Spotlight on Bookstores: FOUR great indies from author Sandra Novack

Today’s Spotlight on Bookstores post is written by author Sandra Novack, whose debut novel Precious was published by Random House last year, is out in paperback on August 31, and is a Fall ’10 “Reader’s Circle Selection.”  She is available via Skype for book club chats, so if your book group has the ‘wait for the paperback edition’ guideline, now’s your time! 

I haven’t yet had a chance to read Precious, but a friend says “When I read this book … it completely surprised me:  it begins with one storyline–a girl goes missing–but by the second chapter, a totally new book opens up, rooted deep inside the intersected lives of people (not minding their business) in a small Pennsylvania town.”

Read on as Novack shares an ode to bookstores in general, shares some merchandising/display tips , and cites four examples of independent stores that make (or in one eulogy to a store that has closed, made) her heart beat a little faster each time she visits:

I’ve moved around a lot, five states in thirteen years.  In every state it’s bookstores that often tether me to a place and remind me where I am.  It’s bookstores that become those places I just have to go to when returning for a visit. 

Most of the time, I’ll admit I have varied sensibilities when it comes to finding books, and buying them.  Lots of times my choices are functional.  For example, when living in rural GA and only having one bookstore within thirty minutes of me, I totally embraced the cyber store that is Amazon.  And when I visit new places, I understand the appeal of Barnes and Noble and Borders because they are spaces I don’t have to negotiate.  Whatever city I’m in, I can walk in and know the basic layout, the buzzing lights and coffee counter, the scones in glass jars, the chairs placed in communal areas.  I can slink in unnoticed and get a cup of coffee.  I can read a page or two of a book.  I feel safe in these places, not only because bookstores are generally comforting to me but also because I know that I won’t have to talk to anyone there, not really, not if I don’t want.

I’ll even admit I love to go to bigger chains with the express intention of quietly undermining a hierarchical system, rearranging the co-op space—those coveted, ‘high-profile’ places where books are shelved in the windows or on tables everyone first sees when they enter a store.  I might pull a book I’ve loved off the shelf, a book that, because of time and/or popular appeal, is no longer getting noticed.  Sometimes I’ll request a book I don’t see and already have, because I know that when I don’t pick it up, that same book will be placed out and another person might buy it.  I’ve even been known to hunt down books written by literary friends and place them next to a Stephenie Meyer or a Stieg Larsson book, all in the hope my friends’ books might sell quicker.  I do this all the time.

Is it horrible to admit these things, about my big-chain book-whoring tendencies?  I don’t really think so.  I don’t see what harm it really does.  And it’s not like anyone can arrest me for it, anyway.  It’s a form of patronage after all.

But then there are the bookstores I both frequent AND love—independents, those places where you can talk to the owner and even influence things—what book they might mention in a newsletter, what novel they might feature and promote.  Unlike big chains, when I walk into an independent store for the first time, I never quite know what to expect.  Layouts vary.  Sometimes an owner might have her cat Jinxy with her, and Jinxy might walk across the glass counter to greet me.  Or Jinxy might hiss.  (You know cats.)  These places are always more intimate.  A conversation might occur with the stranger next to me, who, because we’re both browsing through “D” and standing somewhere between Lydia Davis and Annie Dillard, thinks to comment on a work she’s looking for and what she’s heard about it.   

Every indy place has its own quirks, its own personality.  I couldn’t narrow my favorite down to one, so I offer four from some of my favorite places and cities.

In Pennsylvania my love is The Moravian Bookshop, the oldest bookstore in the country.  Everything about this store reminds me of home, Main Street in Bethlehem, and Christmastime in a Christmas City.  I always enter on the gallery side, where I’m dazzled by Old World ornaments and Moravian Stars and Vespers candles.  I might buy a new ornament for my own tree before I work my way to the chocolate counter and then past the café and clothing store, and down the steps to the bookstore.  I love this place because the staff knows books.  Extensively.  Intimately.  They live for the written word, and they can help you find just what you’re looking for, even when you’re not sure yourself.  I love this place because when I read from my debut novel PRECIOUS, it felt most like home.  

In PA, too, there’s The Doylestown Bookshop, because Doylestown is a great place to kick around in and because after a good lunch with friends the bookstore is a perfect place to unwind.  It’s deep and long and big, but it still feels homey.  I can get lost in the back for hours before I notice the time.  Staffer Jennifer is someone I always remember, too, because she told me she was a fan and said she’d sell the heck out of my book.  Even though we haven’t spoken in months, she’s still promoting PRECIOUS as a favorite pick, just in time for the paperback release.  This is an author’s store as well as a reader’s.   Writers appreciate that personal connection, and our memories tend to run long.   

In Durham it was The Book Exchange.  The last time I visited, I tried to go there and cried when I found out it had closed.  This had to be the oddest bookstore on the planet, but I’m pretty sure it carried just about every book ever written.  I probably shaved entire years off my life searching for my favorite authors there, and stumbling upon new ones.  First, the store was huge—and I mean HUGE, like multiple rooms on each floor and three floors jam-packed with books, books stacked on the stairs (fire hazard!), books piled on tables, books on shelves so high you had to climb a ladder to reach them, books, books, books as far as the eye could see!!!!  And here was the kicker.  The books weren’t arranged by the author’s last name (that would make too much sense) but according to the publishing house!   Once I asked the clerk why such a funky system.  “It made sense when we started,” he basically said.  But apparently they just got bigger and bigger and no one ever thought to change the system.  Laziness and all.  So, if you went here, you’d have to research what press your favorite author was with, and you’d have to account for things like hardcover vs. softback, and various imprints at houses.  And let’s not forget all the university presses.  And independents.  Let me tell you:  This store totally messed with my brain.  And I still crack a huge grin thinking about it.  More places should be this strange.  Think of all I learned about the web of publishing houses!

In Chicago, where I live now?  It’s The Book Table in my very own Oak Park.  The store is small and intimate and the staff has been so welcoming.  My husband and I have only recently moved here, but when I walked down Lake Street and first saw this store, with its “fiercely independent” sign and its love of local writers, I knew this would be a great place to live.  I knew it in my bones.  Congrats to them, too, for recently being named the Best Bookstore of Chicago, 2010.  They totally deserve it!

Sandra Novack currently lives in Chicago.  Her novel PRECIOUS (Random House) is now available in paperback and is a Fall ’10 “Reader’s Circle Selection.”  She is available via Skype for book club chats.