Thanksgiving Day is the calm before the storm. Most independent bookstores are closed and booksellers are, well, thankful, though based on my own memories, it's hard to imagine them settling in for a restful Turkey Day knowing what lies just ahead over the weekend.
Still, recent bookstore e-newsletters have embodied the spirit of the upcoming week, including Rainy Day Books, Fairway, Kan. ("As Thanksgiving approaches, we want to express our heartfelt gratitude for our incredible community of readers and supporters."), which also featured their booksellers' favorite Thanksgiving recipes alongside top book recommendations for the holiday.
"Why did the turkey cross the road?" asked Loganberry Books, Shaker Heights, Ohio, in its e-newsletter. "To get to Loganberry Books, of course! Happy Holidays, friends, for whatever winter holidays you may celebrate."
The Snail on the Wall, Huntsville, Ala., was preparing recently with a pop-up shop, offering "gorgeous amaryllis, wreaths, ribbon, and other tabletop decor for both Thanksgiving and Christmas, all by @bucketsandblooms. Come shop!"
The Doylestown Bookshop, Doylestown, Pa., was also working up an appetite on Facebook: "Need to elevate your Thanksgiving? We've got you covered! Try out new recipes and pick up some tableware to refresh your holiday kitchen."
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All heartwarming and celebratory, so why am I still haunted by the ghost of Black Fridays past? I have recurring bookseller nightmares about the olden times, even though it's been more than three decades since my first Black Friday on a bookshop sales floor and 15 years since my last.
My first as a bookseller scared the hell out of me for a month before it arrived. In 1992, I was just a 42-year-old kid who'd been working in a bookstore for six months and believed nirvana had been attained. Like most bookseller rookies, I wanted nothing more from life at that point than to be in the stacks all day, talking with other book lovers about our mutual addiction. Who knew there was a catch?
Shortly after Halloween, as if inspired by the ghoulish holiday itself, my colleagues began to spin cautionary tales about the post-Thanksgiving blitz--the crowds, the noise, the complaints, the screaming kids and, sometimes, adults; the crush of bodies, the scattered heaps of browsed and discarded books.
In the 1990s, Black Friday seemed a very big deal indeed. Even as late as 2009, I opened a column with: "The adrenaline rush began in the weeks leading to BF. We built up key inventory. Work schedules were meticulously gridded to make sure there was adequate floor coverage for every minute of the day. Sections and displays were given the 'dress right, dress' treatment. A 'soup kitchen' was organized so staff wouldn't have to brave the crowded cafes and sandwich shops downtown. In Vermont, even weather patterns were closely tracked because a bad storm could wipe out everything."
Thanks to the tremendous success of the Indies First/Small Business Saturday movements, Black Friday now sometimes seems like a slightly more distant relative at the indie holiday table. An important family member, no question, as it launches the big bookselling weekend that extends to Cyber Monday, but no longer sitting at the head of the table or carving the turkey.
The decline of mall superstores and the mass wave of online shopping alternatives did little to enhance Black Friday's "traditional" reputation. I guess to the outside (non-bookselling) world, it's still all about the deals, baby, though the deals now start weeks before BF. And Googling "Black Friday" is like opening an infinite number of fire hydrants simultaneously; it's the Deals Matrix. People storm their cellphones and computers the way they used to barge through mall doors. Fewer injuries, perhaps, unless you barge though the wrong virtual door for the ultimate deal: "Why Black Friday Is A Hotbed for AI Scams--and How to Spot Them" (Forbes).
So, like the happy ending to a story, booksellers will celebrate next weekend the indie bookstore, scam-free way, with special emphasis on Saturday's festivities.
Just for a moment, however, while you still can, take a deep breath and consider the blessed quiet of a bookstore before it opens. Inside the shop, you may still hear muted sounds: the distant murmur of traffic, the furnace kicking on, indecipherable snatches of conversation as people walk by on the sidewalk. But the books, even the audiobooks, keep their words to themselves for now.
Feel better? Now you can think about Thanksgiving weekend. The crowds will most assuredly arrive. It's what crowds do. Something compels people to wake up on the day after Thanksgiving and say to each other: "It's the busiest shopping weekend of the year. The stores will be mobbed; people will be rude and annoying; and traffic will be absolutely unbearable. We sure don't want to miss that!"
But there will also be those moments. In a 2004 pre-Black Friday blog post, I wrote: "And occasionally, in the middle of the madness, someone will tug at my sweater and, practicing patience, I'll turn and smile. The person will smile back.
I know you're busy, but I was wondering if you'd recommend a book.
For a gift?
No, for myself. I just need a great read for the weekend, something that will shut out all my relatives, but I know you're really busy...
I only have one customer at a time.
Can you tell what the best book you've read this year is?
That's why I'm here.
That's why you're there... along with all the other stuff.