BookExpo 2014: Or, WOW, I REALLY LOVE MY JOB

I'm lucky to be an independent bookseller who lives within easy Amtrak distance of New York City, where BookExpo has been held for the last few years.  Last week marked my 5th (I think?) BEA, which is held in the soul-sucking Javits Center.  I'm told that it's the largest book convention in the world, but I'm not going to verify that for you.  Google away and find out for yourself if you so choose.

For those of you who've never attended BEA/BookExpo before, lemme 'splain. It's exhilarating. It's exhausting.  It's big on a scale that is hard to imagine. This is the biggest of all possible big things in US publishing, and in some cases, international publishing. It would make me wince, and then cry, and then maybe hide in a corner to know how much money the biggest publishers throw at BEA.  For example, I have a friend whose father owns a small, well-respected publishing house known for its literature in translation (mostly from Arabic) and with an emphasis on travel lit and Middle Eastern cultures. His single booth, about 15 feet long and maybe 6 feet deep, with one table and little carpeting, cost over $20,000. I don't want to know how much it costs publishers with multiple booths, with cushy carpeting, spanning rows and aisles of the Javits, with big drop-down signs hung from the ceiling that can be seen from anywhere on the tradeshow floor.

Inside each women's stall

On the outside of each stall in the women's room

Stair ads and ceiling ads

For example, here is some advertising.  Multiple women's bathrooms had advertising for one book inside each stall and across the mirrors.  In the other photo you can see that it was worth it to the publisher to sprawl ads for Carl Hiaasen's new book for kids up a set of stairs. And for Adi Alsaid and Jodi Picoult, whose huge banners hang from the ceiling. NB: I shot these photos on Wednesday, the day before BookExpo really opened, which is why you can see the stairs at all.  Otherwise it would just be a mob scene.

BookExpo is also a time for publishers to wine and dine their authors and in some lucky cases, their booksellers.  This year I was very fortunate to inherit an invitation to Simon & Schuster's 90th anniversary party, which was huge and star-studded.  I say"inherit" because the invitation came just one week before the party, meaning that somebody higher up on the bookseller food chain declined at the last minute and I got to step in.  This is not a criticism; on the contrary, I was delighted to accept. Would I rather get an early invitation?  Well, sure.  But getting a late one is infinitely better than not getting one at all. I'm happy to fill in!

Though I don't have the photographic evidence to prove it, I got to meet Anjelica Huston, Hoda Kotb and Cary Elwes that night, along with the authors Rachel Renee Russell, Lisa Genova, and Kresley Cole. Dinner was in an amazing space--a converted Episcopal monastery--and while the food itself was forgettable (to put it charitably), the company was delightful.  In addition to Genova and Cole, I had the  incredibly charming Ian Chapman, former CEO and currently chief executive publisher of S&S UK, India, Australia, as a table mate.

Rumor has it that the ceiling is four stories high

The ceiling really was gorgeous

That's Kresley Cole with me, with the minstrel balcony as a backdrop

Our last course wasn't served until almost 10:00, and with my walk back to the hotel I didn't get home until well after 11:30, but it was all worth it.  Even when I had to be back at the Javits Center the next morning at 9:00 to begin my first day of back-to-back appointments with publishers to pitch my store's First Editions Club and to convince publicists that my store can easily handle large-scale events of over 1,000 guests, so they should definitely send Amy Poehler and Jodi Picoult. (They really should!)

My celebrity encounters didn't end with the Simon & Schuster dinner.  First thing the next morning, I was able to spend a moment with Anjelica Huston when she stopped by the American Booksellers Association meeting room to sign some books. She even agreed to post with Hannah and me (Hannah's the delightful manager of my store's children's department):

The day just kept on getting better when I arrived at a publisher meeting room a few minutes early for one of my appointments.  In walked The Divine Jane Lynch.  I didn't talk to her or anything, but I kept quoting her lines from Best In Show in my head while snapping a quick pic. She was only ten feet away. I was able to play it cool enough not to walk up and bother her, but I couldn't not take this picture:

Then there was the Celebration of Bookselling luncheon for indie booksellers.  There was at least one author or illustrator at every table, and Anthony Marra, who wrote the terrific debut novel  A Constellation of Vital Phenomena was at mine. I was very excited to note in the program that Rainbow Rowell was there to win the Indie Award for best YA novel, Eleanor and Park. I snapped a photo of her onstage (it's blurry), but I was utterly starstruck when Hannah and I went up to talk with her after the luncheon.  I gushed a little bit, saying that I'd been reading her ever since Attachments came out, and then Rainbow and I both gushed together a little bit about how much we adore Alice from Reading Rambo. And then I swooned a little because she took a picture with Hannah and me:

I know why there are so many songs about Rainbows

I could have gone home at that point, completely satisfied with my BEA experience, but there were two celebrities yet to be encountered.

The night before I took the train down to New York, I inherited another last minute invitation--this time to meet former Secretary of State (and, I hope, next President-to-be) Hillary Rodham Clinton. I received the email invitation one hour before the RSVP was due, and again, this is not a criticism.  I was giddy with disbelief to be one of 100 indie booksellers who gathered to hear a short address about her new memoir and then have the chance to shake her hand and be in a photograph with her. I am thankful to all of those Republican indie booksellers (though I feel that there probably aren't many) who turned down the opportunity to attend so that my name worked its way up the invitation list.

The two things I most remember about her speech are the two most common questions she was asked when traveling around the world in her capacity as Secretary of State, and one of those questions shows *exactly* how far female leaders have to go to be considered with equal gravitas as their male counterparts: (1) How do you manage to do your hair when you're on the road? and (2) How can you work for the administration of the man who was your opponent in the presidential race?

I'm sorry, but I'm pretty sure that Bill Clinton, Al Gore, and Colin Powell aren't asked questions like #1.

Anyway, at the end, we all had about two seconds of face time with Ms Clinton and after our handshake, we were just turning to pose for the professional photographer when she glanced at my earrings, pushed a strand of my hair back, and asked, "Are those books?" I said yes, they were Jane Austen earrings and she said she liked them. (I can post the professional photo after S&S sends it out to us--they asked us to refrain from using our personal cameras during the meet & greet.)

That means that I've got one more celebrity to meet at BEA.  You may have heard of her. Publishers Weekly refers to her as one of six "Go-To Book Bloggers." I'm speaking, naturally, of Alice from Reading Rambo. I'm utterly baffled at my lack of photographic evidence from our time together, but trust me, it was fun.  We met up at the Peachtree booth where my DH and Carmen Agra Deedy were signing copies of The Cheshire Cheese Cat. Alice and I agreed that Carmen is worth keeping our options open for.  And anyway, I don't have my own photo, but Alice does, so I'm copying it here:

Photo credit here

That about sums up my BEA.  I spent lots of time hanging with Hannah, plus other folks from Odyssey: Joan, Ann, and Garrett. I wore my most comfortable shoes so that I wouldn't collapse after three days.  I saw my mentor and favorite father figure, John Evans, from Lemuria Bookstore. I saw two impressive-sized Lego figures.  I even drank a delicious passionfruit beverage that looked like it was covered in tadpole eggs.  I'll be sure to let y'all know if I'm to be the proud mama of some frogspawn.

BEA 2015 will need to be at the top of its game if it wants to beat BEA 2014.  And that's all I'm saying. 

BEA, Bill Bryson, and Other Bookish Events

Workman booth at BEA

I have been woefully behind in my blogging!  Book reviews, author signings, and publisher dinners have come and gone without my posting, but I can't skip out on BEA, or BookExpo America.  BEA is arguably the most important book/publishing event worldwide, up there with the Frankfurt or London Book Fair.  It's also a chance for me to meet up with friends in publishing and from other bookstores whom I only see 1-2 times a year at bookseller conventions like this one.  It's lots of fun. It's also *exhausting.*

My favorite YA from last year, along with its sequel

I spent most of my Thursday and Friday in meetings with publicists from various publishing companies to promote my store for its 50th anniversary this fall. We're trying to build a MONSTER events schedule for the anniversary celebration, so we were pitching to everybody. If I could get just one of the big authors we were shooting for, my pick would be Bill Bryson, who has a new book out in the fall called One Summer: America, 1927, which I'm reading now. My highlight of the day on Thursday was getting to meet him again (I spent an exalted hour in his company once before, which you can read about here) when I showed up in the Random House meeting room for my appointment.  Here's the man himself, chatting with a...publisher? Marketing person? Publicist? I'm actually not really sure.

Bill Bryson (on the left) 

On Thursday we had the Celebration of Bookselling luncheon, where each table has an author or illustrator and somebody from publishing, and we indie booksellers get to chat them up. I got to sit next to Will Schwalbe, author of End of Your Life Book Club, and we shared a Moment. One of the folks speaking (John Green by video, maybe? I really cannot remember) got us both a little choked up and then we glanced at each other and started laughing because we were both so sappy.

Will Schwalbe

Publishers also throw lots of fun parties, and that is a good part of where the exhaustion comes in.  My coworker and BEA roommate, Hannah, might have overdone it just a tad on her first day, but I don't blame her.  It was her first BEA, and she was in appointments all day long, followed by cocktail parties for Random House and Simon & Schuster, followed by more time on the town in the company of a very groovy Wiki chick. I then was witness to her heroic efforts to make our 9:00 appointment on Friday morning.

Workman's menu. Bacon candy? Yes, please!

Odyssey Booksellers!

I went to the Workman party, which is open to almost everybody, and then made my way to a dinner hosted by Algonquin (I've raved about them before, but they're a wonderful publisher based out of North Carolina and a part of the larger Workman group).  We always try to get to the Workman party right when it starts so that we can actually have a conversation and meet new people, because after about 45 minutes, the room fills to a ridiculous level and you cannot hear anything.  Plus the wait for the bar or for food is ridiculous!

Three lovely public school librarians from near Buffalo, whom I met at Workman

At 7:30 I left the party and walked to  Home restaurant, where I was lucky enough to be seated with author Lee Smith for the first (and longest) part of the night.  The authors rotate from table to table so that everybody gets to meet each one, but Lee was at our table for drinks, appetizers, and salad, so I got extra time with her.  Also at my table were the editors from O Magazine and Family Circle, which was pretty cool, and the publisher and a marketing person from Algonquin.

That's Larry Watson in the middle

Friday was largely a repeat of the previous day, except that my dinner that night was sponsored by Milkweed, an indie publisher based out of the Twin Cities.  They do great work, too, and this was another fairly intimate dinner.  Sue from Milkweed took us to Lupa, which is one of Mario Batali's restaurants, and treated us to the tasting menu.

This is me with Betty, who runs a big literary festival in one of the Dakotas. Shhh...I can't remember which one.

I left Lupa and started walking towards Poisson Rouge, where the PGW party was happening, but wonder of wonders, the music was over before I even got there.  I think it must have started super early, 'cause I'm not the type of person who usually shows up at an evening music venue after it's over.  I'm no night owl. Anyway, I ran into a woman who used to see my old mentor, so we grabbed a quick drink and then found our way home.

The post-music dregs of the PGW party

Saving the best for last, I met up with some fellow bookbloggers at an Irish pub near Penn Station on Saturday morning: Alice, Alley, Rayna, and Amanda were all there and we had a grand ol' time.  We talked about BEA, suffragists vs suffragettes, Bessie Bueller, Harry Potter, fan fiction, and lots of other breezy subjects about which we know everything. Everything. Seriously, next to chatting with Bill Bryson, this was without a doubt my favorite part of the BEA weekend.

L-R: Rayna, me. Amanda, Alice, Alley

I thought I was going to have time to blog about the fundraiser/cocktail party/dinner bash that I got to attend the following week, but alas, I do not.  The good Lord willin' and the creek don't rise, I'll get to it  soon.

Book (P)Review: Hikikomori and the Rental Sister by Jeff Backhaus

I first heard of this book back in early June at BEA, when I stopped by the Algonquin booth and their marketing guru pulled me aside and said, "Have you ever heard of hikikomori?"  "You stepped in what?" I responded.  Craig then told me about this Japanese state of being in which people, almost exclusively males in the late teens-to-early-thirties range, lock themselves up in a room and never come out. Apparently it's becoming more and more widespread, and so families rely on hired "rental sisters" to coax these young men out of seclusion. Thus began my acquaintance with hikikomori and my interest in Jeff Backhaus's debute novel, Hikikomori and the Rental Sister. I told Craig that he needed to send me a review copy as soon as they were ready because really, how could this book be anything but fascinating?

This is one of the books that is difficult for me to review, so I'm going to take the easy way out by first providing a Goodreads summary: Thomas Tessler, devastated by a tragedy, has cloistered himself in his bedroom and shut out the world for the past three years. His wife, Silke, lives in the next room, but Thomas no longer shares his life with her, leaving his hideout only occasionally, in the wee hours of the night, to pick up food at the grocery store around the corner from their Manhattan apartment. Isolated, withdrawn, damaged, Thomas is "hikikomori."Desperate for one last chance to salvage their life together, Silke hires Megumi, a young Japanese woman attuned to the "hikikomori" phenomenon, to lure Thomas back into the world. Back in Japan Megumi is called a "rental sister," though her job may involve much more than familial comforts. At first Thomas remains steadfast and sequestered, but as he grows to trust Megumi, a deepening and sensual relationship unfolds.

I've read a few Japanese authors before, I'm friends with westerners who have lived in Japan, AND I've read David Sedaris' excellent essay about moving to Japan to quit smoking, so it's not like I'm a scholar of that great nation or anything, but all I can say is that Japan and its culture are mysteries to me. Reading Japanese novels feels to me like I felt when I was in my second year of learning French and trying to read simple poems and short stories in that language: I could grasp the literal meaning of the words, sure. And I had a very general understanding of the piece. But it was clear to me that I was merely reading on the surface and missing out on fathoms of meaning.  That's pretty much how I feel when reading Haruki Murakami, even his most "accessible" works.

Jeff Backhaus is not a Japanese writer, but he has taken a quintessentially Japanese phenomenon and somehow managed to create an American novel that is bookended with Japanese sensibility. Thomas' tragedy is that he feels responsible for the death of his and Silke's son; Megumi's connection with Thomas is that her brother was also hikikomori, but her secret is that she left Japan after her family was torn apart by her brother's death.  Silke mostly remains a shadow of a person, one that we never quite get to know.

Backhaus chooses to intersperse chapters of Thomas's first person, present tense narrator, with a more detached third person narrator, also present tense.  As my friends and readers of this blog may know, I'm not crazy about present tense narration, particularly first person ones. They either create a false sense of urgency or they make me feel like I'm listening to a golf commentator's hushed tone narrating the book: "She kneels down to eye the green. She takes her time, she's lining up the putt, and oh, too bad, she just misses that one."  You know what I mean?

The opening and concluding chapters rely largely on words going unspoken and things left undone, where the true meaning lies somewhere between what is said and the silence surrounding it, while the middle sections are almost self-indulgent acts of selfish sharing, if you'll forgive the oxymoron. This might sound like criticism, but I don't mean it that way at all--I think that's what makes this book the perfect blend of Japanese and American sensibilities.

As conceptually bizarre as I find hikikomori, this book was both intriguing and engrossing and I found it to be a quick read.  There are a few passages that I noted, with which I'll conclude my post, but before that, a note about the cover design. The red and black are so bold as to be nearly an abstract graphic, but then you notice the letter H and I.  Maybe hi? I only have the ARC with a decorated front wrap, so I don't know if there will be a wraparound to the rear wrap. Perhaps there will be more letters?  If so, I'd guess a K. If not, then perhaps the simple greeting of "hi" stands on its own and is a brilliant design for the content. Now take a closer look: there's a small female robin perching on top of the (san-serif) second downstroke of the H. I, for one, didn't notice her the first few times I picked up the book, but she's equally important to the content.  The interior design is also easy on the eyes, with good chapter headings and the use of small caps for the first few words of the opening paragraph. Algonquin doesn't include a note on the type like Random House does (more's the pity), so I don't know which typeface is used, but it's attractive.

All in all, I recommend this book for those looking for an unusual read with a sensibility that differs from most English-language-not-in-translation books.

"Entire afternoons go missing. I sit cross-legged on the bed or on the floor reading magazines, sometimes unfolding and melting into supine sleep, but sleep is not what steals the hours. They go missing while I am awake, wide awake, so wide that I am rendered unaware. The walls of my room, what tricks they play: boxing in my wilted soul, paralyzing the clock then suddenly lurching it forward hours, even days. Sometimes weeks. Months (30)."

"'We're always looking for some sort of bigger world. Something bigger, better. Maybe this country is for me just one big bedroom, away from my family and my past. Maybe my brother withdrew to his room and you withdrew to your room and I withdrew all the way across the ocean, all the way to New York. Maybe I'm just as stuck as you are. Maybe I'm hiding from the future' (231)."

NB: This book will be published by Algonquin in January 2013. I received a complimentary ARC at my request. 

Book Review: The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry

I first heard of Rachel Joyce's debut novel a few months ago--folks on Goodreads were talking it up, and so was my Random House sales rep.  Then, earlier this month at BEA, it had earned one of the coveted spots on the Editors' Book Buzz panel, where I was lucky enough to snag a copy of it.  I had a hunch that it would make its way into my suitcase for vacation reading, and test-driving the first chapter proved that hunch correct. As it turns out, it provided me one of the most enjoyable vacation reads I've ever had!

Over breakfast one day, recently retired pub man Harold Fry receives a letter informing him that his old friend and colleague, Queenie Hennessey, is dying of cancer. He struggles to write a response, without knowing quite what to say, and he walks out of the house to post it at the closest letterbox.  The thing is, when he reaches it, he thinks he can come up with a better response, so he keeps walking to the next letterbox. Then the next one. Then the next one.  Once he recovers from his reverie, of what to write, he realizes he's walked out of the village. 

Stopping at a petrol station, a chance encounter with a young employee there convinces him that really, the best way to do this thing is to deliver the message to Queenie in person, no matter that Harold isn't a walker, he's not in very good shape or wearing appropriate shoes for the endeavor, that Queenie is over 500 miles away, or that Harold's wife, Maureen, might have something to say about his decision. Instead of turning homeward to retrieve suitable items for such a journey (oh, you know, things like maps, water, his mobile, and a sense of direction), he calls his wife from the station to announce his intentions and heads out in a direction that he hopes is northerly.

Along his journey, Harold finds support and succour in the unlikeliest of people, and before long his pilgrimage attracts nationwide attention and more than a few hangers-on.  As he learns to just keep putting one foot in front of the other, no matter what the terrain or the state of his poor, blistered appendages, he has plenty of time to meditate on his life, his marriage, his son, his friendship with Queenie, and how he's mostly made a muck of things. At home, Maureen undergoes similar bouts of introspection, and discovers, much to her surprise, that one by one, she has gradually revoked a lifetime of recriminations towards Harold.

This is a book that has so many funny things on the surface that it might be easy to miss the emotional depth and universal human insights that it provides.  While I definitely laughed out loud while reading of the hapless Harold's exploits, more than once was I moved to tears by the wave of humanity that Joyce readily taps into.  Most of the reviews I've read of this book compare it to Major Pettigrew's Last Stand, and while I can see that to a certain degree, I think the more appropriate comp is The Tower, the Zoo, and the Tortoise, where the whimsy of that peculiar ensemble of characters is matched only by the poignancy the story ultimately delivers. I also love that it's a book whose main characters are all of retirement age: there seem so few really good books who feature that demographic that it always stands out when I encounter it.

To say more would spoil the sense of anticipation that I'd want any reader to have when embarking on this novel, so instead I'll just share a few passages that resonated with me as I read.  But please: do yourself a favor and find a copy of this book to read asap! 

"The kindness of the woman with food came back to him, and that of Martina. They had offered him comfort and shelter, even when he was afraid of taking them, and in accepting he had learned something new. It was as much of a gift to receive as it was to give, requiring as it did both courage and humility."

"He wished the man would honor the true meanings of words, instead of using them as ammunition."

"He wished no one had mentioned religion. He didn't object to other people believing in God, but it was like being in a place where everyone knew a set of rules and he didn't. After all, he had tried it once and found no relief. And now the two kind ladies were talking about Buddhists and world peace and he was nothing to do with those things. He was a retired man who had set out with a letter."

NB: This book is already published in the UK, and Random House publishes the US edition on 2 July 2012. I got a complimentary ARC of the book at BEA this year.

BEA, Baby! Part I

I have now been home one day from my stint at Book Expo America, and it's not quite been sufficient time to recover from the past week.  In other words, then, it was a typical BEA, full of fun and work in equally large measures! Now all I have to do is catch up from missing one week of work, get ready for my Perseus, PGW, and Simon & Schuster Fall 2012 buys, attend a staff party, do laundry, pack, and finalize the books I'll be taking along on vacation in t-minus-9 days.  But I digress--first, here's what happened last week in NYC:

Accommodation panic, for starters.  At first I procrastinated about finding a place to stay.  Then I lucked into a place to stay.  Then it fell through about one week before the show.  Then I checked online hotel prices and promptly fainted. I bided my time and booked my first night at Milford Plaza Hotel on the morning I left for New York.  It was a mixed bag. 

First room--heavy on the mildew

Nice to have two window shades

The second room with a smaller but cleaner bathroom

I stayed in two different rooms there, and the first one had a bigger bathroom and was more spacious in general, plus a nice view of the river from the 25th floor, but it had HUGE and NASTY mildew problems in the shower. The second room, on the 6th floor,  was a little larger and perfectly clean, but SO DAMN LOUD at night that I was awakened several times, even with earplugs.  I picked the Milford because it was on the complimentary BEA bus route and because the first night was only $139, but I doubt I'll stay there again.  I'm not so enamored of being awash in a sea of humanity that I'd want to be that close to Times Square again.  If you're dying to know more particulars about the hotel stay, you can find my review on TripAdvisor. 

L-R: Me (current), Marika (current), Emily (former), Joan (current), and Broche (former)

So...BEA.  Arrived late Monday morning, halfway through Richard Russo's plenary talk for indie booksellers, hosted by the ABA.  After that, we broke for lunch and bought remainders (known to civilians, perhaps, as bargain books), and posed for Odyssey staff photos along the way with current and former employees.  I miss Emily and Broche so much!

Monday night, Marika and I had a celebratory dinner--she had just signed with an agent for her first graphic novel that very morning!  She came with me to my hotel as I checked in and from there we walked around the neighborhood to find something we'd both enjoy.  We settled on Smyrna, a Turkish restaurant, where we hit paydirt, ordering a smattering of small plates that was each in its own way delicious: stuffed grape leaves (very different from the Greek style we both knew), a smoked eggplant salad very unlike anything we'd ever eaten, Borregi cigars stuffed with a Turkish feta-like cheese, and zucchini pancakes with dill & yogurt, which I think was our favorite of the dishes.

Tuesday morning was the first of a three-day marathon meeting with publishers from houses large & small.  Joan, Marika, and I did our best to woo the publicists and pitch our store in an effort to attract more authors to our store for events and to make sure that our little New England town doesn't get overlooked by all of the major media markets. 

Yay, Bellwether!

In between appointments, Joan and I made our way to the uptown stage to hear Barbara Kingsolver announce what new manuscript won the Bellwether Prize (now a PEN award).  Congratulations, Susan Nussbaum! Along with Kingsolver, we heard from Heidi Durrow and Hillary Jordan--I love them, and their books, too.

My husband's book is honored here: The Cheshire Cheese Cat

Then came the Celebration of Bookselling luncheon, where we heard lots of authors (who, not incidentally, were voted on by independent booksellers) speak for one minute about how much they love independent booksellers.  It was an odd combination of gratifying sincerity and slightly masturbatory fawning.  As far as I remember, only John Green acknowledged that awkwardness and made us laugh and proved why he is, in my opinion, the most engaging author for indies, second only to Ann Patchett...who showed her love by reciting the St. Crispin's day speech from Henry V.  I love that speech.  We few, we happy few, indeed! And if I happened to have tears in my eyes, what of it, I ask you? I kept hearing this haunting anthem from the Kenneth Branagh version of the film while she was up there. (Sorry, I don't know how to post a YouTube video here.  Help me, anyone?)

Meeting, meeting, meeting, and more meeting.  Then fun!  Sue from Milkweed invited me to Piadina Ristorante, one of her favorite eateries in the West Village, to where I foolishly decided to walk instead of taking public transportation.  Good thing I left the Javits at 5:00 to make the 6:00 dinner! I had a great time chatting with her about books, the state of publishing & bookselling, the beauty of the Berkshires, and the gentler joys of the midwest compared to our other homes (she and I are both native-born midwesterners, but Sue identifies as a New Yorker and I identify as a Southerner).

My image, but not actually the bar.  This was on the corridor wall of my hotel. Odd, no?

After leaving Sue and securing a place to stay for the night (I hadn't booked it before then because hotel prices were astronomical), I met up with some friends down on the Lower East Side: David, my terrific sales rep from Norton; Jennifer, one of the hippest booksellers I know;  and Steve, a publisher/bookseller from Norton/McNally Jackson, whose acquaintance I made that night. Destination: Schiller's Liquor Bar, where I drank a pleasant little gin-gingery concoction that made me want to belt out inappropriate lyrics to the tune of that Chim-Chiminy song from Mary Poppins.  Luckily for everybody, I managed to restrain myself.

Next up: Part Two!

BEA in a nutshell

Last week I was fortunate enough to attend BEA.  Usually for this largest of all book tradeshows I get to walk the floor, collecting book after free book.  But this year was a little different; there were a lot of meetings:

Monday: Arrive on train and walk to Javits. Mediocre educational session. Lunch. Catch up with other booksellers. Moderately good educational session. Catch up with publisher friends.  Hear Margaret Atwood.  Laugh obligingly in all the right places of her talk.  Grab a good seat for the Editors Buzz.  OMG, I can't possibly fight the feeding frenzy and try to nab galleys featured at the Buzz and walk away almost empty-handed. Take subway to Brooklyn to have dinner and catch up with one particular bookseller/friend/former colleague.

Not my image.

Tuesday: Arrive at Javits from Brooklyn.  Meeting. Meeting. Celebration of Bookselling lunch.  Catch up with other booksellers. Secretly wish I had an author at my table instead of an editor. Meeting. Meeting. Meeting. Dinner with Peachtree.  Meet the fabulous publisher of Peachtree, her amazing crew, and the incredibly wonderful Carmen Deedy, who authored the book my husband illustrated.  Oh, and eat dinner across from Parker frickin' Posey.  She and I are both from Mississippi, you know.  We had dinner in one of her neighborhood restaurants and ours were the last two tables there that night.  Good times.  If you haven't seen Kicking & Screaming, Waiting for Guffman, House of Yes or Best in Show, run, do not walk, to watch these films.

She's like Rachel McAdams.  Only, you know, talented. This is *not* my photo.

Wednesday: Arrive at Javits.  Meeting. Meeting. Meeting. Lunch. Meeting. Meeting. Meeting.  Dinner & drinks with, barring my husband, my favorite guy in the world, along with some other terrific people at a cool little French place called Felix.  

Image belongs to NY Magazine

Thursday: Recover from drinking.  Take train back home.  Arrive at bookstore for event.  Close bookstore.  Drinks with colleagues.

Friday: Tired.  R&R&R.  (Rest & relaxation & reading)

Interestingly enough, there seemed to be an overall more positive vibe among booksellers and publishers this year, as if have all agreed to hunker down and do our best to survive in a world where e-book sales will soon eclipse regular book sales across the board except those books that rely heavily on visuals (children's picture books, how-to, cooking, gardening, art, etc).  I didn't meet many bloggers (though I sure saw a lot of 'em), so I cannot really say how it felt on their end of things. 

Yup, that's my BEA in a nutshell.  How 'bout you? 

Book Blogger Hop: To BEA or Not BEA? That is the Question

This week's Book Blogger Hop question, sponsored by Crazy for Books each Friday, is as simple as I've ever seen it and technically only involves a one-word answer: Are you going to Book Expo America (BEA) and/or the Book Blogger Convention (BBC) this year?  

Yes.  No.  In that order.  

Okay, so I can't leave it at that.  I am a bookseller--an INDIE bookseller, actually, of which I am fiercely proud and I will be attending BEA this year because I am incredibly lucky.  NYC is just a 3.5 hour train ride away from me, I have a friend and former coworker who is offering me her sofa in Brooklyn for as long as I want it, AND I get a free badge for the trade show floor.  So it's affordable and close and there's no reason for me not to attend.  I've got appointments to speak with somebody at most of the major publishers and some of the smaller ones, though I admit I've not yet scored any dinner invitations.  

I work at a great bookstore with a wonderful regional reputation, but when it comes to BEA, we're small fish in a big sea, so I don't necessarily expect any invitations for myself. But I also have a generous boss who is happy to pass on to me any invitations she cannot take advantage of, so it's all good.  And this year my  long-suffering husband is attending BEA as an illustrator, so I'll be happy to spend time with him this year in New York AND shack up in his publisher-sponsored hotel room (thanks, Peachtree!). 

If I could offer one piece of advice to those attending BEA for the first time this year, it would be this: Be Particular.  I know it can be overwhelming with all of the FREE STUFF.  EVERYWHERE. And I know you'll be tempted to take everything that you can.  But really, be particular.  The publishers will certainly thank you for not taking something that you have little intention of ever reading.  But more importantly, your BACK will thank you.  'Cause the dirty little secret is that you have to carry everything around with you.  And then cart it all back home with you.  So just be particular.  You'll still end up with more books than you'll ever have hope to read AND you won't be victim of late-onset scoliosis.  Win-win, see?

Edited to add: Oh, yes.  One of the comments below left the second piece of advice I would offer you: WEAR COMFORTABLE SHOES.  Not the cute little peep-toes you just picked up.  Not the adorable strappy summer sandal.  We're talking Birkenstock/Keen/Naot/Dansko/Naot comfort here.  Not just flipflops, either!  The Javits Center is notoriously uncomfortable to walk around in all day, and if you're also shouldering the weight of several (dozen) books, then your feet are workin' overtime!