What I'm about to reveal is a closely guarded secret among frontline
booksellers, and I may have to pay the ultimate price for my indiscreet
revelation. Still, as this warm-hearted, blissful time of year wraps us
in the simple joys of holiday consumption, I believe a confession is in
order.
Booksellers sometimes handsell books we haven't read. We
handsell books we don't even like that much. This is not usually a sin
of intention. No one wants to handsell a "bad" book. It is, at worst, a
sin of omission. What we refrain from saying to a customer during a
conversation about a particular title can be more important than what
we do say.
A bookseller's life would be ideal if we could
just spend the day recommending titles we absolutely love, but often we
are caught in discussions about not-so-great books with customers who
love them passionately and would like us to suggest comparable works.
By
"not-so-great," I mean books that we've dismissed for any number of
objective, subjective, and even irrational reasons. This list can
consist of anything, including works that have been well-reviewed,
popular or award-winners.
Conversely, there are books I love that I couldn't handsell at a 100% discount.
The
reasons why we like or dislike books are many, but since a bookseller's
job description is to express--or withhold--judgment depending upon the
situation, we must occasionally walk a conversational high wire.
Nodding
and smiling help; saying "a lot of people liked that one" or "he's very
popular" or "it's been getting good reviews" will get you through, too.
A personal favorite, which I've leaned on more than a few times, is
that a particular author "knows his (or her) audience well and always
writes with them in mind."
If you are feeling pressured this
holiday season for your opinion on a book you just don't like, may I
prescribe a small dose of retail therapy consisting of scenes from two
Bill Murray films? These should prepare you to face any impending
crisis with a spotless conscience.
In How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read, Pierre Bayard devotes a chapter to the movie Groundhog Day,
in which a snarky weatherman, Phil (Murray), is caught in a time-loop
on the eponymous day and forced to relive it again and again.
He
puts his unfortunate circumstances to good, if unethical, use in his
seduction of Rita (Andie MacDowell). When he surreptitously discovers
that she studied nineteenth-century Italian poetry, Phil memorizes and
then passionately recites excerpts from the libretto of Rigoletto.
"By
training himself in Rita's preferred reading material," Bayard writes,
"and thus penetrating as deeply as possible into her private world,
Phil is straining to create the illusion that their inner books are the
same."
Sounds like handselling to me. Not love, precisely, but a subtle illusion that "inner books" can match even when they don't.
And I can go Bayard one Bill Murray movie better by citing the epic American film, Caddyshack, and a scene that eloquently sums up a dilemma booksellers face every day.
Loudmouth
contractor Al Czervic (Rodney Dangerfield) bursts into a posh country
club's pro shop and starts buying everything in sight. He notices a
particularly garish hat on display and says, "This is the worst lookin'
hat I ever saw."
Then he sees the club's president, Judge
Smails (Ted Knight), standing nearby, wearing the same hat. "Oh, it
looks good on you, though," Czervic adds.
Welcome to the
world of handselling, where we often must smile and utter the book
equivalent of "Oh, it looks good on you, though."
Mea culpa.
Is
that wrong? Absolutely not. In fact, it is a kind of biblio-diplomacy.
We want customers to be comfortable with their choices. We don't want
them to feel judged. We hope they walk away from a handselling
conversation thinking, "That was fun."
Well, to be honest, we want them to walk away with a huge stack of new books, thinking, "That was fun."--Robert Gray (column archives available at Fresh Eyes Now)