There’s something lovely and secret about preparing these book lists for you. In other shops we’ve worked in (including our own before the members’ lists) we’d catalogue a whole bunch of material and then launch it into the world. We’d put it on shelves, send emails, make calls, wave strangers down on the street, immediately feeling the weirdly patient yet desperate need to sell books to book lovers. The members’ email has changed this a little bit. Now we sit behind the north desk, stack of books beside our computer, and take time. We took our time before. Cataloguing requires observation. What is it about this alien abduction book that makes it unique (different, say, than the other alien abduction books)? Who was Buckminster Fuller, really? Has Margaret Laurence’s star fallen? Making this list each week has changed things in a good way. It has added another layer of protection for us from the desperate need of salesmanship. Thank you.
With this list we can take a little time, knowing we have until Friday to look at these books. It’s like there’s a little club here behind the north desk. We know your interests. We know your requests. Yes, Tom, we do have a book on secret handshakes. I will catalogue that with you in mind. Andrew? Does he have this Huxley? Does Nicole have this Austen? Maybe we’re just needy for an indoor-kid club where we can paradoxically be alone in your company. Maybe this club needs to be punctuated with the excited info-dumps we exchange when you come in to pick up your titles. We love this from other shops. We shop at other bookstores too. We call them up and buy books and talk about the world and how stupid it can be. We talk about how beautiful it can be too. Then we buy books about murder and ghosts. It’s thrilling.
This past week we acquired a good modern and contemporary poetry collection and Jason puzzled over it, buried in stacks of thin books teetering beside him on the penny counter. Auden, Hughes, Brandt (two Clive Barkers for some reason) and he was almost grumpy with glee. When Jason is happy cataloguing he is grumpy. He goes inward to that marvelous, trivial place where one hundred thousand poetry books float around in his mind like Little Man Tate’s pool game.
You are a source of joy for us, members. Please share your requests with us. Let us know the desires of your bookish hearts so that we can find meaning in fulfilling them.
With love,
Jason and Vanessa
