An amateur no more...

 

 

 So, this past week, I realized a life-long dream.  After years of working the amateur circuit, I have become a professional bookseller.  What's an amateur bookseller, you may be asking?  Well, I've had a pretty fierce case of bookseller-envy going, and it wasn't at all uncommon for me to loiter in a bookstore for hours, hand-selling favorite titles to random customers, answering questions... possibly moving friends' books to more advantageous shelf positions.

 

I am delighted to announce that I've been hired by Bookshop West Portal, one of San Francisco's

finest independent booksellers.  (Thank you Neal, Kevin, & Richard!)  I've been shopping at Bookshop West Portal for years.  They've also hosted some of my favorite author events: Ann Patchett, Gary Shteyngart, Jonathan Tropper, my pal Matt Richtel, and so many more.  My new co-workers are people I want as friends.  Take my word for it, it's a really good place!

 

It was kind of fun to announce this new job to friends and the world.  There was a widespread cry of "You're perfect for it!"  And I was tickled by the number of best-selling authors who took the time to congratulate me.  I spend so much time with writers; I can't wait to see a friend show up in the shop to sign stock.  And I've already started hand-selling my favorite books.  Please don't tell my new bosses, but this feels a bit like being paid (albeit modestly) to do what I normally do:

• Follow the publishing industry
• Read a bunch of books
• Talk to people about them

Best. Job. Ever.

So, yes, it's business as usual around here, but now when I read the PW Daily, I can feel noble.  "This is for work," I say.  Peruse reviews in the New York Times--for work.  Earlier tonight I was schmoozing with a Pulitzer Prize winner and a National Book Award winner--for work.  And I'm reading more than ever, which, as you know, is saying something.

I fear that my television viewing--already well below the national average--is going to suffer.  As these things go, I've probably read more new titles than the average bookseller.  My iPhone tells me that I read an average of 4.3 books a week last year.  But surely I can up that number?  I would really like to read at least 5 books a week this year.  250 books in 2014 sounds like a reasonable goal.  After just a few days in the store, it's become incredibly obvious just how much easier it is to (a) sell a book, and (b) help a customer, if you've actually read every book in the store.  Happily, I was able to compare and contrast The Goldfinch and The Luminaries for a customer this week.  (That's 1,600 pages right there.)  I was able to give my personal seal of approval to Lisa O'Donnell's debut novel, The Death of Bees to a nervous book club reader.  I was able to recommend Robin Sloan's Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore and Ernie Cline's Ready Player One for the woman looking for something light to bring a sick friend.

Oh, can we talk gifts?  I wrapped a lot of gifts this week!  (This is actually pathetic.  My family will attest that my gift-wrapping skills are remedial at best.  So much to learn.)  But the subject of gifts reminds me of the best thing I saw this week, and it happened on my very first day.  It was the best omen imaginable.

Bookshop West Portal is tremendously valued by the local community.  It's so incredibly obvious.   Any number of customers mentioned how important it was to support their local independent bookstore as I rang them up.  And there's a terrific core of super-friendly regulars.  They're greeted by name, as I am in so many bookstores across the city.  I was warmly welcomed by all that I met.  That first day I met a customer that I'll simply refer to as "the Hungarian Gentleman."  He came by to pick up a special order that included hardback copies of Wildwood and Under Wildwood by Colin Meloy (which are already out in paperback).  "How many copies of these books do you think I buy?" he asked my colleague.  His guess of "a dozen" was a little low.  Apparently, it was more like 30 copies of each book.  This lovely man, this Hungarian Gentleman, buys these beautiful books to hand out to random young people that he meets as he goes through his daily life.  He'll stop and gift them to a kid on the street and go on his way. 

The Hungarian Gentleman had to feed his meter.  He dropped off the books in his car and came back.  While he was browsing, a teenage girl came in looking for a copy of Veronica Roth's latest, Allegiant.  I didn't witness this interaction, but he must have approached her.  He wound up buying her copies of both Meloy books, as well as her copy of Allegiant.  It was a not inconsiderable total, and he was so clearly happy to do it.  This Hungarian Gentleman is a literary Santa Claus!  (I'm not kidding; I've heard he sometimes takes poor booksellers out for meals.  Amazing.)  This man is doing everything possible to foster a love of reading in these young people, no strings attached.  I didn't know people like this existed.  I mean, I've been a Bookcrosser for years, but this is taking the  Random Act of Literary Kindness (RALK) to a whole new level.  And I get to work in a store where such people congregate.

I've only been on the job for a week.  I haven't had to schlep boxes of books until my back aches.  I haven't had a customer give me grief over a bad recommendation.  I haven't had the slightest negative experience.  I'm not an idiot.  Shiny, new jobs fade, and bad days are a part of life.  But, you know what?  Everyone who knows me knows that I was born to be a bookseller.  I already have been a bookseller.  I think that this is going to be a good fit.

Super sad, super satirical--it's just SUPER!

Super Sad True Love Story: A Novel
by Gary Shteyngart

At one point when I was reading this disturbing, satirical look at a possible American future, I just thought, "Wait! How did we get there from here? How did we get from the America I know to a totalitarian nation on the verge of financial and political collapse?" And in the next moment, unbidden, I thought, "It's a totally logical projection."

Gary Shteyngart's Super Sad True Love Story is provoking some strong responses. It's polarizing. It's disturbing. It is funny, but you know how humor is, so subjective. What I find uproarious, you'll find imbecilic. As a great man said, "So it goes." Perhaps one of the reasons the novel is so provocative is that despite the absurd humor and the extremity of Shteyngart's vision, his satirical eye is dead on. He's got us pegged.

As for the plot, it's an epistolary novel, a romance related from the pages of Lenny Abramov's diary and Eunice Park's emails and instant messages. Poor, sweet, neurotic Lenny. He'll never be the best looking guy in the room, but he has other redeeming qualities. He's kind, sincere, loving, fiscally responsible, a reader and a thinker. Unfortunately, 39-year-old Lenny lives in an aggressively vulgar and illiterate culture that is obsessed with youth, beauty, and consumerism. The object of his affection is the much younger, much hotter Eunice. It's an unlikely match, but I was actually touched as the relationship progressed, all the while fearing for Lenny's tender heart.

There is so much I could write about this novel! The fact that Lenny works in the indefinite life preservation industry, based on the idea that if you're rich enough you never have to die. His boss, Joshie Goldman, is a post-adolescent septuagenarian. The fact that LNWI (Low Net Worth Individuals) have formed a tent city in Central Park, and there are armed National Guardsmen all over the New York. The very idea of privacy is essentially a thing of the past. Everyone wears a device that simultaneously connects them online and broadcasts the most intimate details of their lives, and people--lliterally--feel they can't live without the constant stream of data. The dystopian near future that Shteyngart has created is so rich and fully realized and so worthy of contemplation and discussion. I can barely touch on the ideas he explores in a few paragraphs.

It is worth mentioning just how strong his writing is as well. Even in the midst of the tortured language used by his characters, I found his prose to be a joy to read. There were interesting subtleties to the end of the novel, and I'm not completely sure I understood everything. Rather than weaken the ending, I find this to be a strength. I'll be pondering Eunice's decisions for some time, and look forward to discussing the end with friends. Yeah, this one's going to stick with me for a while.