy Welch, co-owner of Tales of The Lonesome Pine bookshop in Big Stone Gap, Va., offers bookstore cat internships in collaboration with a local shelter. Sporting new names with a literary pedigree, they get to roam the stacks (or perch on the branches of the Christmas book tree) while she helps them find "forever homes" via the bookshop's Facebook page. Wherever they end up, the kitties will always be honorary bookstore cats.  

I've also grown quite fond of Cake and Lemon at BooksActually in Singapore. Owner Kenny Leck's irresistible resident feline booksellers appear regularly on Facebook, but also provide a legion of fans with updates on their own Twitter accounts, @caketheking and @lemonthekisser.

Recently I learned that in China, the "20 cats that inhabit the Xinhua Bookstore entertain customers, wander freely and jump from one bookshelf to another. The bookstore, also home to the Nanjing Cat Café, has a wall covered with hydroponic flowers and luscious plants. Part of the revenue earned at the café is used to buy food for the cats that live in the store and also for stray cats outside." Nice.

To honor of bibliocats everywhere this holiday season, I'd like to offer you a gift by recommending a great read: Takashi Hiraide's small gem of a novel The Guest Cat, translated by Eric Selland (New Directions). It's one of my favorite books of 2014, and I'm not alone.

The Guest Cat, which was an unanticipated New York Times bestseller in the U.S. earlier this year, has more recently become a holiday season hit in the U.K. The Independent reported that "booksellers loved it. They placed it in their windows, on their front tables.... Just a few months after publication, it has sold 20,000 copies, an unimaginable figure for a title without a marketing campaign. It is now set to be among December's top sellers and is already the biggest-selling paperback of the year at one branch of Waterstones, in London's Gower Street."

"It's such an easy book to sell," said branch manager Alison Belshaw. "There is the physicality of the book for starters: it looks beautiful. It's also short.... And you can read it as a simple story, or see all sorts of depths to it." Belshaw recalled a man who came into the shop looking for a sci-fi novel: "And I sent him away with The Guest Cat. It's that kind of book. You want to recommend it to everyone."

Like the Fur Person and the Blue Cat and bookstore cats (and booksellers) worldwide, Chibi the "guest cat" is worth meeting, though getting to know her will be, as it must, just a little more complicated ("Chibi remained unfettered, coming and going as she pleased."). That's why she's my honorary bookstore cat of the year, and why you might consider giving her a "forever home" on your bookshelves. --Published by Shelf Awareness, issue #2410.