Crockatt & Powell Booksellers, 119 Lower Marsh SE1

I think I'll leave it to our Marie to explain!

We've got a new favourite radio station here at Crockatt & Powell. (Or rather we have a new favourite radio station on Matthew's day off. Matthew insists on tasteful jazz at all times.) It's called Radio Deliro and it is the personal internet radio statio of Roland Moreno, French eccentric and inventor of the phone card. ('Carte a puces' in French - flea card.) The radio station promises "French varieties, before 70s jazz and blues, 15% of J.S. Bach and 10% of uncommon." And that is exactly what you get, though I haven't timed the Bach interludes to be entirely sure. When I arrived for work today, it was playing a cover version of The Lion Sleeps Tonight. A French language cover version. (French for "a wimba we, a wimba we" turns out to be "a wimba we, a wimba we".) I don't know if that particular track counts as "varieties" or "uncommon" but it certainly can be filed under brilliant. Listen to Radio Deliro here. Why not stand up and browse your own bookshelves while you listen for the full Crockatt & Powell virtual experience?

*Update* For the intrigued - said cover version is by Henry Salvador and is actually entitled 'Le Lion Est Mort Ce Soir' (The Lion Has Died Tonight.) Not quite available at Crockatt & Powell... yet...

no I am serious...

adam posted a while back about Baker & Taylor - our US wholesaler and we had a delivery from them today.

(It came via UPS who drive those armour-plated brown vans that just scream U - S - A. Did you know that books come faster from America than from Bognor Regis? Maybe the secret is in those vans. They can fly. Really fast.)

I know it's sad but there's still a thrill as the box is torn open to reveal...

...such gems as Dawn Powell's Golden Spur, The Gangs of New York with an introduction by Borges, Herman Hesse's Fairy Tales etc...

But wait! There was a shortage. Three copies of Seven Short Novels by Chekhov that were headed for our table. I e-mailed Baker & Taylor and a while later (always forget they are asleep in the morning) received a reply from someone called Lori

She had credited us for the shortage and re-ordered the books. At the end of her e-mail a small phrase - have a great week...

...and it hit me. Not so hard to be nice is it? There was something so genuine in her words - she really meant it. And why not? Seems such a small thing to recognise the reality of another person's life and to wish them all the best in a sincere manner. But how many of us Brits do it? We can barely manage a snarl most of the time. (I think that was what Lynn Truss was trying to say in her last book, though she failed through being damned rude herself in my opinion. Way too tough on shop assistants.)

I tend to fall into the lazy trap of thinking all Americans are like their arrogant, fat-headed leaders when of course most of them are ordinary extraordinary people working three jobs trying to keep a family together. So have a great week Lori.

I really mean it.

PS I love the way the blog is now advertising Zoids! Did you notice when we were blogging about Scott Pack's chickens it started advertising eggs? (!)

ZOIDS ZOIDS OLD SPICE ZOIDS OLD SPICE CHICKEN MARKETING BAS*TARDS

What is the point of February?

Difficult to spell!

Cold!

No Christmas!

No sun!

No point!

(Here I have to apologise to adam who has a birthday in February - sorry mate - maybe they could ban shagging in May or something...)

Thankfully February is almost done - come celebrate the demise of my least favourite month @ Crockatt & Powell tomorrow 7pm - free booze and literary conversation - need I say more?

Bye Bye Feb Hello Pete!

...an American bit-part actor...
...a wedding photographer...
...the Head of European Real Estate research...
...an atmospheric scientist...
...a visual artist...
...the President of the International Lacrosse Federation...
...the retired superintendent of schools for Catholic schools on Vancouver Island...
...a partner, Gibson Sheat Lawyers, Wellington...
...a widely-respected grains industry leader...
...a film and TV composer...
...the lead singer and guitarist with Australian heavy metal group, Hobbs' Angel of Death...
...a dead welder...
...a novelist and short-story writer, coming to read at our shop on Tuesday...

tickets: crockattpowell@tiscali.co.uk

Last night, striding home from adam's, the wind sending icy breezes through the gaps in my jacket where the buttons fell off, I came across my first daffodils of the year on a grassy knoll in a pub car park.

A Host! A Host!

That was the very thought that went through my head...

I looked up at the city spread beneath me, the glowing reds and strange fluorescences of the urban night, and tried to remember the poem. Nope. I wandered lonely as a cloud...erm...Put me in mind of this brilliant Posy Simmonds cartoon from the Guardian a while back:

But I was moved, somewhere deep down, despite the steel and concrete city glowering on the horizon - here was hope and spring and life and beauty...

So for all those of you who might chance on a similar scene in the near future here is the poem in full. Somewhere amidst the e-mails and glowing screens the pastoral tradition lives on!

"Daffodils" (1804)

I wander'd lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

By William Wordsworth (1770-1850).

Robert Altman has signed copies of his new book Altman on Altman for Crockatt & Powell...

We have very few signed copies...

To avoid disapointment reserve yours now by e-mailing info@crockattpowell.com

Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Time Out! Page 44!

OK, so it's only a listing, but it's our first one.

Very cool.

As you may know Crockatt & Powell recently launched a loyalty scheme for our great customers.

This is a recent announcement from US giant Borders.

http://forums.booktrade.info/booktrade.php?&do=news&bit=All&newsitem=7474

Their spies must have been following our progress very closely!

So there it is... after all these years still defending earth from alien attack round my mum's place...

The body is the deodorant stick but the turret and driver's cabin are made from a medicine spoon. The guns etc were canibalised from Zoids http://www.hasbro.com/zoids/ (You don't know what Zoids are? They were these kind of robot things that you could fit together and that ran by clockwork - wow they still exist check the link!)

Ah! Those were the days! When all children had to entertain themselves were bits of plastic rubbish and a tube of glue...

Every day Matthew Modine walks past the shop on the way to the Old Vic, where he is currently appearing in Robert Altman's new production of Resurrection Blues. Every day I miss him. Adam always manages to see him, but by the time he points him out, Mr Modine has disappeared behind a parked car or a fruit and veg stall, and all I get to see is his distinctive head of hair bobbing away down the street away from me. Matthew Modine has as yet not come into the shop, and I think it's a safe bet that if he does, I will be on my day off / at lunch / in the loo / etc. I rather love Matthew Modine, all the more so after his wonderfully inept piece of autocue-mangling at last night's Baftas, I just wish he read a little more.

So anyway, having consistently missed him thus far, today I had the perfect excuse to drop by his place of work, as I was taking some copies of 'Altman on Altman' round to the Old Vic to be signed by - yes - Altman. I left them at the stage door with a note for his assistant and crossed fingers - I can't actually believe he is going to do it, but we will see - and then tried to linger for as long as possible without looking like a stalker. Managed about twenty six seconds. Matthew Modine did not come out. Could it be he is avoiding me?

For the last few days I've been reading James Meek's The People's Act of Love. I haven't been doing much aside from reading The People's Act of Love, or at least not if I can possibly avoid it. It's truly an exceptional book - prose as fresh and clear as a bell, a shocking, astonishing yet all too believable story that's actually had me gasping aloud, wonderfully drawn, complex characters to love and to hate and to question, and the whole thing transporting you utterly into this foreign and volatile world - Siberia, 1919.

Doing this job, I don't get to read much for pleasure. Mostly I read books for events or for the bookgroup, and proofs that publishers send us so that we can decide which books to buy and to promote. I'm not reading for pleasure now. The People's Act of Love is our bookgroup book of the month - we'll be discussing it on Monday March 6th - and James Meek is coming in on Thursday March 9th to read from it and answer questions. In both instances I'll be acting as chair. So I'd have to have read this book whether I liked it or not.

But I like it. No, scratch that, I love it. I adore it. I can't put it down. It's the best thing I've read in so, so long. Only Booker *long*listed? Were the judges crazy? And I'm getting paid to read it! Sometimes I think I have the most fantastic job in the world. Then Matthew gives me a pile of travel guides to put on the shelf, and, well...

Anyway in case you hadn't figured it out, I highly recommend that you purchase and read James Meek's The People's Act of Love as soon as you possibly can, and then turn up to our event to strew rose petals at his feet and gawp in starstruck silence before his genius. Reserve your spot at crockattpowell@tiscali.co.uk .

Incidentally, the other day when Scott Pack dropped by to see us, he told me he thought The People's Act of Love was unreadable. Weird. Mistaken. Just plain wrong.

*Updated* - apologies to SP, in fact (see comments) he said he personally couldn't get through the book, not that it was objectively unreadable. Not the same thing.

On good form tonight...

Tried to sell me a few second-hand books.

Star Trek scripts, a David Beckham "autobiography" - a pretty good looking renaissance art book, sadly with a ripped cover.

Had to say no and then watched him take them over the road to the second-hand place that also said no...

Flashing Helmet came out and dumped the rejects on the pavement. I then saw a well-dressed woman pick over the pile and leave with arms loaded!

Bloody Hell I missed a trick there - he only wanted three quid for them...

Weapons of mass destruction have had a bad press recently in bookland (not just cos we're a bunch of softie liberals!) after the aquisition of the books division of Time Warner by Hachette Livre - a company that is making the next generation of French nuclear weapons.

But as Welsh joke Hip Hoppers Goldie Lookin' Chain point out on their track "Guns don't kill people, rappers do" - don't blame the inanimate object - blame the twat that pulls the trigger...

(This post will get somewhere eventually, but it may be quite a ride.)

On my way to work I pass through a number of housing estates one of which has a huge clump of bushes that spill over into the street. It is home to a colony of Sparrows and as anyone with a passing interest in these things knows, Sparrows are in decline in London. I always look out for the wee cockney charmers on my way in - a glimps of natural beauty amongst the concrete. Yesterday I walked by and the council had cut all the bushes away - pretty much slicing this Sparrow house in half. They were still around, chirping away, but it must be pretty bad to see your habitat sawn in half by chainsaw wielding Lambeth Council employees.

What annoys me is the lack of imagination in whoever did it. The failure to think for a second or to even notice all the birds that were living there. Did they simply not realise - an almost criminal case of lack of attention - or was it a bureaucratic decision - these bushes are unruly and must be cut back as they are encroaching on the public highway?

Whatever. It annoyed me.

I put the chainsaw fanatics in the same bag as the bomb-makers and droppers. It is easy to kill from miles away without a thought for the destructive consequences of your actions. Would the pilot press FIRE if he could see the children blown to bits or the mothers mourning their sons? If he could hear and understand their pain? But then soldiers are trained NOT to think about these things. I believe it's impossible to kill another person if you are able to empathise with them...

...and here's where we arrive at the point!

The key is imagination. If you can put yourself in the place of the "other" then it becomes very hard to kill them.

Being able to do this does not come naturally. We all live inside a cocoon of our own opinions and perceptions. How do we peek outside? One way is obviously talking but a great way is...READING! Reading is one of the best ways because reading is hard. It is demanding. If you listen to music it just kind of pours in yer ears - easy unless you have hearing difficulties. If you watch a film a lot of the action is presented to you visually - you can see the characters so you don't have to imagine them. Reading you just have a book - it is down to you to imagine the scene - to "see" it in your mind's eye, to hear the voices of the characters, to get into their heads. That is hard work but very rewarding as a result.

So you see reading is vitally important. It could stop wars! It could save birds!

I really believe that if more people read more books the world would become a better place.

The address is 119-120 Lower Marsh, London SE1...

There is a books industry rag called The Bookseller. We don't get it at C&P but we were featured in it last week in a piece on new bookshops around the country. We got a good mention which was nice. But flicking through the issue (purloined from elsewhere) I noticed something which more people should be aware of.

On page 50 is a photo of acclaimed novelist Paul Auster in New York surrounded by the grinning faces of various chief buyers and bigwigs from Amazon, Ottakers, WHSmith and Waterstones. They were in New York because Faber & Faber flew them there, put them up and showed them all a good time gratis as a way of 'promoting' their books. This isn't a one off. Every couple of weeks there is a similar photo of a bunch of freeloaders grinning in Rome, Vienna, Prague all paid for by the various publishers as a thank you or an incentive.

Now these people will swear till they're blue in the face that they will in no way be influenced by these junkets but the next time you walk into a big chain or see a promotion of a title then you'll know the chances are it was born in room 1005 of the New York Hilton while watching hotel cable on expenses.

Now, I'm not naive. I know the way things work. This has been happening since the dawn of time. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. But, is it any wonder staff morale is at the lowest it's ever been in these stores. Their buying power and their autonomy, the things that helped you through the day on your miserable wages, are long gone with most buying having been centralised. And every week they have to look at the faces of these well paid try hards on jaunty freebies.

Experience and knowledge in bookshops is disappearing because management doesn't trust it. It's easier to control a steady turnover of know-nothings from head office than it is to actually manage at ground level and as there is so few positions for management available then the people who don't fit the regional managers profile are driven out. With transferable business skills being seen as more important than book knowledge is it any wonder the punters are disillusioned with the chains?

I know this sounds bitter but it is really just sadness. When I was at Waterstones I worked in a great bookshop with some of the most interesting staff and best selection of books you'll find. Now, that branch sells mainly frontlist and is staffed mostly by kids barely out of their teens. Dumbing down? No, just consolidating business excellence.

Keep your eyes peeled and your ears open for an upcoming announcement regarding a huge music retail chain and its troublesome little bookselling pet...

Where do we get our information from?

Wouldn't you like to know!

A friend brought this really cool bloke in to see us. (Marie and I - adam was off) We chatted about video art, New Order and the creation of virtual communities centred around physical "nodes" where people could meet in the flesh to discuss ideas etc.

He loved the shop and I directed them down the street to have coffee at the Scooterworks with Fifi.

Today adam comes in...you know this bloke whose been e-mailing us...this Michael...

Oh yeah a mate brought him in the other day, really cool guy, worked with New Order - adam's eyes were buggin'

His name is Michael Shamberg and he is pretty famous...

Producer - filmography
(In Production) (2000s) (1990s) (1980s)

World Trade Center (2006) (filming) (producer)
Freedom Writers (2006) (filming) (producer)
Reno 911!: Miami (2006) (filming) (producer)

The Skeleton Key (2005) (producer)
Be Cool (2005) (producer)
Garden State (2004) (executive producer)
Along Came Polly (2004) (producer)
"Karen Sisco" (2003) TV Series (executive producer)
Camp (2003) (producer)
"The American Embassy" (2002) TV Series (executive producer)
"The Funkhousers" (2002) TV Series (executive producer)
How High (2001) (producer)
Ghost World (2001) (executive producer: Jersey Shore) (uncredited)
"UC: Undercover" (2001) TV Series (executive producer)
The Caveman's Valentine (2001) (producer)
... aka The Sign of the Killer (UK: video title)
Erin Brockovich (2000) (producer)
Drowning Mona (2000) (executive producer)

Man on the Moon (1999) (producer)
... aka Mondmann, Der (Germany)
Living Out Loud (1998) (producer)
Out of Sight (1998) (producer)
The Pentagon Wars (1998) (TV) (executive producer)
Gattaca (1997) (producer)
Fierce Creatures (1997) (producer)
Feeling Minnesota (1996) (producer)
Matilda (1996) (producer)
... aka Roald Dahl's Matilda
Sunset Park (1996) (producer)
Get Shorty (1995) (producer)
Pulp Fiction (1994) (executive producer)
8 Seconds (1994) (producer)
... aka The Lane Frost Story
Reality Bites (1994) (producer)
R.E.M.: This Film Is On (1991) (V) (producer) (segment "Shiny Happy People")

How I Got Into College (1989) (producer)
A Fish Called Wanda (1988) (producer)
Salvation! (1987) (producer)
... aka Salvation! Have You Said Your PrayersToday?
Club Paradise (1986) (producer)
The Big Chill (1983) (producer)
Modern Problems (1981) (producer)
Heart Beat (1980) (producer)

Filmography as: Producer, Actor, Miscellaneous Crew

Actor - filmography

Along Came Polly (2004) .... Van Lew Executive
Erin Brockovich (2000) .... PG&E Lawyer

Filmography as: Producer, Actor, Miscellaneous Crew

Miscellaneous Crew - filmography

The Good Girl (2002) (special thanks)

DOH!

...and boy did he spill the beans! The stories we could tell! Unfortunately he produced a non-disclosure contract as well as a gun. He assured us either our brains or our signatures would be on that paper. So, we signed. He didn't notice that I wrote Father Christmas and Marie signed Brigitte Bardot. So......

What we can tell you about SP:

- He looks about 14.
- The character of Scott Evil in Austin Powers *was* based on him.
- Haruki Murakami is named after his son and not the other way around.
- erm, that's it.

However, he did tell us that he's writing his memoirs and that brother he ain't holdin' back so look out Waterweenies!!

So, welcome to our world Scott Pack and do drop by again. Matthew was gutted he missed you.

**disclaimer**

None of the events and characters in this post are true. Any similarity to persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

I went and had my hair cut today. Joked, as usual, about the copy of Iris Murdoch's Under the Net that sits on a little table with all the newspapers. It has been there for at least two years and the barber says nobody has even glanced at it let alone picked it up. I counter that this isn't surprising since Iris Murdoch is not likely to appeal to the average man in the street in Camberwell Green.

"No I hant read it yet!" he smiles...

My barber likes motorbikes.

"It's like flying..."

He used to be a rocker.

"Hair down to here...I can do long styles too if you want" he says, winking at my expanding forehead - another running joke.

What shall I take him to read in those quiet moments between punters?

So far all I can think of is Gogol's Nose - wasn't that about a barber who finds a nose in a cake his wife baked? But I can see that waiting on a table for years for a sympathetic reader as well...

Any suggestions?

Smell is a funny thing. I was on the tube to work this morning, deep into my book, when a man came and sat down next to me smelling so very delightful that I could have taken a bite out of him right then and there, even though he had sat down so fast I had no idea what he looked like. I tried to get a look at him in the window opposite but all I could see was his trousers and shirt. I resisted the urge to dive in, but I couldn't stop myself from looking back as I alighted at Waterloo. He was watching me getting off the tube. About my age and not at all bad looking as it turns out. Smell you see: it never deceives.

Rather more unnervingly, though, my sensitive snout is causing problems in the shop. I appear to have developed an allergy to Adam. When we are both behind the counter it is only a matter of time before I start getting a terrible sore throat until it gets so unbearable that I have to send him into the back room to do Important Management Stuff so that I can breathe again. I'm not sure what it is about him but I suspect - or rather hope - that it might be his Sure for Men underarm spray. Matthew has blogged recently about his love for Old Spice deoderant and I fear that I will have to force Adam to change allegiance to this unfashionable yet innocuous brand that my nose seems to cope with just fine. If this doesn't help, who knows what I will do, as it might just be Adam himself that my system can't stand. Do you think the NHS will cough up, so to speak, for antihistemines to neutralise my unfortunate intolerance for my boss?

Didn't go to any bookshops.

Cycled to Hampstead past the Kings Cross development (wow) and had a home-made sausage roll and 2 pints of pride at the Holly Bush next to an open fire. Does it get any better than that?

Encouraged by page 3 of the Standard, I hurtle at considerable speed and danger through town to my local deli before closing. (Page 3 of the standard was about the death of a cyclist. No offence to her family but she was listening to her i-pod - how chuffing stupid is that. One of the reasons I don't wear a helmet is the effect they have on my spacial hearing. I just don't know where sounds are coming from. Hearing is only marginally behind vision in their importance to cyclists. Also, I love it when cars get really angry when I'm going the same speed as them at 'quick' parts of town - down the back of Buck house especially, which really smelled of shit today. Hate but with an element of respect for the sheer lunacy of my behaviour. Also encouraged that only 3 cyclists were killed last year. I reckon I've got a bit left in me yet)

The only downside to the day was seeing the report on newsnight about Nepal. I went a few years ago. Not as some kind of new-age hippy trekker or worthy eco-tourist looking for an experience but as a fully paid up member of the western hideocracy. I went on a golfing holiday. www.gokarna.com. I went to the Hyatt regency casino. I was nearly murdered in the hills - the only time I've seen a real AK47 up close. I didn't go trekking. I walked through fresh bull's blood to see a temple. I bought a block of hash the size of a baby's forearm for 3 quid. I was probably the least responsible tourist ever. But, what a country. I've never known such happiness and peace as walking round a stupa at sunset and spinning the prayer wheels. When I returned home I was crapping through the eye of a needle. Went to the doc for a plug and had a discussion about Nepal as he had just been. Apparently, by not wandering into the mountains I had missed the best bit. I disagree. I like to go to a place to see the people. If we go on holiday to get lost then surely meeting folk from a whole other view point is the best way to lose oneself.

In fact, I came to despise those day-glo wearing, hiking boot morons going on incessantly about how they were getting by on $10 a day. The Lonely Planet says not to tip the locals too much as it only increases inflation. Bollocks. We as westerners will never know or appreciate their poverty. We are only ever visitors. It is our sovereign duty to part with as much of our cash as possible to as many people as possible. There were 5 of us in the casino. The only westerners out of hundreds of - 98% chinese - punters. The manager came over and was talking to us (due to the novelty value of us being there) he told us that the casino employed 750 locals on good wages. How is some eco-moron helping out the country by staying in a hostel for $5 a night. We are all part of the same hypocrisy, as Michael Corleone mentioned last week. I know the way I think I can help.

Anyway, the country is going through some very tough home-grown troubles and I can only wish it god-speed to a quick and favourible conclusion as a lovelier people and country I have yet to encounter.

Sorry for the ramble, it's been a long day. And beside, am I the only one getting a little bored of this whole Scott Pack thing? (sorry scott, no offence)

The scooter shop down the road sells lovely old Italian Vespas and...coffee.

A while back I posted about the joys of green tea and the drink seemed to suit the chilled out early days of C & P.

BC (before customers!)

But things have moved forward and coffee is back. I LOVE coffee. That first sip in the morning...Ahhhhhhh...lovely lovely lovely.

Fifi loves coffee too - at least I think she must as she has gone to the trouble of having a 1940s machine installed.

It produces coffee that is fit for the gods. It is better coffee than I make myself at home.

So all together now Hurrah for Coffee!

Hurrah for Fifi!

Hurrah for Lower Marsh!

(You havn't visited yet? You live on Mars? Poor excuse.)

As requested, we have *exclusive pictures* (well, I think they're probably exclusive) of where and with whom Scott Pack will spending his unenforced temporary work hiatus.

To begin with, here is what I think we can assume is SP's Secret Summer House. I don't think it's too far-fetched to suggest that behind that stubbornly closed door lies a James Bond Villain-style hi-tech lair, plunging down to a vast underground cavern stuffed full of nubile women, Hachette-sponsored nuclear arms, maps showing every independent publisher and bookseller across the globe, and sinister Persian cats:

Moving on. Meet glamorous Caroline and Madeline, SP's loyal hen-ch women:

SP is so evil that he actually *eats* their eggs. Not only does he propogate the existence of indie-crushing three-for-two deals he is an unashamed consumer of chicken embryos! Does this man know no shame?

Lastly, are SP's innocent wife and children aware of the existence of this mysterious siren?

Who is she? What is her exact relationship with SP? Where does she buy her lipstick? I think we should be told.

One of the great downfalls of marketing is the fact it has to appeal to a broad base of people and each one of us has a few quirks that are unlikely to be shared with anyone else.

For example - I love Old Spice deodorant. The original one. Why? Very good question...

My dad used to use it and for some reason when I was a kid he always made out it was poisonous or something. Anyway I remember gazing up at it on a high shelf and yearning. (Yup - yearning) One day I came across an article in some kid magazine that showed you how to make a space ship and - dah dah daaaah! The key component was an empty Old Spice deodorant stick. Fantastic. The perfect excuse to get at that high shelf. The spacecraft was constructed and still exists, quietly zipping round the universe at my mum and dad's house.

When I was finally smelly enough I was allowed a stick of my own! And I still use it! Twenty plus years later...

My insane brand loyalty goes so far that now, since it is impossible to find on the shelf anywhere thanks to the concept of "choice" offered by most supermarkets (and most shops are supermarkets these days - have you noticed how few brands of deodorant for blokes they stock? - criminal - bring back the high street pharmacist!) I have just purchased ten sticks off the internet.

No marketing bod would ever work that out eh? I've just had a look at the Old Spice website and it's all flash cars etc. They don't have a clue.

At Crockatt & Powell we recognise the impossibility of attempting to second guess the general public. That's why our loyalty scheme rocks.

For every £10 you spend you get a stamp. Every ten stamps a free book up to the value of £10. And it can be anything we have in stock.

Crockatt & Powell - Elegance, Freedom and Great Smelling Armpits!

Interesting chat below about discovering new writers from customers, friends etc...I have just had a look at the Dawn Powell we recently shipped in from the US on the advice of a passing Italian.

I was in Italy a couple of years ago and spent a fair bit of time in Italian bookshops, despite not being able to understand a word of the lingo.

I kept seeing this writer called Paula Fox at the top of the bestseller charts everywhere. The name didn't sound Italian and when I looked her up back in blighty indeed she is not Italian but American.

There was a memoir out called Borrowed Finery that I vaguely remembered selling a few copies of. Then I noticed two of her novels, Desperate Characters and The Widow's Children had recently been re-issued on the say so of Jonathan Franzen.

I read them and, surprise surprise, discovered a brilliant writer I'd never heard of before...

Patrick Hamilton, Denis Johnson, Paula Fox, Dawn Powell, Joy Williams, Stephan Zweig, Antal Szerb, Gustav Meyrink, Alberto Moravia, Henry Green - all of these writers came into my life in similar ways and prove what I think we all know - good books are not marketed, they lurk and linger, waiting for lovers of literature to seek them out...

(Of course all these and more can be found lurking on the shelves at C & P waiting to be rescued from obscurity!)

The story so far: on December 29th, 2005, our very own Matthew Crockatt challenges Wintersloanes chief buyer Scott Pack to a fight. On February 9th, 2006, Wimperscones announces the departure of aforementioned Scott Pack. Only the most stubborn will fail to see a direct connection between the two. Yes, just like David against Goliath before us, Matthew won, and that's a pretty healthy scalp he bagged too.

I am feeling inspired. Pack is gone, or he will be in six months, much to the joy of his lonely chickens. We need a new adversary. I am therefore challenging all of the following to an arm wrestle / thumb war, winner takes all:

Daily Mail book club stickers (*so* ugly), shoplifters, Da Vinci Code spin-off titles, bad weather that keeps customers in their homes / offices and out of our shop, three-for-two promotions, lactose (nothing to do with books, but I'm intolerant), that woman who only comes in to be rude to us and never buys anything, distributors who send us damaged books, giant ads for bad novels on the tube, dust, the computer errors that are screwing with our print-outs, and publishers who also manufacture nuclear weapons - Hachette, this means you. (We'll still buy your titles though, ta very much, but could we specify that the profits you make from us don't go into weapons designed to kill millions of innocent civilians? Weapons designed to kill dozens of innocent civilians are of course fine, you could say as much about bad chick lit novels.)

Anyway, you know where to find me and our track record is unblemished - one out of one. Bring it on.

'Every now and again an absolute gem of a novel arrives and is tragically ignored by all and sundry. The Flea Palace is one such book. I rate it as highly as Shadow of the Wind and am on a personal crusade to encourage as many people as possible to read it' - Scott Pack

That was the Flea Palace by Elif Shafak, which does seem, tragically to have been ignored by all and sundry. I've just started it and it is indeed looking like quite a book.

The reason I mention this is that the author has a new novel coming out in the summer - The Gaze - and she will be coming over to London briefly. I hope I'm not jumping the gun here (sorry, publisher if I am) but it looks like Crockatt & Powell will be hosting an event and a reading with her in May. This is very exciting. Watch this space.

'Her literary success and journalism marks her out as a figurehead of a new generation of writers, who use literature to reconfigure Turkish identity, and it's relationship to the country's history' The Independent

'Shafak is well set to challenge Orhan Pamuk as Turkey's foremost contemporary novelist' The Economist

The Flea Palace is available at C&P.

We recently opened an account with a great American wholesaler, Baker & Taylor. We placed an order and received the books 3 DAYS LATER! And with better terms than we get from uk distributors. How cool is that? Not only that, in all our dealings with them they have covered us with a warm and reassuring golden glow of capitalist enterprise that americans seem to specialise in. I like this.

In this country you can phone a supplier, ask for a book and be told it's in stock. But when you ask how long it'll be the reply is often, '7 to 10 working days'. What? You're in Oxfordshire! I could walk there and pick the book up and be back in time for tea. Why?

So, thank you America not only for your written constitution guaranteeing free speech and equal rights for all but for your super fast and efficient delivery of top quality literature. USA, USA, USA.

ps just sort out that nasty imperialist streak.

pps so, reader, before ordering those us-only titles on amazon.com spare a thought for us and e-mail a request to info@crockattpowell.com.

News travels fast in the small but perfectly formed bookselling universe. One of our fave reps (who shall remain nameless - don't worry f... oops) has let us know toot sweet that the one and only Scott Pack, in what seems a case of 'restructuring', has 'left' Wanklestorms.

I think this is a case of over to you, Matthew!...

Oh brother...not again...

Two people, a man and a woman, stroll into the shop. They seem almost unaturally relaxed and are wearing weird hats and sunglasses.

"Space cadets" I mutter to Adam under my breath and carry on with the boring bookshop task I am in the middle of. In the background I hear vague comments such as "these cards could spark a revolution" and in my head I'm tutting. Then the woman goes "Are you sure they don't have it?" to the guy. I turn to Adam and say something snide like "maybe you could ASK us if we have it" - I am tutting in my head again.

They leave having purchased a book about Bob Dylan.

"You have to be either insane or famous to dress like that!" I say - "Blinking (no swearing!) space cadets!"

Then Adam tells me who she was...

Jane Adams.

She is acting in Arthur Miller's Resurrection Blues at the Old Vic. Almost certainly a mate of Kevin Spacey.

Actress - filmography
(In Production) (2000s) (1990s) (1980s)

Four Women (2005) (pre-production) .... Marion
The Sensation of Sight (2006) (post-production) .... Alice

Last Holiday (2006) .... Rochelle
Stone Cold (2005) (TV) .... Brianna Lincoln
Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events (2004) .... White Faced Woman
... aka Lemony Snicket - Rätselhafte Ereignisse (Germany)
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) .... Carrie
"Law & Order: Criminal Intent"
... aka Law & Order: CI (USA: promotional abbreviation)
- The Gift (2003) TV Episode .... Sylvia Campbell
"Carnivàle"
- Milfay (2003) TV Episode (uncredited) .... Mother of Dead Baby
Orange County (2002) .... Mona
"Citizen Baines" (2001) TV Series .... Reeva Eidenberg
"Night Visions"
- The Doghouse (2001) TV Episode .... Amanda
The Anniversary Party (2001) .... Clair Forsyth
"Frasier"
- Taking Liberties (2000) TV Episode .... Dr. Mel Karnofsky
- The Great Crane Robbery (2000) TV Episode .... Dr. Mel Karnofsky
- And the Dish Ran Away with the Spoon: Part 1 (2000) TV Episode .... Dr. Mel Karnofsky
- And the Dish Ran Away with the Spoon: Part 2 (2000) TV Episode .... Dr. Mel Karnofsky
- Something Borrowed, Someone Blue: Part 1 (2000) TV Episode .... Dr. Mel Karnofsky
(6 more)
Wonder Boys (2000) .... Oola
... aka Wonder Boys, Die (Germany)
... aka Wonderboys - Lauter Wunderknaben (Germany: TV title)
Songcatcher (2000) .... Eleanor 'Elna' Penleric
From Where I Sit (2000) (TV) .... Ruth

Mumford (1999) .... Dr. Phyllis Sheeler
A Texas Funeral (1999) .... Mary Joan
"The Outer Limits"
... aka The New Outer Limits (USA: promotional title)
- What Will the Neighbors Think? (1999) TV Episode .... Mona Bailey
A Fish in the Bathtub (1999) .... Ruthie
You've Got Mail (1998) (uncredited) .... Sydney Anne
Music From Another Room (1998) .... Irene
Day at the Beach (1998) .... Marie
Happiness (1998) .... Joy Jordan
"Relativity" (1996) TV Series .... Karen Lukens
Kansas City (1996) .... Nettie Bolt
Father of the Bride Part II (1995) .... Dr. Megan Eisenberg
Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle (1994) .... Ruth Hale
... aka Mrs. Parker and the Round Table
I Love Trouble (1994) .... Evans
"Lifestories: Families In Crisis"
- Dead Drunk: The Kevin Tunell Story (1993) TV Episode .... Kevin's Girlfriend
Dead Drunk (1993) .... Kevin's girlfriend
Light Sleeper (1992) .... Randi Jost
Rising Son (1990/I) (TV) .... Meg Bradley
Vital Signs (1990) .... Suzanne Maloney

"Family Ties"
- They Can't Take That Away from Me: Part 2 (1989) TV Episode .... Marty Brodie
- They Can't Take That Away from Me: Part 1 (1989) TV Episode .... Marty Brodie
- Dear Mallory (1987) TV Episode .... First Love
Taking a Stand (1989) (TV)
"Tales from the Darkside"
- Deliver Us from Goodness (1986) TV Episode .... Charlotte Rose Cantrell
Bombs Away (1985) .... Greeting Girl

Yes indeed - pretty famous.

AAARRRGGGHHH!!!!

Why am I such a Dick?

While watching Home and Away on my day off (let he who is without televisual sin cast the first stone) I was mesmerised by new character Lucas, who reminded me relentlessly of someone I just couldn't place. Who could it be? Who? Who? Lucas is a platinum blond teenage surfie-type. I don't know a lot of men who answer that description. And then, just after the ad break, as Lucas became enchanted by the lovely yet unlucky in love Matilda, it hit me. It was Peter Hobbs. That's Peter Hobbs, the non-platinum blond, non-teenage, non-surfie, non-Australian, non-soap star author. Now Google image search didn't help me out much on this one. Here is Lucas, aka actor Rhys Wakefield:

And here is Pete Hobbs:

(Pete is stubbornly not showing his teeth or wearing a blond wig for this pic.)

Anyway it's no use - you just can't tell what I mean from looking at these pictures. You'll just have to watch Home and Away on your day off (12pm and 6pm Monday to Friday, Channel Five) and then come and check out Pete Hobbs at our reading on Feb 28th, 7pm, tickets from me, bla bla bla but you knew all that already. I promise you: it's uncanny.

Regular readers will have picked up on my psychogeographical tendencies (IE Love of wandering aimlessly about the city - and I mean THE city - there IS only one - LONDON)

I blogged a while ago about the little scraps of sentences I noticed on the way in to the bookshop and squeezed them into a kind of found poem. This morning, walking through Southwark and Lambeth the city said the following:

Slow down - Turn off radio

Earn money while others sleep

Is that not beautiful? The city in a nutshell? Anxiety, fear, strangers observing you in secret - and all tolerated for the promise of easy money made at the expense of others?

Before I get started on this one, could I just mention that my mother has this URL, and if she's reading this - or indeed, if anyone else of a sensitive disposition is - they might wish to consider skipping the post below this one. Although the sentiments are bang on, some of the content is, shall we say, not entirely suitable for those of a delicate nature.

Moving on. Last night we had our first ever reading group meeting. Terrifying for me, the chair. Total previous meetings ever chaired by me in my life: zero. Usual ability to remember anybody's name: less than zero. Enjoyment of the book in question (Orhan Pamuk's Snow - see previous lamenting posts): not quite zero, but not a huge amount higher. Would anybody turn up? Would anybody speak? Would anybody who spoke stop talking and let anybody else speak? Would I get lynched for having chosen the book in the first place?

It was a huge success. Phew! Most of the 15 or so people who came had enjoyed the book, and even those who hadn't were glad to have read it. And it was a great group of people from a variety of backgrounds with a variety of differing perspectives on the book. They not only spoke with enthusiasm but respected each others' right to speak; it was a model of good bookgroup behaviour, which left me little to worry about, chairing-wise, aside from pouring the wine. We all left the meeting feeling we'd learnt something new, not only about the book, but also about what we ourselves had thought of the book - many people prefaced their comments with the slightly confused admission that "I didn't know I thought this until right now, but looking back on it..." Whole in more than sum of parts shock! Oh, and either I remembered everybody's names or they were too polite to mention that I hadn't... so that's good...

Anyway it's not too late to join us - our next meeting is on Monday 6th March and we'll be reading James Meek's The People's Act of Love (a limited number of signed copies are in stock now). E-mail me if you're interested - crockattpowell@tiscali.co.uk

A few days ago I completed a Curb Your Enthusiasm marathon. It happens when you buy the complete series on DVD. As a result my internal off switch, you know, the one that stops you from saying what you really want to but shouldn't, has become almost irrepairably disengaged...

A confession. I fucking love mtv. The box, the amp, vh1, vh2, tmf, scuzz, kerrrang, the box, the hits, mtv2, mtv base, the lot. I've got cable telly - 16 music video channels but I have to say my absolute favourite is MTV Dance. Is there a better way to wind down from the day?

I've been tuning into dance for a couple of years now and I've noticed a distinct pattern emerging. Nearly every video these days features 20something women dancing in swimsuits, underwear or very tight clothes. Now, I'm not exactly opposed to this. Last year there was a video with 4 women dancers dancing around a photocopier and filing stuff that was extraordinarily stunning (is there anything more beautiful than a dancers body?) and of course the aerobics video that was, frankly, a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. (Not to mention the one with the powertools...) But tonight I saw a video that was... well.

Four women, in business suits or what passes for business suits in mens grubby minds - short skirts tight tops - walk into frame sucking a straw from a milkshake. So far, so good. This goes on for a minute or so. Then, cut to these women reclining in a dentists chair, back arched. From just out of frame some 'milkshake' is squirted from an indeterminate source into these womens open, willing, lip-sticked mouths. The milkshake continues squirting, the mouths stay open, the milkshake starts to pour, it's not just the mouths it's the whole face, the jacket suddenly tightens around large breasts, the milkshake starts to pour on the breasts, the women writhe, grinning, laughing, the milkshake is never ending, they are covered in milk shake!!

I'm sort of enjoying this, a bit, but then realise I am eating my supper. It's half past fucking seven in the evening. FOR CRYING OUT LOUD THERE ARE CHILDREN WATCHING THIS! JESUS CHRIST WHAT ARE YOU THINKING MTV DANCE!

I should tell you that I recently turned 35 which probably puts me in your mind as some kind of grubby, ogling pervert. You're probably right. But in my defence I would say that most of the output on MTV Dance is produced by middle class white men of a not too dissimilar age to myself. (Has anyone seen the riduclous video of a bunch of chavs in a home counties country house with a couple of has-been dj's one of whom wears a black t-shirt and an alice band. a) don't wear a black t-shirt if you have comedy man breasts and b) don't wear an alice band if you have some jowl action happening)

Anyway, I'm 35 and I've developed responsibilty! I believe the official term for the above mentioned milkshake action is, as the professionals say, a 'money shot'. This video is an unnashamed glorifying monument to the porno money shot. Now, I've known a few women and I can honestly say that none of them have ever expressed their desire to be ejaculated upon on the face and in the mouth. To be blunt - it no taste nicey. I'm pretty sure women don't aspire, as the pinnacle of the romantic, to a squirt of jizz in the gob. In a paper this week there was a Q&A with a famous-ish writer (sorry, I forget who). Asked what her favourite romantic line in fiction was, she replied: 'Reader, I married him.' How soon before our children are replying: 'Reader, I swallowed his load.' Now, in this period of concern over offence and censorship I am normally the one at the front shouting 'I'll say what I fucking want to say!' but this time there is a time and a place for this stuff. Monday evening at half seven ain't it.

However, all is not lost. Those grand old men of dance Massive Attack have a new release. It's a great track but last night I caught the video. It's directed by Johnathon Glazer (Sexy Beast, the Guiness Horses, Radiohead's Fade Out). It is another video of a 20something woman in a business suit. Only this time it is a glimpse into her despairing alcoholism. I haven't seen a more unbearibly moving, devastating and powerful piece of film-making in years. It's quite possibly the best music video I've ever seen. And there's no tits or ass in sight. Thank god.

So, what does a bookseller do on his day off? Well if he is as sad as I am he goes to other bookshops. I'd been meaning to check out The Bookseller Crow on The Hill for a while as it is one of my locals (on the a-z anyway, in reality there is a bit of a hill in the way) up in Crystal Palace. Anyway, as we're by Waterloo station and I don't think any trains go to Crystal Palace from there and therefore none of our customers live there as no-one would take the bus surely so there is no way we're going to lose any sales, I can wholeheartedly endorse a trip for our suburban readers to this well-stocked, experienced independent bookstore, miles away from us.

Johnathon, the owner, even blogs too... www.booksellercrow.co.uk

And on my next day off, the library.

Hmmm...It's Sunday and I'm sifting through the papers...Oh look - brilliant reviews for Pete:

I Could Ride All Day In My Cool Blue Train is described by James Urquhart of the Independent as "a punchy and vividly imagined collection of discrete short stories which loop through common themes of anxiety and dislocation, mental instability and the slippery aspects of reality."

Then in the Sunday Times:

"This is a remarkably intelligent, thought-provoking and entertaining collection, not only confirming Hobbs as a writer of real gifts, but giving grounds for hope that the short story is far from extinct, even in the unwelcoming British climate."

Tuesday Feb 28th Peter Hobbs will be here in the bookshop reading from 7pm.

Tickets are free but need to be reserved in advance from crockattpowell@tiscali.co.uk

Be quick...

You have to imagine the following monologue being spoken through a gargling layer of phlegmy tar at the back of the throat over a very lengthy 20 minute period...

...and the nazis went into russia...couldn't keep it...why...germans fight...english are anglo-saxons same as germans...english killed...it'll all come out...germans are the tribe of cain and cain killed abel you know...cain was annoyed at abel...poet...sitting around playing...cain worked all his life...tilled the soil...angry at abel for not working...had to murder him...you work all your life said cain...hard work all your life...look...nazis...swastikas...russians...and cain bludgeoned abel...how much is that book?...i've got hundreds at home...in the kitchen...under the bed...around, you know...if i'd brought another twenty...i'll come next week...cain worked hard...germans work hard...work...byebye...next week...

This is not a post about Scott Pack but it may end up in Matthew channeling his extraordinary levels of aggression towards me ably accompanied by his willing literary rottweiller Marie... (See No Film for Old Men? below)

You see, I can't stand Cormac McCarthy. His is the worst case of overblown, windy pomposity that seems to be beloved of middle class english booksellers who imagine that his writing somehow represents the epic-ness, splendour and terror of the American west. It's not necessarily the lack of punctuation I despise, although Hemingway and Faulkner managed to use inverted commas to no great detriment. My annoyance is largely because buried under all his bombast is a writer of sometimes extraordinary talent that has been allowed to be dominated by ego and a lack of rigorous self control.

Take this, at random, from Blood Meridian:

The following evening as they rode up onto the western rim they lost one of the mules. It went skittering off down the canyon wall with the contents of the panniers exploding soundlessly in the hot dry air...

That is a great sentence. Concise, elegant and marvelous imagery. Skittering is a perfect word for a mules legs trying to find purchase and I can almost taste the hot air of the deep canyon. Unfortunately, that isn't the whole sentence. It continues:

...and it fell through sunlight and through shade, turning in that lonely void until it fell from sight into a sink of cold blue space that absolved it forever of memory in the mind of any living thing that was.

End of sentence. But, it doesn't stop there:

Glanton sat his horse and studied the adamantine deep beneath him. A raven had set forth from the cliffs far below to wheel and croak. In the acute...

and on and on and on. Enough! How, in any way, does the subsequent blah contribute to that first pristine image of a falling mule. Cinematically, that first image is great too. I can't believe McCarthy wouldn't have been thinking of the end of The Man Who Would be King where Sean Connery is falling in slow motion into a deep canyon. The light in that film and the heat are exactly as he portrays at the start of the above sentence. I don't think it is also a coincidence that that film was directed by John Huston, a master of the peculiar kind of epic claustrophobia found in the great American Movie (Key Largo, Treasure of the Sierra Madre, Moby Dick, The Misfits...) But where Huston knew where to hold the shot, not cut away and where to end the shot is lost on McCarthy's literary translation. Similarly, other great contemporary western movies know when to hold and when to push. I'm thinking of the elegiac scene in Cimino's Heaven's Gate where the townsfolk are dancing with roller skates round and round as the screen turns a deep sepia. And the end of Electra Glide in Blue where the camera backs and backs away from the giant monument valley and the tiny motorcycle cop. And the start of Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid where Garrett's murder and the Kid's target practice are intercut over Dylan's plaintive music.

I can sense McCarthy is aiming at these kind of images and senses but he just doesn't know when to hold back. He lays it on thick, with a trowel, like a clumsy bricklayer. To make a movie of his work you have to trim out so much unnecessary false poetry. His books could be extraordinary but they are not and that is a great american tragedy.

Following Scott Pack's claim (see comments for '1%', below) that he had come to the Sarah Waters party in disguise, I thought it politic to do a Google image search to see what this gentleman actually looks like, so that next time he will be rumbled and Matthew will get his fight. This is what I found:

Hats off to you, Mr Pack. I am forced to concede defeat. That's a pretty good disguise.

Matthew here - what about this! Is this how publishers prepare for your arrival Scott or what? Alert! Alert! Scott Pack approaching! Activate Scott Pack drill! Get the glowing suits on...

http://tmfd.org:82/coppermine/thumbnails.php?album=19

Flashing Helmet eat your heart out...

The People's Act of Love is amongst the most ambitious novels written by a British author in recent years. Where so much contemporary fiction seems pointless Meek aims at the big questions - Love, Death, (Canibalism!) etc and manages to bind these grand themes into a compelling tale. I will review it at greater length in the Feb newsletter...

James came into the shop today and signed a large pile of copies in paperback. Grab one while you can as they are already selling fast!

Apparently Joel and Ethan Coen's next film project is going to be an adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's latest novel, No Country For Old Men. I'm giving this news a cautious welcome - I love McCarthy, in particular his Border Trilogy, and I love the Coen brothers - Barton Fink, Fargo, Big Liebowski, Oh Brother Where Art Thou etc etc etc - all brilliant films - I even adored their "dud", Intolerable Cruelty. But then you can't help but think Matt Damon (so help me god) and Penelope Cruz in All The Pretty Horses. And the Coens thinking that the classic Ealing comedy The Ladykillers could only be improved by the addition of Tom Hanks.

I suspect that McCarthy's work is seductive for filmmakers because his images are so vivid and cinematic. They therefore think the novels will translate well to the big screen. In fact the opposite may be true - could any moving image live up to the worlds that his language creates in your imagination? Particularly any moving image involving Matt Damon. Or Tom Hanks (most recent "literary" adaptation: The Da Vinci Code.) And there's also the risk that the filmmakers will blow the budget on making the picture look good and forget to make it interesting - cf Snow Falling on Cedars. Having said that, after the Shipping News I concluded that Annie Proulx was unfilmable, but I recently passed a very enjoyable couple of hours eating my words alongside the popcorn in front of Brokeback Mountain.

So we will wait and see. It certainly bodes better than an adaptation of, say, Blood Meridian helmed by Mel Gibson - don't laugh - can't you just picture it? [Shudders]

Crockatt & Powell were at the cabinet war rooms last night to celebrate the publication of the Night Watch. It was quite a party with many people (including Sarah) dressed in really fab 1940's gear.

Free booze (of course) meant that I later got on a bus heading in the wrong direction and only realised when Adam phoned to tell me...

Adam is making regular trips "upstairs" and Marie is at home feeling paranoid...

We looked for Scott Pack but he wasn't there - I spoke to a couple of other lovely Winkerstins employees though and generally a good time was had by all.

We also learned that Crockatt & Powell are so far responsible for a MASSIVE 1% of the HB sales of The Night Watch across the country.

Thanks people for all the support - it's a great book and Sarah is just the Best...

Happy customers are easy. They say 'What a lovely shop," "What a great selection," "I will most certainly be back." And then you smile and say thank you. Unhappy customers are also easy. They say "Why don't you have a true crime section," "Why don't you want to stock my self-published science fiction epic in four volumes," "Why don't you have Sarah Waters's new novel". And then you look sad and say "Because we don't care," "Because it's rubbish" or "We do, it's just that it proved so incredibly popular that it sold out earlier today but we'll be getting more with our delivery at 3pm." (Actually this last, while designed for Sarah Waters, probably works nicely but less honestly for all listed scenarios.)

Silent customers are tricky, though. The ones who come in, have a look around, sometimes for mere seconds, sometimes for a long, long time, and then leave buying nothing. Are you happy? Are you sad? Are you indecisive? Do you like our shop or do you think it is a pit of eternal stench? Did you find the book of your dreams but are too poor to buy it and now must save every penny until payday when you will come in in triumph to make your purchase? Do you think our selection is a disaster and doesn't have a single thing a person of sound mind would ever touch? Did you even want a book at all or were you just passing the time sheltering from the cold? Did you come in because our shop is so very beautiful but sadly you can't read? Did you think maybe we were a bar? Did you just want to browse? Are you ever coming back?

It is a mystery. It will never be solved. It perplexes me.

Updated: yes I suppose that came out a little wrong. Of course you are more than welcome to wonder quietly through our shop and not buy anything. But I do sometimes worry that you're not happy but don't say why, so I can't help you...