Ms. Campbell, an author celebrated for putting a human face to racial issues, passed away in her home due to complications from brain cancer. She will be missed.
To read more, check out Nephele Tempest’s post where she reprints the whole NY Times article.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Monday, November 20, 2006
Help A Mamma Out
So I cruised on over to Beth’s to see who’s Smart Bitchin’ it today when I came across Suisan’s entry. Suisan’s daughter is caught in sixth grade English hell where there is absolutely no latitude in the teaching style and it’s driving the poor girl crazy. Suisan’s devised an at home program using short stories that her daughter really seems to enjoy, but she could use a few more recommendations like:
The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calavaras County by Mark Twain
A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
A Modern Cinderella; Or the Little Old Shoe by Louisa May Alcott
The Canterville Ghost by Oscar Wilde
What are you short story suggestions? As a person who adores short stories I’m interested to see what y’all come up with.
The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calavaras County by Mark Twain
A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
A Modern Cinderella; Or the Little Old Shoe by Louisa May Alcott
The Canterville Ghost by Oscar Wilde
What are you short story suggestions? As a person who adores short stories I’m interested to see what y’all come up with.
Bought It From The Guy In The Van In The Parking Lot
Stolen from Shelf Awareness which itself stole from yesterday's New York Times Book Review:
"STICKY FINGERS:
The Times polling department does not, alas, compile a 'most stolen books' list. But if it did, anecdotal evidence suggests that many works by the writers talked about in this issue (especially Charles Bukowski) would be on it somewhere, along with the Bible and books about finding jobs. What kinds of things are sticky-fingered readers removing from stores in late 2006? George S. Leibson, an owner of Coliseum Books in Manhattan [which is closing later this year], cites cookbooks and expensive art books, as well as books about sex. ('Some people are just too embarrassed to buy those.') Paul Ingram, the buyer for Prairie Lights Books in Iowa City, observes that while science fiction is often said to vanish ('a lot of people who like it are 13 and have no money'), the sections with the most shrinkage in his store are simply those farthest from the cash register."At a major independent bookstore in Seattle, the senior buyer said graphic novels, as well as books about the Beats and tattoos, disappear pretty often. He added, interestingly, that the enigmatic novels of the Japanese writer Haruki Murakami have begun to disappear at a fast clip. His explanation: 'In his own way, Murakami is a subversive writer with an outlaw sensibility. His characters have this Everyman thing going on, but they are also working against the grain.' "
What amazes me is how many people steal books to scam you, not because they might be looking for spiritual enlightenment (the Bible) or because they can’t afford their reading material of choice (Scifi/Fantasy/Manga usually) due to their age and inability to get a job. “Here you go, Mr. or Ms. Bookseller. Here’s the book that I just stole off your shelf that I will now attempt to return for cash or credit. Pay no attention to my lack of receipt.”
Of course, the people who are just stealing the books for their own edification tend to not really think about it as stealing since bookstores are practically libraries, right? You would not believe the number of people who don’t seem to understand the differences between the two. I’ve had several people this year—not high, and not drunk—ask if they could check a book out from us. “Can’t I just pay a small fee and return the book for my money when I’m done?”
Sure you can pay a fee—the price of the book—but good luck getting that back.
The other day I had ask me, “Can my wife return a book she bought here?”
Wise, after three years, to the ways the human mind can bend straight forward information I asked him why she would want to return it.
“Because she’s read it.”
“As in already read it?”
“No, she’s just finished with the book and she wants to return it for another.”
I referred him to the library.
I’m fine with taking a book back if you get part way in and realize you’ve read it before or that it is just not your cuppa (of course it still has to be in salable condition), but for the love of all that is literature! I am not a library!
And no, you cannot get around that by sitting on floor and attempting to read the entirety of a Harry Potter while on my premises.
People amaze me.
"STICKY FINGERS:
The Times polling department does not, alas, compile a 'most stolen books' list. But if it did, anecdotal evidence suggests that many works by the writers talked about in this issue (especially Charles Bukowski) would be on it somewhere, along with the Bible and books about finding jobs. What kinds of things are sticky-fingered readers removing from stores in late 2006? George S. Leibson, an owner of Coliseum Books in Manhattan [which is closing later this year], cites cookbooks and expensive art books, as well as books about sex. ('Some people are just too embarrassed to buy those.') Paul Ingram, the buyer for Prairie Lights Books in Iowa City, observes that while science fiction is often said to vanish ('a lot of people who like it are 13 and have no money'), the sections with the most shrinkage in his store are simply those farthest from the cash register."At a major independent bookstore in Seattle, the senior buyer said graphic novels, as well as books about the Beats and tattoos, disappear pretty often. He added, interestingly, that the enigmatic novels of the Japanese writer Haruki Murakami have begun to disappear at a fast clip. His explanation: 'In his own way, Murakami is a subversive writer with an outlaw sensibility. His characters have this Everyman thing going on, but they are also working against the grain.' "
What amazes me is how many people steal books to scam you, not because they might be looking for spiritual enlightenment (the Bible) or because they can’t afford their reading material of choice (Scifi/Fantasy/Manga usually) due to their age and inability to get a job. “Here you go, Mr. or Ms. Bookseller. Here’s the book that I just stole off your shelf that I will now attempt to return for cash or credit. Pay no attention to my lack of receipt.”
Of course, the people who are just stealing the books for their own edification tend to not really think about it as stealing since bookstores are practically libraries, right? You would not believe the number of people who don’t seem to understand the differences between the two. I’ve had several people this year—not high, and not drunk—ask if they could check a book out from us. “Can’t I just pay a small fee and return the book for my money when I’m done?”
Sure you can pay a fee—the price of the book—but good luck getting that back.
The other day I had ask me, “Can my wife return a book she bought here?”
Wise, after three years, to the ways the human mind can bend straight forward information I asked him why she would want to return it.
“Because she’s read it.”
“As in already read it?”
“No, she’s just finished with the book and she wants to return it for another.”
I referred him to the library.
I’m fine with taking a book back if you get part way in and realize you’ve read it before or that it is just not your cuppa (of course it still has to be in salable condition), but for the love of all that is literature! I am not a library!
And no, you cannot get around that by sitting on floor and attempting to read the entirety of a Harry Potter while on my premises.
People amaze me.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Whatever gets them to read?
I had a customer ask me for the OJ Simpson book yesterday. Yes, that book. The one coming from Regan books. He'd heard about it on the radio in his car and just knew, KNEW that he had to stop at the first bookstore he found.
Guess this means there is a market for this crap after all.
Color me ill. I was really hoping that this was indeed a rumor and nothing more.
I mean, I know that I embrace the, "As long as they're reading," mantra pretty thoroughly, but this turns my stomach (between that and Rapture Dude coming in yesterday work felt pretty surreal). Couldn't he have found decent reading material at this site instead? Look! Reading for boys and men with cool graphics and not a bloody glove in sight!
Sigh.
Guess this means there is a market for this crap after all.
Color me ill. I was really hoping that this was indeed a rumor and nothing more.
I mean, I know that I embrace the, "As long as they're reading," mantra pretty thoroughly, but this turns my stomach (between that and Rapture Dude coming in yesterday work felt pretty surreal). Couldn't he have found decent reading material at this site instead? Look! Reading for boys and men with cool graphics and not a bloody glove in sight!
Sigh.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Your Gateway Drug*
According to Wikipedia, a gateway drug is “using one "soft" non- or only slightly addictive drug will lead to the use of other "harder" drugs and the associated criminal and social consequences – the first drug used is thus described as a gateway to further abuse.” The term, however, can be applied to anything that introduces you to a taste, sensation, or idea which you will gradually follow up to higher levels. Pinot Noir could be the gateway drug to darker, deeper reds. Hershey’s could lead you into Godiva and then to Moonstruck.
With books, it is often the big-name, popular types that act as the gateway to get people to read. Dan Brown—for all the flack he gets—got a lot of people voluntarily reading again, and not just his books. People who picked up the Da Vinci Code moved on to read Angels and Demons, sure, but they also might have branched out to Holy Blood, Holy Grail or other fictional conspiracies like The Eight by Katherine Neville. These same people might now be reading Atlantis by David Gibbons, Mary, Called Magdalene by Margaret George, or A History of God by Karen Armstrong. Although it was only a work of fiction, the Da Vinci Code opened up many avenues of reading to those who may have been hesitant before.
Author as gateway drug can also work in a different fashion when a well established author jumps genres or from fiction to nonfiction. The loyal audience follows (sometimes knowingly, sometimes not) and a certain number of those might like what the find. Suddenly they might be open to trying other things in this genre or area of reading that they wouldn’t have thought of before. I have to wonder how many of John Grisham’s readers who like An Innocent Man will turn to other true crime writers now that they’ve been introduced. Will Ann Rule, Gregg Olsen and others benefit from their need to read other real life tales?
Perhaps too often, though, we turn to these big name authors to act as the gateway drugs to our friends when a more subtle approach would do. Haven’t we all dealt with the friend that we know would just love books X, Y, and Z if they would give them a try, but they won’t because name recognition tells them that they belong in genre S?
“Ewww, I’d never read fiction/mystery/romance/scifi/fantasy/true crime/fill in the blank,” they cry. “Don’t you have something good?”
Now you can either explain that X, Y, and Z are good until you run out of air, or you take a step back and regroup. Days later you dig out a nondescript paperback with a kickass story line; something subtle enough that it won’t tip your friend off until they’re fully drawn into the characters and situations. You then gush to said friend, leaving out any tip-off words or phrases and emphasize how crazy, wonderful this book is.
It must be crazy, wonderful in some way, otherwise it won’t work.
And once they are truly sucked in and have devoured the author’s whole backlist, you move them up, feed them the books that have a little “more” of whatever defines that genre until you’ve got them hooked on a three book a day habit and they’ve destroyed their library card with over-use.
At which point, if you were me, you would sit back and cackle, but I’m evil, so you might just get a warm, fuzzy feeling.
Or you might not have experienced this sensation at all.
What books, famous, infamous or other have used to hook others on your genre drug of choice? Do the famous types or those still building their fan base work better? What was your gateway drug?
*Hey, there’s a reason I call booksellers knowledge dealers.
With books, it is often the big-name, popular types that act as the gateway to get people to read. Dan Brown—for all the flack he gets—got a lot of people voluntarily reading again, and not just his books. People who picked up the Da Vinci Code moved on to read Angels and Demons, sure, but they also might have branched out to Holy Blood, Holy Grail or other fictional conspiracies like The Eight by Katherine Neville. These same people might now be reading Atlantis by David Gibbons, Mary, Called Magdalene by Margaret George, or A History of God by Karen Armstrong. Although it was only a work of fiction, the Da Vinci Code opened up many avenues of reading to those who may have been hesitant before.
Author as gateway drug can also work in a different fashion when a well established author jumps genres or from fiction to nonfiction. The loyal audience follows (sometimes knowingly, sometimes not) and a certain number of those might like what the find. Suddenly they might be open to trying other things in this genre or area of reading that they wouldn’t have thought of before. I have to wonder how many of John Grisham’s readers who like An Innocent Man will turn to other true crime writers now that they’ve been introduced. Will Ann Rule, Gregg Olsen and others benefit from their need to read other real life tales?
Perhaps too often, though, we turn to these big name authors to act as the gateway drugs to our friends when a more subtle approach would do. Haven’t we all dealt with the friend that we know would just love books X, Y, and Z if they would give them a try, but they won’t because name recognition tells them that they belong in genre S?
“Ewww, I’d never read fiction/mystery/romance/scifi/fantasy/true crime/fill in the blank,” they cry. “Don’t you have something good?”
Now you can either explain that X, Y, and Z are good until you run out of air, or you take a step back and regroup. Days later you dig out a nondescript paperback with a kickass story line; something subtle enough that it won’t tip your friend off until they’re fully drawn into the characters and situations. You then gush to said friend, leaving out any tip-off words or phrases and emphasize how crazy, wonderful this book is.
It must be crazy, wonderful in some way, otherwise it won’t work.
And once they are truly sucked in and have devoured the author’s whole backlist, you move them up, feed them the books that have a little “more” of whatever defines that genre until you’ve got them hooked on a three book a day habit and they’ve destroyed their library card with over-use.
At which point, if you were me, you would sit back and cackle, but I’m evil, so you might just get a warm, fuzzy feeling.
Or you might not have experienced this sensation at all.
What books, famous, infamous or other have used to hook others on your genre drug of choice? Do the famous types or those still building their fan base work better? What was your gateway drug?
*Hey, there’s a reason I call booksellers knowledge dealers.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Your Money or Your Life?
See what the New Yorker has to say about your raging book habit (thanks to educating alice for the link, you can check out the actual article in last week’s New Yorker).
Thoughts?
Thoughts?
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Hi, Remember Me?
So, uh, long time, no talk. How are you? Read any good books lately? Terrorized any booksellers?
Been terrorized by any booksellers?
Have you been thinking back fondly to a time when Christmas decorations didn’t come out until after Thanksgiving? I have. Although that time may predate my birth.
Sorry for the lack of posts over the past several days, I was swallowed by the Snot monster and then spit out on my couch, leaving me with only enough energy to watch bad daytime television and curse my inability to move more than three feet in any direction without getting exhausted. My kitchen is decimated. I actually used some of my sick days (for what they were for, not as mental health days)! And I came to loathe the walls of my apartment for their never changing bleh-ness. Oh, and I reread a lot of books because they were close to me in my bookshelf and I didn’t feel like looking for something new.
Dude, I hate being sick.
Fortunately I am now back at work (merrily spreading my germs on to fulfill my part in the never ending cycle of disease), have new reading material, and I plan to take care of that kitchen problem in the next few minutes.
Unfortunately my little fever-denatured brain cells did not come up with anything new and insightful about the book world during my lay-about other than the Christmas season starts way, waaaaay too early. Oh, but it did work hard enough to give me work related dreams. Imagine, if you will, waking up at three am in the morning, fearing that you did not pay your coworkers because you forgot to hit submit on the payroll screen. Or dreaming of sorting through box after box of back stock because you know—just know, damn it—that the book the customer is looking for is back there somewhere! Would that make me Sisyphus and the boxes my hill? ‘Cause being a sissy I admit to fully.
Enough whining though, some exiting stuff happened while I was asleep at the wheel: elections, Rumsfeld resigning, Britney kicking Kevin to the curb, Reese and Ryan breaking up, the author of Sophie’s Choice died, and some books came out. During my delirium I saw the commercial for the new JD Robb, and it could have been the fever affecting me, but I was not impressed.
Anyway, in the spirit of getting the whole book ball going, what book type gifts are you giving this holiday?
(You can admit it if it’s the Marley & Me Special Edition. We don’t judge.)
Been terrorized by any booksellers?
Have you been thinking back fondly to a time when Christmas decorations didn’t come out until after Thanksgiving? I have. Although that time may predate my birth.
Sorry for the lack of posts over the past several days, I was swallowed by the Snot monster and then spit out on my couch, leaving me with only enough energy to watch bad daytime television and curse my inability to move more than three feet in any direction without getting exhausted. My kitchen is decimated. I actually used some of my sick days (for what they were for, not as mental health days)! And I came to loathe the walls of my apartment for their never changing bleh-ness. Oh, and I reread a lot of books because they were close to me in my bookshelf and I didn’t feel like looking for something new.
Dude, I hate being sick.
Fortunately I am now back at work (merrily spreading my germs on to fulfill my part in the never ending cycle of disease), have new reading material, and I plan to take care of that kitchen problem in the next few minutes.
Unfortunately my little fever-denatured brain cells did not come up with anything new and insightful about the book world during my lay-about other than the Christmas season starts way, waaaaay too early. Oh, but it did work hard enough to give me work related dreams. Imagine, if you will, waking up at three am in the morning, fearing that you did not pay your coworkers because you forgot to hit submit on the payroll screen. Or dreaming of sorting through box after box of back stock because you know—just know, damn it—that the book the customer is looking for is back there somewhere! Would that make me Sisyphus and the boxes my hill? ‘Cause being a sissy I admit to fully.
Enough whining though, some exiting stuff happened while I was asleep at the wheel: elections, Rumsfeld resigning, Britney kicking Kevin to the curb, Reese and Ryan breaking up, the author of Sophie’s Choice died, and some books came out. During my delirium I saw the commercial for the new JD Robb, and it could have been the fever affecting me, but I was not impressed.
Anyway, in the spirit of getting the whole book ball going, what book type gifts are you giving this holiday?
(You can admit it if it’s the Marley & Me Special Edition. We don’t judge.)
Thursday, November 02, 2006
What's My Line?
I'm already in my "I hate Christmas" mode and it's only November 2nd. Of course, it could be that I'm just suffering from a time change hangover and the cold weather blues because I really do like the Christmas decorations the company chose this year which indicates that true grinchiness has not set in.
(Even if the colors do turn me a special shade of death warmed over.)
Given my general sense of blah-ness, I can't remember if we did this before (so please forgive me), but I was wondering what your favorite lines are from books. They don't have to be opening lines, and you don't have to keep it down to one. Just give the title and author of the book you pulled it from.
Jazz this cold November day up with some words, people. Spark some interest in others.
(Even if the colors do turn me a special shade of death warmed over.)
Given my general sense of blah-ness, I can't remember if we did this before (so please forgive me), but I was wondering what your favorite lines are from books. They don't have to be opening lines, and you don't have to keep it down to one. Just give the title and author of the book you pulled it from.
Jazz this cold November day up with some words, people. Spark some interest in others.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Guest Blogger: Jennifer Estep and Things that go bump in the night
BS Chick: I know what you’re thinking, a day late and a candy bar short, chickie. Halloween was yesterday! Oh, how wrong you are. The Day of the Dead falls over the first two days of November so I’m totally in the clear, and therefore forgiven for my inability to properly plan these things without factoring in life (and a whooooole lotta book boxes). So, give a warm welcome to Jennifer Estep, who talks about the scariest thing of all: real life.
Jennifer Estep: I don’t like to read scary books. Don’t like to watch scary movies either. By scary, I mean traditional horror by the likes of Stephen King, Clive Barker, and others. Or movies like “Child’s Play” or “Nightmare on Elm Street.”
Now, give me a steamy paranormal romance about sexy vampires, and I’m in.
Shape-shifting werewolves searching for their soul mates? Totally cool.
Epic fantasy? I’m so there.
Serial killers? Sure.
Heist books and spy thrillers and mysteries? Love ‘em all.
But true ghosts and goblins and blood-sucking ghouls who eat people’s brains? Not so much. And don’t even get me started on aliens. Shudder.
So why don’t I like scary books when I’ll read just about everything else? My reason is this – there are plenty of scary things in the world already. Things that are real. Things that could actually happen. Today. When I sit down to read, I want to escape. I want to go to an entertaining world where the good guys win, people have terrific sex all the time, and everyone gets exactly what she deserves. Or some version thereof.
I just don’t want to read about psychiatric experiments gone bad and cursed souls being tortured for all eternity and rabid dogs who want to rip out my throat. I have enough to worry about without wondering whether my old stuffed animals are actually maniacal puppets who are going to invade my brain when I go to sleep. Hmm. Now that I think about it, their beady little eyes seem to follow me wherever I go …
But sometimes, the scary stuff sneaks up on you when you least expect it. Like Kiss Me While I Sleep by Linda Howard. I read this about two years ago. It’s about a rogue CIA assassin who uncovers a scheme to release a deadly strain of bird flu on the world. It was an entertaining read, although I found the plot a little far-fetched. Bird flu. Yeah right. Like that could ever happen.
Then, a couple weeks later, I start hearing that word again – on CNN. Then, on the evening news. Then, people in my hometown are talking about it. And doing drills to prepare for it. Now, everybody knows what bird flu is – and Howard’s book doesn’t seem so far-fetched any more. And that makes it scarier than anything that Stephen King could ever write. At least, to me.
Some people like being scared. They love the feel of goose bumps rippling up and down their skin. Love the adrenaline rush. The heart palpitations. The sweaty palms. Some of them even like to scream. I’m just not one of those people. I like romance and action and adventure – not being scared out of my mind.
For me, Halloween isn’t about chills and thrills and things that go bump in the night. It’s about something much more important – candy. Hershey kisses and M&Ms and Snickers, oh my! And lollipops and gummy bears and everything else that’s sugar-filled and oh-so-bad for me.
But wait. I’ve just had a thought. An idea for a book. How about a novel where there’s no more Halloween candy? There’s none left. It’s all been eaten. It’s all gone. Every last M&M. Every last Hershey kiss. Every last bit of Godiva. Gone. Forever.
No more candy? Now that would be really scary.
Jennifer Estep is an award-winning journalist. Her first book, Karma Girl, will be released in May by Berkley Books. It’s about a newspaper reporter who exposes the secret identities of comic-book superheroes – until she falls for one. It’s not the least bit scary – unless you have an aversion to spandex.
Jennifer Estep: I don’t like to read scary books. Don’t like to watch scary movies either. By scary, I mean traditional horror by the likes of Stephen King, Clive Barker, and others. Or movies like “Child’s Play” or “Nightmare on Elm Street.”
Now, give me a steamy paranormal romance about sexy vampires, and I’m in.
Shape-shifting werewolves searching for their soul mates? Totally cool.
Epic fantasy? I’m so there.
Serial killers? Sure.
Heist books and spy thrillers and mysteries? Love ‘em all.
But true ghosts and goblins and blood-sucking ghouls who eat people’s brains? Not so much. And don’t even get me started on aliens. Shudder.
So why don’t I like scary books when I’ll read just about everything else? My reason is this – there are plenty of scary things in the world already. Things that are real. Things that could actually happen. Today. When I sit down to read, I want to escape. I want to go to an entertaining world where the good guys win, people have terrific sex all the time, and everyone gets exactly what she deserves. Or some version thereof.
I just don’t want to read about psychiatric experiments gone bad and cursed souls being tortured for all eternity and rabid dogs who want to rip out my throat. I have enough to worry about without wondering whether my old stuffed animals are actually maniacal puppets who are going to invade my brain when I go to sleep. Hmm. Now that I think about it, their beady little eyes seem to follow me wherever I go …
But sometimes, the scary stuff sneaks up on you when you least expect it. Like Kiss Me While I Sleep by Linda Howard. I read this about two years ago. It’s about a rogue CIA assassin who uncovers a scheme to release a deadly strain of bird flu on the world. It was an entertaining read, although I found the plot a little far-fetched. Bird flu. Yeah right. Like that could ever happen.
Then, a couple weeks later, I start hearing that word again – on CNN. Then, on the evening news. Then, people in my hometown are talking about it. And doing drills to prepare for it. Now, everybody knows what bird flu is – and Howard’s book doesn’t seem so far-fetched any more. And that makes it scarier than anything that Stephen King could ever write. At least, to me.
Some people like being scared. They love the feel of goose bumps rippling up and down their skin. Love the adrenaline rush. The heart palpitations. The sweaty palms. Some of them even like to scream. I’m just not one of those people. I like romance and action and adventure – not being scared out of my mind.
For me, Halloween isn’t about chills and thrills and things that go bump in the night. It’s about something much more important – candy. Hershey kisses and M&Ms and Snickers, oh my! And lollipops and gummy bears and everything else that’s sugar-filled and oh-so-bad for me.
But wait. I’ve just had a thought. An idea for a book. How about a novel where there’s no more Halloween candy? There’s none left. It’s all been eaten. It’s all gone. Every last M&M. Every last Hershey kiss. Every last bit of Godiva. Gone. Forever.
No more candy? Now that would be really scary.
Jennifer Estep is an award-winning journalist. Her first book, Karma Girl, will be released in May by Berkley Books. It’s about a newspaper reporter who exposes the secret identities of comic-book superheroes – until she falls for one. It’s not the least bit scary – unless you have an aversion to spandex.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)