My Kid Says, “You should sell books!” and 9 Other Thoughts After a Full Day at a Bookstore
On August 2nd, I had the rare opportunity to spend a whole day at a bookstore (Rubber Rose Books and Print in Kankakee!) during its three-year anniversary. I was there to support my kid doing a little pop-up shop of their original art and tried to sling some of my comics collection which is always in need of a little bit of weeding. While I’ve spent many hours and, almost, full days inside many different bookstores, this was my first time being front and center, observing a full 8 hours (11 if you count set up and tear down) of bookshop joy. The experience was something unique for a writer and book obsessive like me.
While there, I quickly realized my primary purpose was to be a bank for my kid, so I had time to take notes on various interactions I noticed throughout the day. Some I found funny, others interesting, but most were downright important to notice for those of us who love writing, reading, and having a space where those values are cherished. It was one hell of a good time and I feel grateful to have been able to be there to observe it all.
Now, before I get started, I’m well aware that there have been many booksellers who have written and said similar things to what I’m about to say. Primarily, I’m thinking of Danny Caine’s How to Resist Amazon and 50 Ways to Protect Bookstores which talk about some of the same things as below. Caine isn’t the only person writing about bookstores from a bookseller’s point of view but he is the person I’ve most recently read. I thought that my experience would be fun to share and add to the love for bookstores, especially independent ones. I’m also of the mindset that you can’t get enough positivity/conversation around books and the places that sell them.
So, if you’re looking for more nuanced conversation about the bookselling world or conversation from someone who regularly works at a bookstore, that’s not this. If you’re interested in one writer’s experiences during a day of pretty intense community support for a fantastic bookstore, then you’re in the right place!
1. Selling books is pretty fun
My kid told me I should sell books just after I hard sold J.R. Dawson’s new book The Lighthouse at the Edge of the World to someone already holding it. They seemed a little unsure about the book but, I absolutely loved the book, so I told them that it’s brilliant (spoiler: it is). The person seemed pretty grateful for the rec! I didn’t go out of my way or do anything fancy as my child clearly thought but it did feel good to suggest something and see someone like that suggestion.
I felt like I could sell anything with a little gusto and a solid description. Then the nicest couple in the world bought some comics from me so I was living the absolute dream. If the store also had popcorn on the ready for me, it would have been my literal heaven.
2. Selling books is hard actually
Shortly afterwards, a customer was looking at a cart with some discounted new books. They lifted up Blankets by Craig Thompson which is another book I absolutely love. So much white space! So much snow! I love snow. And the art compliments the story so so much. It looks like a doorstop but you end up just luxuriating in the images and moving through the book way quicker than expected.
Which, is what I would have told this customer if my attempts to get their attention weren’t squarely ignored. I said, “Blankets is really good! I loved that book” and they pretended to not hear me (or actually didn’t but like we were incredibly close to each other and I have a volume issue).
Then I looked to my kid who said, “I don’t think they heard you” loud enough that someone farther away looked over. Then I said, embarrassingly, “That book is really incredible!”
That human flipped through couple more pages of the book, put it down, and then walked towards some other new books. I spied for headphones, nope. I pinched myself, still alive. Clearly they thought I was speaking to someone else or just didn’t want to deal with my bullshit. Which, to be fair, is fair. I, some guy sitting at a pop-up table, should not be yelling at people trying to enjoy their time browsing for a book. I was inserting myself where I didn’t need to be.
Sorry Craig Thompson, I couldn’t pressure someone to buy your book. Maybe next time.
3. Suggesting books is absurdly hard. Truly.
This story is also an apology to the woman who took the used book I suggested. My bad. Please feel free to find me and knock me out, as I promised.
Set up: Woman buys a new book which, at Rubber Rose, comes with a free used book! Yay! She doesn’t know what to choose. There’s a lot of used books. So, she looks at her friend and says, “You pick out a book for me.” Said friend panics like I’ve never seen someone panic in a bookstore. The choices! Any used book!? It’s too much. Out of sympathy and being more of a joke, because if I’m being honest I assumed she’d say no, I volunteered to pick one for her. I received an enthusiastic, “Sure!” Then, dear reader, I panicked.
Joke: I went looking for something, anything that I had read and thought was good. I happened upon Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. I remembered reading this, though a long time ago, and enjoying it so I brought it to her. With a, “Here! This is pretty good!” I handed her the book. After a minute reading the back and inside cover, she didn’t seem as thrilled as I thought.
“It might be a little too religious for this devout atheist, but I’ll try it!” Her friends and I had a good laugh. It was funny in context. I promised that I had read it even saying, “I’m pretty sure this is the book I’m remembering. If it isn’t or you don’t like it, you’re welcome to come back and throw it at my head.” Another laugh.
Punchline: It is not the book I thought it was. I realized this three days later. I’ve never read Gilead by Marilynne Robinson.
What book am I remembering have read? No idea. Maybe Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood? But I don’t think so. Honestly, I have no idea what book I thought I was recommending. And I have no idea what Robinson’s book is about. I looked it up and, yea, it rings no bells.
I’ve heard good things though! But that’s not what I told her. The amount of sleep I’ve already lost in shame and embarrassment is enough to fill a whole bookstore with tears. I shall live with this for the rest of my life.
4. Bookshopping is an early morning sport
I imagined, as I sucked on my third coffee at 10am waiting to feel that sweet release of full consciousness that caffeine brings, that many people’s mornings start like this:
Up at 6am. Exercise. Shower. Some healthy drink that has protein and protects your gut health. A Kombucha-Kefir mix. Gardening. Sacrificing a small animal to their chosen sun god. Wash hands. Get in the car. Go to the bookstore. Wait patiently outside until it opens at 9am.
Every day I’m up before 10am is a fight between my obligations and the gremlin inside of me that tells me to burn it all down. The gremlin wins that fight sometimes.
The bookstore was absolutely hopping the whole morning. From 9 to a little after noon, the store was bustling with people. Now, I will admit that there’s a farmer’s market nearby and I accept that there’s some crossing traffic. But, easily, about 70% of the total customers were early in the day. Which lead me to some soul searching questions.
Are readers typically morning people? Are us late-night/afternoon readers the weird ones? Where does one go for late night bookish needs? The internet? Oh, I hope not. Is there enough late-night/afternoon people to have an open for lunch and dinner bookshop? Can it be vampire themed? I’m listening to pitches.
The inspiration for this part was after I had taken a large sip of my third iced coffee, feeling a little more human between people trying to buy my kids art, when a woman walked in with her daughter and said, “We got here late!” It was 10:23.
I remain shook.
5. The prep work is wild
Not counting the set-up work that my kid and I did the half hour before the doors to the store opened up, the amount of work work that the store did to make this event a success was weeks of planning and days of actual labor.
There were vegan cupcakes and treats and a whole row of raffle prizes people could buy tickets to win. Furniture was moved around to make more room for more people to browse. The shelves were well stocked with books and merch. And it ran like a well-oiled machine. Especially considering that the store is a one woman show every day, including this one.
I, on the other hand, was sweating so much from moving a few long boxes and a suitcase of art for my kid that chest was outlined on my shirt. I’m made from less sterner stuff, obviously.
6. The tear down is long
The kid and I stayed to rearrange the store and reset so it looked like how it should for the next day. That and making sure there weren’t cupcake wrappers lying around, the coffeepot was shut off, things put away in the fridge, etc was like a whole other job waiting to be done after the job of the workday.
I know what you’re thinking and, yes, I was sweating a lot again. It is the nature of my existence.
7. A community that shows up is my kind of community
A magical part of the day was how many people who were regulars showed up. They got an extra book or picked up their book order or purchased some raffle tickets in hope of getting a discount on their next tattoo. Throughout the day they trickled in along with new customers and the occasional ones. They were super easy to spot too.
A regular to a bookshop knows that bookshop like no one else does. When they explore, they’re looking for the things they looked over last time or what’s new. Or, they’d visit that book they’re not too sure about yet again and give it the most familiar of glances. Maybe a light touch on the spine. A few times I watched people seasoned in the new book section glance directly at what must have been a newer book that arrived since the last time they were there. It was stunning to see such spatial recognition. Such devotion to the next find. I felt that.
It was also wonderful to hear all the stories being shared amongst them. Customers chatted with each other or with the owner, reminisced about their run-ins with wonderfully weird used books or the time they found the exact thing they needed when they needed it. Or they just talked about the community around them, what they were going to next or had just been to (a lot of farmers market convos as stated above). I often feel like people have better connections to their community than I do, but even as I connect more I still see these moments as magical. To see one person laugh with another. The smiles, the sincere moments of empathy, connection. It feels surreal. It feels like a glimpse into the world I want to live in.
8. Oh the joy of the new customer
I mean I get it. There’s too much going on in our daily lives to know everything that’s happening in our neighborhood. I feel like I find a new restaurant that’s been in town for decades every other week. Like, how’s that even possible?
Even so, there were a significant number of new customers to the store which was a different type of joy to experience. I was posted up right by the door, so my inner customer service came out as I welcomed each person into the store. A ding means a “Good morning!” and I have a love/hate relationship with that Pavlovian response. Which meant that I got to see a whole bunch of people who had never been there before.
One woman ran away from my child’s art table because she didn’t want to spend more money.
Another trio of friends found sections in the store one at a time with exclamations like, “Did you see!?” with responses of “OMG YES!”. Oh was that wonderful.
“We’ve driven past this so many times and finally decided to come in!”
“You’ve been here THREE YEARS!? How have I just found out about you?”
Oh, the joy. Oh, the magic of finding that local bookstore. Oh, how wonderful it all is.
9. Bookstores stick around when the community shows up. And
10. The community shows up if the bookstore shows up
One of the best parts of the whole experience though was the impressive amount of people who showed up to the support the store. People who came in for the first time could only do so because people who often come in do so on days like this. They keep showing up and spending a little bit of time and money at the store.
Which, I think, is one of the biggest parts of this reading and writing life I struggle with: money. For me, as a writer/reader, the commerce and capitalism behind the bookstore’s existence feels removed from my experience. It never truly is removed. It’s always there. But I like to pretend it away. This is, of course, a privileged position I can take because of the job I hold and the space I take up in the culture around me. Still, I like to experience the joy of reading and creating as removed from the money equation if I can. If I feel like money has wormed its way in (via the editing choices or choices the author has made) I tend not to enjoy the experience of writing or reading.
So, to come face to face with the idea that consumerism has something to do with a bookstore staying open and alive, was new for me. Not the idea but the actual reality of it. That reality is that when people show up and keep the bookstore moving and growing and going, then the bookstore stays there for more community members to enjoy. It allows it to be a space for people to hold readings, promote local authors, have community groups, and provide you with solid reading material. It becomes a kind of fixture. Like all small businesses, it needs local support to keep it there and be there when you need it.
The other side of this, though, that became crystal clear in the time I spent at Rubber Rose, was that the bookstore, itself, needs to put that time in too. The raffle that was held in celebration is a perfect example of how Rubber Rose has put in the time in their community: how else are you going to get almost ten other local businesses to help out? You had to have been showing up already.
This bookstore didn’t just expect that the community would accept it, but actively went out and did good work in the community to earn that acceptance. From doing charity for nonprofits in the area to providing donations/gifts to local groups and small businesses, Rubber Rose put out that good energy to receive some of its own.
It’s that kind of connection that made me leave the event last Saturday with my heart warmed and my cup refilled, as they say. To see people caring for people is what makes me believe that there’s something besides the hatred and anger and violence I feel flooded by daily. And it’s not that filtered version of goodness nor the performative kind, it’s the own where people know that we’re just people trying to survive. Trying to make it through another week or month or year with a book that makes the long days go by a little faster.
I’d be a terrible bookseller. My kid knows it too. I can be a constant positive presence in my community though. I can show up to the places I want to exist and I can do what I can, with what little money I have, to support those spaces. Last weekend made me feel like I could be better and do better.
It also made me so happy to have chosen reading and writing as part of my life. Readers are the salt of the earth if you ask me. Varied and wonderful and just incredibly good-looking every single one.
Just like the bookstore, this is an independent operation that I'm hoping to continue to work on and expand as time moves forward. If you like what I wrote here, please check out my other essays on this site!
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