If you own a bookshop, or work in a bookshop, or sell your books in bookshops or even--may Gutenberg's ghost bless you--buy your books in bookshops, you may have heard a certain word once or twice before.
We really like the word; it's how we define ourselves. We hold that truth to be self-evident and don't care who knows it.
Whatever else may be happening in our mad, mad, mad, mad book world (see IMDB and Mrs. Marcus (Ethel Merman): "Now what kind of an attitude is that, these things happen? They only happen because this whole country is just full of people, who when these things happen, they just say these things happen, and that's why they happen! We gotta have control of what happens to us."), our independent spirit does give us a sense of control over our immediate, if not long-term, destiny.
Without it, who are we? Why bother? An independent bookstore is not just a concept or a blind hope. It is a statement.
Okay, a declaration.
And yet, we are also charter members of many diverse and ever-changing communities, as exemplified by our oddly complementary recent impulses toward social networking online and shopping local on-ground.
IndieBound's new website invites us to become "part of the story," noting that "each page of a book carries something totally incredible and unique, but when they are all brought together, they build something infinitely greater." A Declaration of IndieBound suggests we "are linked by the passions that differentiate us."
For a long time I thought we should give equal weight to the word "dependent" when talking about bookshops because we rely so heavily on the kindness, cooperation and generosity of, if not strangers, then certainly of all those equally independent consumers who choose to enter independent bookstores. That's such an amazing impulse, a declaration on their part that we matter to them; that we depend upon one another.
Long ago and far away, I worked for a national supermarket chain. Most of our customers came in because they had to buy food, and they weren't always happy about it. Great customer service could drag a grudging smile from them sometimes, but it's safe to say that the average customer in a grocery store was more disgruntled than the most challenging customer I have ever encountered as a bookseller.
People wanting to--choosing to--buy books directly from us, face-to-face, is no small miracle these days. Of course, we'd love to have even more of them make that choice regularly, and we continue to search for irresistible strategies that might encourage such behavior. At the same time, as independents we fiercely resist the siren song urging us to surrender to our presumed fate, as implied in phrases like "these things happen."
So we should celebrate our independence this holiday weekend, but since IndieBound describes us as individual pages that become a story only when we are bound together, the word that seems equally appropriate to our celebrations is "interdependence."
Books & Books, Miami, Fla., used the term eloquently this week in its e-mail newsletter: "With an independent attitude and an independent spirit, Books & Books has focused on our community--from neighbors to readers, from business to business--for the past 25 years. Now, people all over the country are recognizing the value of being local, buying local. In our bookshops, in our neighborhoods, there is a sense of place, a place we call home. Not just independence but interdependence."
Tomorrow, communities nationwide will gather to celebrate Independence Day with all the traditional fixings--parades, flags, picnics, fireworks. I'll celebrate by working on the sales floor of an independent bookstore, waiting for the front door to open and members of our independent reading community to come inside for a moment, to have a conversation about books, to shop local.
That we all need one another seems so obvious, yet it still sometimes defies my limited imagination to realize how elusive the concept of interdependence can become.
But not tomorrow. Have a great Interdependence Day. Watching fireworks alone just isn't much fun.
If you own a bookshop, or work in a bookshop, or sell your books in bookshops or even--may Gutenberg's ghost bless you--buy your books in bookshops, you may have heard a certain word once or twice before.
According to my unscientific observations, these groups often divide into three parts: a third who are fully motivated, a third who are less motivated and a middle third who tend to drift toward the stronger of the other two categories.
"Discussion" is always a tricky endeavor, and the growing number of book groups nationally increases the odds of conflict. According to BookBrowse.com editor Davina Morgan-Witts, in 2001 the site began adding bookclub specific questions to the annual visitor survey and has since "surveyed about 1,500 visitors each year, and while the demographics of the respondents have changed little, and the amount of space devoted to book club specific information at BookBrowse has stayed fairly constant, the percentage saying that they are in a book club has grown exponentially--from under 20% in 2001, to about 30% in 2003, over 40% in 2006 and 50% last year.
"What's also fascinating is the increase in 'serial bookclubers.' In our most recent survey 16% said they belonged to two or more book clubs. The record I've found to date is a woman in L.A. who attends 5 local book clubs each month--each one with its own character and reading styles."
So how do you get these people to behave themselves?
Donna Paz of Paz & Associates, the bookstore training and consulting firm, has long been involved with book groups: "While my husband, Mark, and I launched the publication Reading Group Choices in 1995 (sold to Barbara and Charlie Mead three years ago), I remain active with my own neighborhood book group and facilitate book group exchanges for our local book festival. What's common for all book groups is things can get sticky; new members don't realize when they monopolize the conversation; some people don't see that they talk over someone else's comments; it adds tension to a group and many members (and leaders) feel uncomfortable discussing these irritating mishaps."
For her neighborhood group, she created a bookmark with "friendly reminders of how we can all contribute to an engaging, enjoyable discussion." The guidelines are simple but direct:
1. Respect space
2. Allow space
3. Be open
4. Offer new thoughts
5. Stay on the topic
Of course, the group dynamic changes substantially when the author of a work is present. One of our guides during this series has been Josh Henkin, author of Matrimony, who like many writers actively seeks connections with book groups.
Henkin tries to let "the group determine how they want the discussion to proceed. I see it as their show and I'm simply the facilitator. This gets more complicated when there's an actual book group facilitator running the group. This person is generally paid, often quite handsomely--a phenomenon that's growing more and more common. I've been at some book groups where the facilitator did a wonderful job and at a few book groups where the facilitator did a less than wonderful job, in large part because the person was too intent on showing off, and so the conversation, despite my best efforts to steer it elsewhere, ended up being a conversation between me and the facilitator, with everyone else just watching. But usually the group members want me to take the lead, and they ask me to talk in general about Matrimony and the writing process, and then they ask questions."
A shared vision may be one of the best ways to transcend the "rule of thirds" and have meaningful group discussions.
I had that feeling when I heard from Susie Neubauer, head of technical services at Robbins Library, Arlington, Mass.: "It's time to write to you about the book club I love belonging to, a group which has changed my life. The Daughters of Abraham book group was born in the aftermath of 9/11. We are Jewish, Muslim and Christian women who want to learn more about each other's faiths. We read both fiction and non-fiction--the only criteria is that the book reveals something about one of the three Abrahamic faiths. We began in Cambridge, Mass. in the fall of 2002, and there are now nine groups in the Boston area and others in Washington, D.C., and other cities. Some of us have traveled to Jerusalem together."
What is the most innovative or unusual book group you've seen?
"The most unusual book group I know about is the e-mail 'cousinette' book group one of our customers belongs to," says Mary Gleysteen of Eagle Harbor Books, Bainbridge Island, Wash. "They select their books like other groups, read one a month, and have someone responsible for coordinating the round robin discussion. They have been discussing books this way for three or four years and, according to my source, it's a way for cousins of various ages and political persuasions around the country to keep in touch despite vast distances and differences."
Author Patricia Wood, whose novel Lottery was shortlisted for the Orange prize this year, checked in with an "aloha" from her sailboat in Honolulu: "I do about two book clubs a week all over the country by speaker phone, SKYPE, iChat and in person. Living in Hawaii and being so isolated has made my participation in these groups critical to my outreach as an author in the development of my career."
Wood has "met with a California group who did not disband when a member moved away, but who flew out here and met in Hawaii and chose Lottery as their selection. I was on layover in Seattle on my way to Calgary and met with the Northwest Airlines Book Club at a hotel in Renton. There's a network that is created. Author friends recommend my book to a club they have talked with and I recommend their book to my groups. My favorite group was one that met on a 50-foot motorboat moored across the harbor. Some had never been on a boat. It was a great evening."
She calls the Writerly Pause her "beta book club" because they were her first experience with the concept. Check out their video at the end of the post. Kanani Fong, one of nine writers and readers who comprise the group, says that from the beginning they "decided to see if writers would talk to us about not only their book but about writing. Some said no, others said yes. We read everything they'd written, including their most recent book. We went to great lengths to get things arranged, then we huddled around a speaker phone, usually filched from someone's work. As much as we wanted not to impose on the writer's time, we found the conversations often went on for an hour. So I think we're pretty lucky. I can't imagine a writer not wanting to talk to a book group, especially today when so much of the buzz doesn't come from either magazines, journals or newspapers, but from blogs."
Folio Literary Management's Ami Greko confessed that she is "always quite envious of the groups that meet to discuss a great work of literature in-depth over a long period of time. Pacific Standard in Brooklyn has a fabulous one that is currently reading Finnegans Wake."
Mary Alice Gorman of Mystery Lovers Bookshop, Oakmont, Pa., is "not surprised to find these groups anywhere--courthouse, hospital, school, neighbors, affinity (sorority, club, occupation, etc) and more. One that we supply is parents in a school district."
Like any human endeavor, sometimes things can get a little too wild and crazy. Marie Leahy of the Northshire Bookstore, Manchester, Vt., notes that "one of the members of my book group belongs to another group that developed something appalling: bylaws! The guidelines require that everyone come with a typed list of questions to present; if you don't attend four meetings in a row, you may be kicked out; and there has to be a birthday celebration for each member. One person developed these guidelines and others went along with it, until my friend put a stop to it. People barely have time to read the book; how is everyone going have time to type up questions for each meeting?"
Variety spices book groups. Josh Henkin, author of Matrimony, has found "the whole enterprise eye-opening in the best sense. I went into the process with my fair share of prejudices about book groups--that it was a kind of ladies-who-lunch enterprise and that I would be dealing with some pretty unsophisticated readers. But what I've found is that I've met some incredibly smart and sophisticated readers in places that I wouldn't necessarily have predicted."
After a two-week "hiatus" for BEA and Ian Fleming's birthday, we return with part three of the discussion formerly known as "Authors in Conversation with Their Readers" and "How Important are Book Groups?"
Today's question: Why don't more men join book groups?
"Fact is, like it or not, men just don't share their feelings easily," Mary Alice Gorman, owner of Mystery Lovers Bookshop, Oakmont, Pa., observes. "Book groups often fall into discussion of how they feel about what they read. Let's face it, the shared experience of growing up to be a woman in this culture bonds these groups in a unique way and is the reason they go on for so long."
Random House New England district sales manager Ann Kingman--who has been "a member of five or six or ten book groups in my lifetime"--and her colleague Michael Kindness "speak to 300-500 book group members each year through presentations in bookstores." In their "spare" time, they recently started the blog and podcast, Books on the Nightstand, to share more book info with readers.
Kingman believes people often "join a book group for the social aspect in the beginning. Many of them, in my experience, are women who used to read but have lost the habit due to time and family responsibilities. I think those are the key people that we can help get back into the enjoyment of reading. As for men? I have no idea. I hear a rumor that a man is coming to our next book group. I'll let you know how that goes."
Barbara Drummond Mead of Reading Group Choices thinks "men's book clubs are rare but are starting to rise in number. This is a generalization, but women 'talk' more than men and a reading group is all about conversation."
There's just no clear answer, according to novelist Joshua Henkin: "One thing I've been struck by is that, though some women when I ask them say that they wouldn't want their husbands/men in general in their book groups, others say they'd be happy to but that the men they know aren't interested or don't read fiction, and that seems to me a shame."
On the other hand, Valerie Koehler's Blue Willow Bookshop, Houston, Tex., has a book group called "Couples & Bob--all senior couples and one widower. Their list is very diverse and after getting to know some of the men over the past few years, I'd love to be a fly on the wall in their discussions. I don't know why more men don't join book groups. The men in my life are nonfiction readers by and large and I don't know if the discussion can be as lively as it can be when you are dissecting a completely made up world."
Marie Leahy, Northshire Bookstore's marketing director, notes that "men in book groups have not been in short supply since my time here. When we had a book group evening with Random House in February, about 15% of the 80 or so participants were men. There is one particular book group in the area that has about 25 members, half of them husbands/partners who come not only for the delicious potluck each month, but also for the books. Just a few days after our book group presentation, a group of charming, middle-aged to older men came into the store, looking for book suggestions. Theirs is a 'Gentlemen’s Book Group.' The ten men in this group are a very proud bunch."
The book club Ami Greko, marketing director for Folio Literary Management, belongs to "has more men than women, and we have yet (thank god) to read a biography of a Civil War general." (See Books & Booze (I Mean, Brunch) for their reading list.)
I also received a press release from SCORPIONS: All Hard Guy Book Club, "a worldwide fraternal organization that originated in Boston's North End. Membership is by invitation only and includes individuals from the legal, tech, media and publishing industries. The primary objective of SCORPIONS is to motivate, educate, elucidate, and intimidate. Not necessarily in that order. . . . Each meeting of the SCORPIONS incorporates discussion of selected reading material as well as competition, gambling, tests of strength (mental and/or physical) and trivia. In some way, losers always pay."
SCORPIONS must read, and discuss intelligently, books like Robert Young Pelton's Licensed to Kill and Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian because "failure to do so will result in undesired consequences."
Sometimes, even as book group members, boys will be boys.
Boys will be boys, of course, in fiction as well as nonfiction, and the confusion can only be enhanced by incidents like a CNN report on "the most flamboyant book launch in London's history," during which "the Royal Navy enthusiastically hosted the book's launch party aboard the guided missile destroyer Exeter."
I'm not spy obsessed. After I read the new Bond book, I changed direction and read Joseph O'Neill's beautiful Netherland. Okay, I confess that this week I'm devouring Alan Furst's latest, The Spies of Warsaw.
So, perhaps it's time for my own debriefing.
The story of my life in the spy game began in the mid-1960s, when I started reading the Bond novels in high school. How deep the obsession became can be gleaned from a single clue, easily found in my high school yearbook, which for reasons of security (or insecurity) remains in my possession.
On page 52, there is a "Senior Class Prophecy," predicting what the graduating class of 1968--a class as ordinary as any in yearbooks throughout history--would be doing 50 years hence.
The editorial staff looked into their crystal ball and wrote the following: "Bob Gray . . . famed critic of Ian Fleming."
Hasn't happened yet, but the clock is still ticking.
My other Fleming connection is more personal: My wife's father, the actor Joseph Wiseman, played Dr. No in the first Bond movie.
So many films and books have come along since then, I can't help but wonder why we have this continuous threading of Bond into the lives of boys of all ages? As everything he represented gradually went out of style, he didn't.
I do have a theory, at least as far as my life in the spy game is concerned. Please forgive the minor psychological revelations, but we're all readers here, right? And we know what readers are like.
In retrospect, I think Bond taught me a couple of survival skills that were priceless during high school and have been of some use ever since. First among these was "Keep your back to the wall," a spy game tenet akin to Taoism's "The god that can be spoken of is not the absolute god," or Buddhism's "To live is to suffer," or golfism's "Keep your head down."
The second, and perhaps more important, skill was Bond's instruction in the art of "cool."
There is another entry worth noting in my high school yearbook dossier. It's from page 62, where a "Senior Class Will" offers the following tidbit: "Bob Gray leaves his cool to Mark Graziano."
For the record, my alleged "cool" wasn't the revolt of a high school bad boy driving fast cars and getting drunk every weekend. My cool wasn't the hazy merriment of a nascent hippie. My cool wasn't even the still heart of a quarterback surveying the chaos of a football field, knowing he's going to be crushed by an onrushing linebacker, but waiting a split second longer before letting the ball fly to a receiver just breaking into the open.
No, my cool was, I suspect, nothing more than emotional detachment, a stepping back from the world, watching myself watch . . . everything else.
Oddly enough, I also see that character trait in Hans van den Broek, the protagonist of Netherland, and in Colonel Jean-Francois Mercier in The Spies of Warsaw.
In the recent film version of Casino Royale, M warns Bond about getting emotionally involved in an upcoming assignment. "I would ask you if you could remain emotionally detached," she says reflectively, "but I don't think that's your problem, is it?"
No, Bond agrees.
Sometimes I think of my life in the spy game as a brief stretch of time in my late adolescence. Sometimes I think that time was merely boot camp because here I am now, turning a new page--this digital one, in fact--in my relationship with Ian Fleming.
The past doesn't vanish; it's just an incomplete dossier on file. More than 40 years have passed since I trained to be a spy. Behind the glass of a bookcase in my office stands a Dr. No action figure. I know he's an evil madman bent upon world domination, but, hell, he's also my father-in-law.
Happy 100th birthday, Mr. Fleming, and here's wishing you many more.