M.I.A.

Anyone who has chanced upon this blog will have noticed that I haven't posted for umpteen months. It's my understanding that this happens to many people who go off all bright-eyed and enthusiastic and start a blog, but then quickly come to resent their own blog, because they feel like failures if they don't post every day or two. Who needs additional stress? Anyway, I may or may not post again. Check out our website at www.gibsonsbookstore.com ,and you'll be sure to catch my deathless prose there from time to time.

Sebastian Faulks and James Bond

Did the world need another James Bond novel? I would argue that it did, if only to keep the Bond estate from making another film from recycled material. Certainly a talented filmmaker can breathe new life into an old source, as Casino Royale just proved, but still it will be nice to see a fresh story onscreen.

And rest assured that you will, because what Sebastian Faulks, the talented author of Birdsong and Engleby, has given us is, more than anything, a treatment for a future script. It's hard to read Devil May Care, the new Bond novel, without imagining how it will translate to the screen. As a novel, it's only as good as it needs to be, and you can sense Faulks holding himself back from the literary flourishes that mark his earlier work in order to conform to the dictates of the Bond canon--or "Bondage," as he puts it. It's just a film waiting to be made.

Faulks was an inspired choice to write the new installment. Birdsong showed that he could write both sweeping historical fiction and romance that crosses cultural boundaries. Engleby showed his deft hand depicting the world's villainy and creating psychological suspense. Both talents are relevant to the Bond universe.

Becky and I met Sebastian at a dinner thrown by Random House last fall to celebrate a few new books. New England booksellers joined the publisher in Boston to break bread with Faulks, Jeffrey Toobin (author of The Nine), and a less well known but talented novelist named John Burnham Schwartz (author of The Commoner). I spent a lot of time that night both with Faulks and with Toobin. I came away from the evening having learned two things: first, that no matter how famous a writer is, he will practically melt with gratitude (Toobin) when you ask him a halfway intelligent question about his new book. A new book is like a new baby, you see.

Second, I learned that Sebastian Faulks is a funny, funny man. He has that British facility of being able to talk extemporaneously in an incredibly witty fashion and in complete sentences. Paragraphs, yet. He had the entire room in stitches.

A sad coda to this story. I asked Sebastian if he would ever consider extending a tour that included Boston to also include Concord. He thought for a second, and replied that his writing was too important to him to take too much time away from it, especially if that time was spent slogging through unpopulated countryside only to find oneself addressing 20 people and no more.

It was a point that filled me with bitterness but I had no argument against it.

That Garage

The phone rang just half an hour before our event with Bishop Gene Robinson.

“I was calling to see if your event with the Bishop was still tonight,” came a voice of a certain age.

“It sure is,” I replied. “Hope to see you here.”

“Will there be plenty of on-street parking? That road race is tonight, and part of Main Street is closed, and I don’t want to have to walk far.”

I have a ready-made answer for that one, now. “Ah, you can use the garage. It’s free after 5 PM, there’s plenty of space, and you walk out of it 20 feet from our door.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “I won’t use the garage. Everyone says it’s awful. The paper said so, too. I’m not going to do that. Don’t you think there’s enough parking on the street?”

It depends on how far you’re willing to walk, I thought to myself. We only have six spaces on our side of the block now. Freight Street is gone, our temporary diagonal parking is gone, and Capital Commons swallowed all the spaces on its side of Main Street. The garage was supposed to be the answer. I tried again: “Oh, no, the paper said that the garage was a great unused resource, and just needs a few tweaks and some marketing to make it a success. I have the article right here.”

“Huh, that’s not what I heard,” she said, and hung up in my ear.

Well, I’m not sure if she came to hear the Bishop or not. We had plenty of people, anyway, and I think a lot of them used the garage. To their chagrin!

My wife came in at 7:30, while the Bishop was speaking. “Did you know that there’s a line of 20 cars all trying to get out of the garage?” she whispered. “You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. “Nope, not kidding, it’s all those road racers, someone forgot to validate their ticket on the Main Street level, so everyone has to wait while they sort it out.”

I guess the lady was right. That experience was repeated when my wife left to get the kids after their music lessons—her ticket jammed, and she had to wait 10 minutes for an officer to open the gate.

Needless to say, I have done a lot of thinking about this garage. Adequate parking is life itself to a retailer. And the revitalization of this entire end of Main Street depends on the success of the garage.

What’s more, I have done a lot of cheerleading for the garage. In email after email I have extolled its virtues. We’ve even been offering coupons for 30% off any one book if you use the garage. Only three people have taken us up on that, as opposed to the hundreds of people who have used our new “Sunday shopping” coupons. Coupons work, but the garage isn’t working.

Sadly, that’s the conclusion I’ve come to. The garage isn’t working.

Two weeks ago, The Insider ran an article outlining a few quick fixes that can make the garage a lot more user friendly. The City has not adopted them, nor even to my knowledge responded to the Insider article at all. Here is my quick version of that list, for the City’s benefit:

1) Move one of the ticket validation machines to the Storrs Street level, right next to the gates. I don’t want to hear how much it would cost—that’s a ludicrous argument compared to how much an abandoned garage would cost. The machine should have been down there to begin with. Fix your mistake.

2) Start marketing the thing. Put appropriate signage throughout the neighborhood. Run promotions, generate news, get creative. Put reminders about the garage in with parking tickets issued on the street, for Pete’s sake. (Great idea, Mark.)

3) Think about ways to get people to adopt it. Sacrifice a little short term revenue to rescue your multi-million dollar investment. For instance, after that road race, why didn’t you just leave the gates up from 6 PM on? You knew lots of people would be parking in there after 5. So what if a few people who had parked there earlier got away with free parking? You would have had a hundred people sharing a great new experience with their friends, instead of who knows how many people grumbling to all their friends about how lousy the garage is.

The problem is that no one city official is responsible for the success of this garage. Getting it built, sure, but getting people to use it? No one’s job.

It needs to be someone’s job. I challenge the mayor and the city council to make that happen. One important key to downtown revitalization has already been built. Let’s make it work.

(If you would like to write to the Mayor and City Council on this or any other issue, click here.)

Advance Readers' Copies

Aargh, we're being inundated with them. These are the pre-publication paperback editions, not for resale, that publishers send around in the hope that bookstore staffers will read them and hand-sell them to a grateful public once the finished books come out. But how can we read a dozen books a day? Our back office is filled with these proto-books.

If you or someone you know works in a library, hospice, non-profit, or some other worthy organization that might have a use for these books, please come take them off our hands, one or two boxes at a time. We will love you for it.

O Brave New World

Everyone can be an author now!

Stirring words-- noble words--proclaiming a faith in technology and in democracy itself. New ways to self-publish have leveled the playing field. This can only be a good thing, yes?

Well, no. Let me tell you how this looks from a bookstore’s perspective.

There are over 100,000 books published every year by what we call mainstream publishers—by companies as large as Random House or as small as David R. Godine (one of the last great independent houses), and by hundreds of publishers in between. These books are of varying quality. Some are classics. Some are creatures of the season, transitory entertainments that will not be remembered but which are perfectly fine. And a lot of books, sad to say, are complete dreck. D.O.A., or they deserve to be. Sometimes we will hold our noses and stock them, because we believe that there might be local demand, and we are not censors. But a great many we exclude from the store because we can tell, from catalogue copy and in conversations with publishers’ sales reps, that we simply do not want to carry them in the store. We will special order them, but we will not stock them.

We only have room for so many books, you understand. There are, in fact, many classics in various fields that we do not carry because we have no expectation of selling them in a reasonable period of time. We have to make those kinds of choices all the time.

But now, back to the slush pile.

Even the books that we think are awful or that would be redundant in our store have gone through a vetting process that has been developed over decades. They have been judged by publishers to be of sufficient quality to earn a contract. They have been edited and copy edited, their covers designed. Marketing plans have been developed for their release. Sales have been projected, print runs established, pricing determined. They are books and more: they are commercial objects poised for maximum success in the marketplace.

Do you see where I’m going with this? The idea that everyone can be an author now—that new technology allows authors to bypass publishers and bring their books to the public directly—is like a vision of hell to a bookseller.

We already have so many books whose quality we distrust in varying degrees. We do not open the store each morning in the hopes that your Uncle Jack will supplement our stock with the unedited memoir he had printed at Kinko’s last week. Sure, self-published authors may be bringing us the next Moby Dick or Goodnight Moon, but what are the odds? We don’t really have time to read it. We’re already working more than 40 hours per week, believe me.

…Okay, the rant is over. Now to accentuate the positive.

As an independent bookstore, we are eager to feature local authors and local content. This is the kind of thing that can distinguish us from the more anonymous chains. There are lots of books that fit that description from mainstream publishers. But sometimes books are too local to be published by a mainstream house. Sometimes they have to be self-published. And we want to have those books! And if our friends and neighbors—local folks--publish books, we want to have them too, because we are a community bookstore. So we take those books on consignment and try to keep track of them. With the authors’ help, we can.

It’s a real balancing act. It has always been a balancing act, because there have always been vanity presses.

But back to my original point. It’s not a brave new world that technology has brought us. It’s just new to thee. If you or a loved one have a self-published book to show us, take the time to consider the bookstore's position. Work with us to place the book appropriately in our store, drive sales in our direction so that we will reorder, give the book its best life possible life. We want it to succeed as much as you do, we only ask that you maintain perspective and manage your expectations.

Obama and "What's the Matter with Kansas?"

As everyone knows by now, presidential candidate Barack Obama was surreptitiously taped at a fundraiser in San Francisco last week, and an offhand remark he made has set off a firestorm of criticism--criticism that, to my mind, has been almost completely phony.


Here's what he said, reportedly in response to a questioner who said he was going to canvass for Obama in rural Pennsylvania, and wondered why Obama's "message of hope" had not always generated support in those areas: “It’s not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or antitrade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations.” So the distinction was drawn between hope and bitterness.


On its face, this remark is perfectly true. The only problem is that it's inelegantly phrased, and can easily be spun into something that it isn't: an expression of elitism.


But the remark is inarguable. The success of the Republican party over the last 40 years has hinged on its ability to convince rural voters to ignore their own economic and social best interests and vote instead on so-called "wedge issues"--guns, gays, race, appeals to religious fundamentalism, anti-immigration sentiments, etc.--so that what was once known as the party of class privilege and big-business boosterism, the Republican Party, has instead been identified as the party of regular folks, rescuing the republic from latte-sipping elitists who look silly sitting in a tank or trying to bowl. The only way I would suggest for Obama to amend his remark is to say that these people are manipulated into having these sentiments, rather than that they cling to them, but that's a minor quibble.


The best diagnosis of the situation came in Thomas Frank's What's the Matter with Kansas, a funny and compelling look at the last 100 years in Frank's home state of Kansas and in the country at large. It's a vivid portrait of an upside-down world where blue-collar patriots recite the Pledge while they strangle their own life chances; where small farmers cast their votes for a Wall Street order that will eventually push them off their own land; and where a group of frat boys, lawyers, and CEOs has managed to convince the country that it speaks on behalf of the People. It's the history of a backlash against a Left that doesn't exist anymore except in the fever dreams of right-wing radio.


In addition to plugging Frank's book, I would also like to make an argument in favor of elitism.

First, let me say that none of the presidential candidates made it to where they are without being exceptional. They are all part of America's elite, in any meaningful sense of that term. Being part of an elite is only a problem if you look down on other people; otherwise, it's desirable.

Second, why shouldn't America have the best? Do you want a president who can bowl or toss back shots with the boys, or do you want a president who might actually be great at the job? If you're hiring a plumber or a painter, you don't quiz them on when their daddy taught them to hunt. You quiz them on their professional abilities. Should we not have the same standard when it comes to choosing the Leader of the Free World?


The problem is that in suggesting we hire the best for the job, the idea becomes twisted into "he thinks he's better than we are." ... Well, I am perfectly willing to concede that Obama is a better constitutional scholar and has far greater political skills than I. I'm perfectly willing to concede that Hillary Clinton has a firmer grasp of foreign affairs than I do, and that John McCain would be better at pushing legislation through Congress. Does all this make me bitter? Nope. I don't want to do my own plumbing either.

Meredith Hall

What a delight to have Meredith Hall here at Gibson's last night.

Meredith is the author of Without a Map, the best-selling memoir of 2007 (and 2008, we can predict this already) at Gibson's. It's the story of her becoming pregnant at the age of 16 in a very traditional NH community, being shunned by her family and friends, giving up her child for adoption, and then slowly struggling her way to adulthood and acceptance in later life. It's beautifully written, very honest and true, and the public has responded with the kind of enthusiasm and even adulation that most first-time authors can only dream of.

Meredith read for a long time, and I was afraid the audience's attention would flag, but they were rapt, and peppered her with questions as soon as they had a chance.

She says she's asked this question at every event: "how did you become so heroic?" And I love her reply, that she is not heroic, that she has just lived her life and had a pretty good time, all things considered. ... Real heroes tell you that they are just regular folks, and I am severely nostalgic for that kind of modesty, both in literature and in politics.

But there is a real heroism in her writing. It takes a lot of guts to put the absolute truth as you see it down on paper, to keep tinkering with it until you're sure that it's right, and to jettison whatever doesn't feel completely true, no matter how pretty it is.

After everyone left, Meredith and I exchanged war stories about author tours. She told me how awkward it can be when only a few people show up--yes, it happens to her, too! I agreed, and told her the story of how, when I was living in NY and had first decided to buy Gibson's, I went to an author appearance to see what one was like. One of my favorite authors, Paul Auster, was appearing at Books & Co., the best bookstore on the Upper East Side, and he was sharing the bill with Howard Norman, whose Bird Artist had just come out. Hundreds of people crowded into the tiny bookstore to hear them read and to meet them. What a scene! And as I left, I thought to myself, "Wow, it'll be great to host events like this when I get to Concord!"

Well, needless to say, only a very few events in Concord have even come close to that magical evening on the East Side--most are much smaller and quieter, though we love doing them, and it's part of our mission as a bookstore to bring readers and writers together--but last night's event was better. It was a community that gathered to applaud Meredith Hall. So many people knew each other, or came from the same kind of place, or shared an intimate connection to the same book. It was a community that thanked her for her skill and her bravery, just as a community had shunned her 40 years ago. And that made last night's event very, very satisfying.

Favorite books vs. the best books

There is a distinction, isn't there? You can say that a book is one of your favorites without claiming it's a literary masterpiece. And there are also novels that you don't really like that you have to admit, grudgingly, are among the most sublime examples of the form.

Samuel Johnson, who was never wrong about anything, so far as I know, said of Paradise Lost: "No one ever wished it longer." The same can be said about Finnegans Wake (which I never made it through, to be honest), Gaddis's The Recognitions, and probably Gravity's Rainbow, which I loved when I was in my twenties but I'm afraid to go back to now, because I think I'll find it self-indulgent. And the same could probably be said about Nabokov's Ada and all of Proust. They are difficult and frustrating masterpieces which only a small minority of readers remember with real affection. And most of those readers are paid to say so--in other words, they are professors of literature.

And then there are novels which are by no means "sublime examples of the form," but which nevertheless are great stories, stories that readers go back to again and again. To Kill a Mockingbird is the best example. What is it about this simple story that is so engaging? More recently, Water for Elephants captivated experienced readers without so much as one stylistic flourish. How does it do that? This really is very mysterious.

The best novels, of course, combine literary excellence with powerful storytelling. The Tolstoy of The Death of Ivan Ilych and Anna Karenina. The Joyce of Dubliners. More recently, Cold Mountain and Atonement. These books just send shivers up and down your spine.

The Sorry State of the Book Business

It’s tough to keep smiling when you’re a bookseller. You see the articles every week:

1) “Book Business in Decline”
2) “People Reading Less”
3) “Young People Prefer Electronic Gadgets to Books”
4) “It’s All Going Digital” (Gutenberg, make way for Steve Jobs)

Etc. Scary stuff! Now, in my opinion, each one of these dire pronouncements is overstated (numbers two and three) or ultimately false (numbers one and four, and you can quote me—or quote Steve Riggio).

But it is certainly true that the book business is tough, and getting tougher. Everyone wants a piece of the action. Wal-Mart and Costco use books as loss leaders, so you’ll think everything in their store is cheap. Supermarkets and gas stations sell Harry Potter. The distinction between new and used is becoming blurred on the Internet. All your favorite blogs link to Amazon to get those kickbacks.

What’s to become of the traditional bookstore? There’s more and more pressure on a bookstore’s traffic, its margins, and its sales, and it has to be more nimble than ever to survive.

By now many you have seen the news that Borders is having financial difficulties. They’ve been losing money, they have too much debt, and they’re facing a cash crunch—all of which the stock market has punished them for severely. They’ve been forced to explore a sale of the company, and they’ll have to trim inventory and stores significantly to get healthy again.

How does this involve you, the casual reader? The committed reader? Well, you just have to choose where you’re going to shop, and let natural selection do the rest. It’s a jungle out there, and not everyone will survive. It’s up to you. Every dollar you spend is a vote for who will make it, especially as the country teeters on the brink of recession.

You can sit at home and click your mouse, and wonder why so many storefronts in your city are empty and why your taxes are so much higher. (Short answer: because you sent all your money out of state.) You can buy the latest Grisham at Target, and wonder later why bookstores aren’t around to host that fundraising book fair your group is planning. You can run out to Wal-Mart and get Eat Pray Love, but miss the opportunity to see six other great travel memoirs that aren't bestsellers. You can click your mouse and have a book on global warming shipped to you in a little package—making your own carbon footprint a lot worse.

Or you can think about where you have a real relationship with a real bookseller, and reward those companies accordingly. Did someone at Borders help put the right kind of manga in your teenager’s hands? Did someone at Gibson’s turn you on to a new novelist? The publishing industry is a marvelous, complex universe, and traditional bookstores are its representatives in your town--do you want real life, or a virtual life? Real bookstores, or just "places where books are sold"?

With all the loyalty programs and sales events we traditional bookstores have, we’re competitive on price, and we’re better at what makes a bookstore a real bookstore—not just its stock, but its people.

I’m biased, so of course I would argue that you should support our independent bookstore. That argument is for another day. My point today is, support real bookstores. Or some dire predictions may come true.

Book clubs (open thread)

Do you belong to a book club? If you do, which books have been your favorites? And which books are you very, very sorry that your club read at all?

I'll kick off the conversation with a memory of the Gibson's book club--years ago, we read Time and Tide, a novel by Edna O'Brien which is now mercifully out of print. The publisher claimed that it was "a poignant, heart-felt exploration of one woman's struggle to be true to herself yet hold on to the things dearest to her... Nell Steadman, an innocent "country girl" desperate to gain experience in whatever manner possible, escapes from her overbearing family into an equally stifling marriage ... Nell must fight for her freedom and custody of her children."

I just couldn't stand it. The prose was overblown and pretentious, the situations were cliched--it was so obviously an attempt at an Important Novel, but to me it was like fingernails down a blackboard.

Anyone else?

Spring Snow

No, not a weather report, just a title that comes to mind when I look out the window and realize, ruefully, that today is the first day of Spring.

Yukio Mishima was one of Japan's most gifted novelists. Spring Snow is the first novel in a tetralogy Mishima called Sea of Fertility. As the Christian Science Monitor said, "Mishima is like Stendhal in his precise psychological analyses, like Dostoevsky in his explorations of darkly destructive personalities." If writing can be delicate and muscular at the same time, that is Mishima.

I hope that I don't look out the window three months from now and think about a certain mystery novel, one of the best of 2006--by Rebecca Pawel--wait for it, here comes the punch line .... yes, it's Summer Snow.

Human Smoke, by Nicholson Baker

This is a deeply controversial book. World War II is ordinarily described as the Just War, the one war that trumps any pacifist arguments or philosophy. How could we have met the threat of dangerous warmongers like Hitler, Mussolini, and Hirohito without resorting to overwhelming force? But like all history, the standard version is interlarded with myth, and Baker goes back to primary sources to construct an alternate view. Human Smoke is essentially a pacifist history of World War II, and the heroes of that war—Churchill especially, but also FDR--do not come out with their halos intact. Only Gandhi and other pacifist figures such as Clarence Pickett come out with their halos freshly burnished, and as I was reading I imagined them blinking in the sunlight of unaccustomed popularity.

Nicholson Baker is known primarily as a meticulous, detail-obsessed novelist (Mezzanine and Vox are his best known books), and Human Smoke started out as a novel. But Baker realized that he couldn't write a novel about WWII unless he understood it, and he was mystified by the material that he was gathering; and so he decided, temporarily, to become a historian. He assembled a collage of episodes and quotations, in chronological order, to construct a narrative of the road to war, with special attention given to the 1930s.

Baker is very rarely present in his own book. He lets the episodes speak for themselves. In form, Human Smoke is reminiscent of Sven Lindqvist’s History of Bombing (which is now unfortunately out of print): a story emerges from the arrangement of episodes. The book begins with Alfred Nobel's prediction, in 1892, that advances in military technology might put an end to war itself, and ends on December 31, 1941, when most of the people who would die in World War II were still alive. Guest stars include W.H. Auden, Mussolini's son-in-law, Charles Lindbergh, Lord Halifax, Goebbels, Aldous Huxley--literally a cast of thousands.

The book has met both with critical acclaim (Mark Kurlansky in the LA Times) and critical scorn (William Grimes in the NY Times). There doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of middle ground. Why not have a look at the book and decide for yourself? It's a staff pick at the front of the store.

While reading Human Smoke, a small nagging fear or premonition afflicted me, that 70 years hence, a book of this sort might be written about the decade we are living through now, just as this book was written about the 1930s. What avoidable catastrophe are we blundering towards today? What future ironist will indict us? And will we deserve the indictment?

Baseball Season is Upon Us

And I couldn't be happier. Maybe the snow will melt before the All-Star Break.

While you're waiting for the first pitch, why not revisit some of the great baseball books, both new and old?

Not everyone is aware that Don Hall's Dock Ellis in the Country of Baseball is back in print, or at least available as a print-on-demand title. We're keeping it in stock. It's an engaging portrait of one of baseball's great eccentrics, Pirates pitcher Dock Ellis, written by one of our most esteemed men of letters.

A new classic is The Cheater's Guide to Baseball, by Derek Zumsteg. "Baseball’s been fraught with cheating since its inception and ... cheating has done much to shape the game we know," he writes. It's all about getting inside the head of your opponent and playing all the angles. This is a fascinating approach to the game we love.

The serious fan will not want to be without The SABR Baseball List & Record Book and the Baseball America Prospect Handbook. With these, you can win all arguments about the past and about the future. (Though, it must be said, most baseball arguments are not winnable.)

Looking for local color? Try Swinging for the Majors: Inside the New Hampshire Fisher Cats Championship Season, and Dem Little Bums: The Nashua Dodgers. Both are published by Plaidswede Press.

There have been more great novels published about baseball than about any other sport. My favorite is The Great American Novel, by Philip Roth, a brilliantly funny picaresque featuring a pitcher named Gil Gamesh and a league, the Patriot League, that has tragically been erased from our national memory. Other favorites by Kinsella, Malamud, and Howard Frank Mosher (Waiting for Teddy Williams) bear rereading once every couple of years.

And let's not forget The Last Best League, by Jim Collins--an affectionate look at the Cape Cod League; Teammates, by the late David Halbserstam, all about the enduring friendship between Bobby Doerr, Dominic DiMaggio, Johnny Pesky and Ted Williams; and memoirs by the two great Rogers of baseball writing (and no, I don't mean Clemens): Roger Kahn and Roger Angell.

The great thing about baseball is that it, like reading, occurs in a sort of Zen state, outside of time. Nothing and everything are happening simultaneously. That's why baseball and books go so well together. (And that's why you can read and watch a game at the same time--so come get a book!)

Our book club marches through March

Last night, the Gibson's book club discussed March, by Geraldine Brooks. This Pulitzer Prize-winning novel was Brooks's reimagining of the story of Mr March, the father who is absent throughout Louisa May Alcott's Little Women. It's a passionate story of the Civil War, written quite well in the rhythms and language of the period, with slavery and abolitionism, New England utopianism, and the gritty realities of the time painted with a firm and steady brush. Guest appearances by Thoreau, Emerson, and Hawthorne--and John Brown--thrill the reader.

And yet our group didn't really like it very much. "Paint by numbers," "stock characters," "improbable coincidences," "no growth in March or in Marmee," "saints and villains," "reads like YA," "reads like romance"--these were some of the critiques thrown around, even as we all protested that "we like it, but...." I guess the bottom line was that we thought it was well written but a superficial treatment of potentially great material, and that anything great in March was borrowed, not created.

Have any of your book groups read March? Well, I know you have, actually, since so many of you bought the book here. But would anyone care to comment, either to defend the book or to agree with us?

UPDATE (first)
A regular correspondent, whom I will only identify as Constant Reader, weighs in with the following: "Honestly, it was just an entertaining read that borrowed cleverly from a classic by adding to it and enriching the story - whenever a book wins a Pulitzer, we all have to figure out the justification for it, sometimes it is just good storytelling. Enjoy it!"

So there.

Communities and Consequences

Today the Chamber of Commerce and CATCH hosted a talk by Peter Francese, author of Communities and Consequences: The Unbalancing of New Hampshire's Human Ecology, & What We Can Do About It. This is a very important new book--if you care about the state you live in, you should read it and talk it over with friends and family.

New Hampshire is graying, young people are leaving in droves, and communities are actively discouraging working class families (and families with children) from moving in. The economy will spiral downward without them, Francese argues, but New Hampshire towns persist in the illusion that taxes and even crime will rise if we let "them" live too close to us--even when they are us. All of New Hampshire's signature issues figure into this debate: taxes, local control, open space, land use, school budgets, and sprawl. And Francese handles this complex material effortlessly, and in just 100 pages.

He even has a picture of a Hopkinton town meeting on the cover. How can you resist?

Our new blog

Welcome to the 21st century, Gibson's Bookstore! I'll be posting here as frequently as possible with book reviews, idle musings, and literary conversation starters. The emphasis will be on books both new and classic and on the literary scene in Concord, New Hampshire. I hope you'll join in.