It is the time of year where we write the required gift giving email inspiring everyone to buy books at Brown and Dickson bookshop. We write this every year and we write it without guilt. Why? Because we are good at recommending books. In fact, going back in both of our memories, we cannot think of a time when a customer has stormed into our shop demanding a refund based on a book recommendation. We have been asked kindly for a refund, which we gave without issue. But storming in? No. Although once we were cursed by a customer (we’ve mentioned this before) a uni-browed customer no less (a werewolf?) who, at the threshold of the shop, looked back at both of us and yelled, “IN THE NAME OF ZEUS AND ALL HIS MINIONS I CURSE BOTH YOUR HOUSES!”
We haven’t quite recovered from that one.
Getting back on track though, we’re pretty boss when it comes to suggesting gift ideas, especially for your weird relatives. Despite most of our mailing list being made of up lovely tattoo artists, zine fiends, cultural reprobates, and academics, there are still some good salt of the earth folk out there burdened with interesting relatives. We feel you. We are here to help. You love them. You look at them with puzzlement and love. How do they tick? Why do they behave that way? Why can’t they ever show up on time, anywhere? We know what makes them tick. We know what they buy, what horrible secrets they keep. We will keep those secrets (bookseller client privilege) but we can wave a strange book beneath your nose and whisper, “This one will do the trick. Trust us.”
That way when Christmas comes around, and you’re all snogged on mulled wine and the gifts are being handed out, you can recline confidently knowing that your obviously wrapped book will inspire the mordant goth in your life. Or even a teenager. We have two boys living in our house. They’re stinky. They’re hormoned. They share opinions recklessly. Adults are from earth. Teenagers are from the molten fire at the earth’s core, but we have books for them. We have books with blood and swears and all sorts of transgressive, parent-frightening information. Give that to them on the holiest of days and see your love reciprocated in mumbling, unaware, hostility. Hostility tinged with respect.
Respect. Finally.
Or, damning all convention, just buy a book for yourself! We certainly do. Buy a book to retreat from all things festive to curl up in the darkest corner of your family gathering and IGNORE the happy few. You have the whole thing set up already: fireplaces, chocolate, sweaters, blankets, and now books! Pile them around you in biblio-camouflage.
“Where’s Jason?” they might ask.
“I think he’s gone to walk the dog.”
And you can laugh in your hidey-hole, five pages in, while the dog sleeps on your lap and you’ve bought like a whole hour to yourself. Then, when everyone finally gathers in the room, emerge from the pile screaming, “SANTA’S NOT REAL!” and no one will ask you to Christmas again. Except for the teenager. They will respect you.
They will look up to you forever.
Here are some books for sale.
Much love,
Jason and Vanessa
