I’m going to post my Reading Notes every month. Maybe even more frequently, if it seems pertinent. A little insight into the world of bookselling along with thoughts on books and on being a voracious reader. There’ll be behind the scenes snippets, reviews (but not the in-depth lit crit type - I’ll leave that to the journals and broadsheets), thoughts on favourite titles… and anything in between.
It’s difficult knowing what kind of content to post here on a regular basis. I want subscribers to enjoy my writing and find it thought-provoking, inspiring and (when needed) comforting.
It’s obvious that many people love the idea of working in a bookshop; perhaps even dream of owning one. And I’m in the fortunate position of being a bookseller in a shop much-loved by locals and visitors alike. So it makes sense to write about it, to open the door on the realities of life behind the counter.
There’s so much material to explore: the actual mechanics of the job, the kind of things I enjoy reading, little events that take place amongst the stacks and shelves.
Without further ado, then: my Reading Notes for February.
The first thing I should mention is that the pile of books by the bed is growing steadily. It’s the result of a particularly fruitful library visit, and the fact that I cannot resist buying a beautiful-looking book. I’m probably succumbing at the rate of one a week, so it isn’t too problematic.
This procuring occurs in one of two ways.
Most often, I’ll be researching titles to buy in for work. That requires some consideration as the demographic of a shop’s location and its customers can be quite specific but they’re key to what will sell. Occasionally you’ll order something and it proves wildly popular. Sometimes a book which - excuse the pun - looks good on paper languishes on the shelf until it ends up on the returns pile.
There are lots of places I frequent in my search for lovely new books. And naturally, there’ll be those I can’t help but order in that ‘one for the shop, one for me’ approach. It could be a beautiful cover that hooks me, or a new release by a favourite author. The subject matter could be something I find particularly hard to pass up.
Perhaps a positive review prompts me to order something. Although, of course, these things are entirely subjective.
Other times, I’ll be straightening rows of paperbacks or rearranging displays. Newer titles are stacked on round tables or placed facing outwards from the shelves. There might be a new book in that catches my eye. Conversely, I might notice one I’ve previously overlooked and pick it up to discover more.
It’s usually paperbacks because I prefer them (easier to store at home), and almost always fiction. I rarely buy non-fiction but do love a beautifully photographed recipe or gardening book.
This month, I came across Lost in the Garden by Adam S Leslie. The reviews were good, the plot seemed intriguing… and yes, the cover appealed. Matte finish, dreamlike photograph, gorgeous colours. Add to basket. Well, search on our supplier’s website and copy and paste into Batchline - the stock management system for booksellers. One for me, two for the shop.
Having written about this still being winter (despite trying to buy myself a bit of spring in the form of daffodils, which look very sweet in their old jam jar), I picked up Karl Ove Knausgaard’s Winter from the biography section. Again, an appealing cover. And on opening it, the unexpected bonus of illustrations to mark each chapter.
‘Illustrations’ doesn’t really do the beautifully rendered paintings justice. They elevate the book from the ordinary, and a quick look at the blurb (not keen on that word, either) suggested it might be just as lovely to read as to hold and look at, with its creamy, heavier weight pages. Sold.
I’ve just finished a library loan: Tessa Hadley’s Bad Dreams. I enjoyed it, but not quite as much as After the Funeral. I borrowed Free Love at the same time, so hopefully that’ll be a good read.
Before then, I’ve started Wendy Erskine’s Sweet Home. Again, it was the cover that piqued my interest and again, it’s turning out to be engaging and entertaining, and more than a little bit unsettling. I seem to be going through a short stories phase at the moment: tales which explore women’s lives and their relationships, the minutiae of daily life, small struggles, family dynamics.
Tessa Hadley in particular writes so well about these things. Her prose is quite spare yet beautifully worded - there are lots of ‘I should write that down’ moments. Or, ‘I could never have come up with that description.’
My boss, Kate, brought in an old, much-thumbed paperback yesterday. She was very enthusiastic about it, and about the author in general. I’d heard of Georgette Heyer but not beyond the fact that she was a writer. But it was recommended to me and I gladly took the book. Regency-era isn’t generally something I go for, but I’m open-minded (sci-fi aside) and looking forward to giving it a try. A quick look online suggests Heyer has legions of devoted admirers who love her style of writing and her ‘sparkling’ humour, so I’m in. I’ll be trying The Grand Sophy once I’ve made inroads into my reading pile on the bedside table, specifically those from the library. There’s a limit of three renewals before they have to be returned…
Kate asked me which of the little Fairlight Moderns titles I’d recommend, so I suggested Bottled Goods (Sophie van Llewyn) and Polis Liozou’s A Good Year. Both have appeared here before, and both were great reads. Yet there’s always a sense of trepidation which comes with recommending books, because reading is a very personal thing. And suggesting titles to someone who’s incredibly well read is quite daunting.
A good example of this is Joanne Harris’s Chocolat. I really enjoyed her earlier novels (this and Five Quarters of the Orange being particular favourites). Yet Kate isn’t a fan of Harris’s writing. And I didn’t get along with her most recently published books, to be honest. It’s a bit like preferring a band’s ‘earlier stuff’ or their first album.
But that’s OK. If we all liked the same thing, the shop would carry only a handful of titles. And how sad would that be, a minimalist bookshop? There’s something almost dystopian about it.
Incidentally, I’m going to re-read Chocolat in the next few months. Because Easter is the time for it. And I have the old edition, with the lovely cover (why do they change these things?) - it might even come to Toronto with us. Seeing as we’re having a few nights in Montreal, it’ll no doubt give me an appetite for seeking out chocolateries and patisseries.
This being Valentine's Day