Friday, July 31, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Moan, moan, moan
We run a loyalty card scheme. For every 10 pounds you spend you get a stamp and every 10 stamps you collect you get a book up to the value of 10 pounds. Not great but not too shabby either. Customers stamps are kept on a card index behind the till, that way we can keep a record of their transactions.
So, a lady comes in at lunch and asks me to put 2 stamps on her card - £19.98. Date of last purchase? 11 December 2007. 2007! That's 20 months between purchases.
She only works round the corner.
Hmm.
So, a lady comes in at lunch and asks me to put 2 stamps on her card - £19.98. Date of last purchase? 11 December 2007. 2007! That's 20 months between purchases.
She only works round the corner.
Hmm.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
The Long Tail and price
4.7 out of 5 stars See all reviews (55 customer reviews)
Over the last few years the price of backlist titles has steadily increased. Classic books and interesting re-issues are now regularly priced at 10, 12 sometimes 15 pounds for a standard paperback. Selling a copy of Animal Farm for £8.99 the other day I felt guilty for charging a good customer such a ridculous price for a slim book. Of course it all make sense when you go on the internet and see how much you can buy it online for - £4.97. It becomes starkly obvious then that publishers are artificially inflating cover prices of the back list, the long tail to accommodate the book trades obsession with discounting and the appearance of a bargain. Animal Farm should always be a £4.99 paperback but we can only buy it from the publisher for that much! But also Internet sales suits publishers as they don't have distribution costs and Waterstones returning core stock every 3 months to regulate their cash flow. The publisher-Internet retailer is becoming more and more dominant for back list titles. Of course it is, it makes business sense! And with Tesco and Asda and Smiths taking care of the big 100,000+ best sellers what room for the lowly, browsable independent bookstore. We just can't afford to stock up on our bread and butter back list. Jesus, I wouldn't buy Animal Farm for £8.99...
Over the last few years the price of backlist titles has steadily increased. Classic books and interesting re-issues are now regularly priced at 10, 12 sometimes 15 pounds for a standard paperback. Selling a copy of Animal Farm for £8.99 the other day I felt guilty for charging a good customer such a ridculous price for a slim book. Of course it all make sense when you go on the internet and see how much you can buy it online for - £4.97. It becomes starkly obvious then that publishers are artificially inflating cover prices of the back list, the long tail to accommodate the book trades obsession with discounting and the appearance of a bargain. Animal Farm should always be a £4.99 paperback but we can only buy it from the publisher for that much! But also Internet sales suits publishers as they don't have distribution costs and Waterstones returning core stock every 3 months to regulate their cash flow. The publisher-Internet retailer is becoming more and more dominant for back list titles. Of course it is, it makes business sense! And with Tesco and Asda and Smiths taking care of the big 100,000+ best sellers what room for the lowly, browsable independent bookstore. We just can't afford to stock up on our bread and butter back list. Jesus, I wouldn't buy Animal Farm for £8.99...
Friday, July 17, 2009
Elegy 2
Last night I met my brother and sister at a pub in Soho - The Old Coffee House. There are plenty of places to drink in Soho but only one pub with four Brodie's ales on tap. I had to sample them all and you've got to have a pint in a proper pub haven't you? Then I had to sample some of them again to check quality consistency and I am pleased to report all the beer I drank last night was bloody lovely. I arrived home later than expected and this morning I am feeling somewhat fragile but it was worth it for a night out with my siblings - the last such night before I leave the capital.
Things got off to a great start. My brother and I stood outside and about half a pint in an Irish beggar fired a series of jokes at us. We were in the midst of giggling when my sister arrived and having liberated all the change from our pockets we drank up and began again. We talked and drank and drank and talked and it began to rain a bit but we were protected by a low flying squadron of hanging baskets and were able to remain outside.
"It's just a shower!" I confidently proclaimed as the sky split asunder and the street was lit with lightning.
The plan was to drink all the ales of Brodie (this was my plan - the siblings were on lager - a rivalry that shall run and run) then head for Lower Marsh where I knew Nat had some luverly large bottles of French cider in. But it kept on raining harder and harder. When the hanging baskets began to drip we flung a final curse to the heavens for another rubbish attempt at summer and went inside to prop the bar up. There was sunshine inside - brilliant hoppy stuff.
To cut short a story that could get as repetitive and dull as a man who has drunk all the ales of Brodie at least once we never did get to Lower Marsh. But we did have a good time didn't we bro/sis?
This morning I stumbled into Scooterworks for coffee number two. I am going to miss Scooterworks. A lot. I am going to miss the Marsh. A lot. I suspect I shall return. A lot. The Prophet is leaving too. I always appreciated my morning chats with old Bill, a man who lives life at the speed of maximum...
Au revoir my dears, au revoir - or in the words of Arnold - "I be back..."
Thursday, July 16, 2009
A friendly Danish tourist in the shop...
'My God, books in England are SO much cheaper than in Denmark'
'I wish you'd tell our customers that. Maybe they'd buy some more...'
'I wish you'd tell our customers that. Maybe they'd buy some more...'
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Elegy...
Yesterday afternoon I found myself, for reasons that are too complex to go into just now, wandering around the O2 centre on Finchley Road. The last time I visited this self-proclaimed "hub of entertainment" I was in the esteemed company of Jonathan Franzen. He was in the eye of the storm that publication of the Corrections caused on both sides of the Atlantic and had just finished a signing session at the bookshop formerly known as Pan. Pan was famous for signed copies and Franzen was hot hot hot so we had plenty (hundreds!) of copies in. At some point during the signing I received a nasty paper cut, occupational hazard of bookselling, and bled all over several copies. The book had a cream cover. I was troubled. But Franzen remained cool. He inscribed my copy with the legend "For Matthew, who bled for the cause."
Franzen was reading at the O2 that evening and I was keen to attend yet had completely failed to book a ticket. When he suggested that Glenn and I accompany him to the talk in his chauffeur driven limo we did not refuse. Oh no we did not refuse. We went in the limo. We discussed books and writing. Glenn and I suffered shock and awe. In a good way. Then we listened to Franzen talk. Zadie Smith was sitting behind us with Hari Kunzru. We were all in shock and awe. In a very long winded way what I'm trying to say is that the last time I visited the O2 centre it was a memorable experience...
I entered the O2 through Sainsbury's. After silently karate chopping my way through the throng of well-fed North London folk milling about in the orange ailes I made combat with leaflet waving types at the bottom of the escalators before rising to the upper levels. Here I discovered that Books Etc was now Waterstone's. I went inside and thought I would have a look for Philip Hoare's Samuel Johnson Prize winning book Leviathan. I couldn't find it anywhere. I was without a book and was seriously thinking about buying Leviathan so I could read it that afternoon. And this is where the fun starts.
I went over to the counter and asked the chap standing there if they had "That book about Whales, the Philip Hoare one."
"Leviathan or the whale by Philip Hoare" he responded. "Yes I think so" he said "follow me."
So we set off to look on several tables then the Natural History section and finally Gardening. But there was no sign of the book.
"Is it out in paperback?" I asked.
"Yeah, we were selling it at the weekend" he replied. "I'll check the stock room."
I hung around for a few minutes. There was a computer available for customers so that if they couldn't find the book they wanted they could order it via Waterstone's.com. The situation in a nutshell - how to compete vs the Net? Where everything is available now(ish) for less than on the High Street.
The bloke was back.
"I can't see it" he said. "We do have it in hardback but it's £18.99"
"It's ok" I said, "I'll find something else."
I was actually planning to leave but right away the bloke plucked a book from the shelf and handed it to me.
"What about this?"
Wow - I was impressed. I looked at the book. The bloke mumbled a few words about it in a manner with which I am very very familiar. He tried to compress what he felt about the book into a few sentences. It was a book he obviously loved and had read. I was infected but didn't want to admit it right away.
"Anything else?"
"That I've read?"
"Yes."
He pulled down a book of essays by Truman Capote. Cool.
"I'll have a look at these" I said and he was gone.
George Steiner's book looked really rather interesting.
At the counter I bought the book.
"Wasn't this a Borders or something?" I asked.
"It was Books Etc and now it's Waterstone's"
"What's the difference?" I asked.
"More books..." he paused for a beat "...and new computers."
Same staff though. Great people payed a pittance for their hard work and passion. The sort of job you do after leaving Uni for a couple of years. (In Germany you need a fu**iNg degree in bookselling!)
I spent most of the rest of the day reading Grammars of Creation. First in the pub, then on the tube, then in another pub, then by the river, then on the bus. I found it hard to understand but very engaging and extremely provocative and interesting. I would never have picked it up a million billion years but for that bookseller.
And that, dear reader, (if there are any left!) is why this post is an elegy. Booksellers are dying out. We are being snuffed by the net and by a culture that knows what it wants and wants it NOW. With our passing something will be lost. And that is sad - for the likes of us (booksellers) but also for you lot. Those with minds that search and search - who value the peculiar, the found, the forgotten.
Reader, our culture has spoken. Well done to Richard Charkin and the rest of the net book agreement destroyers.
You were right. We are NOT WORTH IT...
Franzen was reading at the O2 that evening and I was keen to attend yet had completely failed to book a ticket. When he suggested that Glenn and I accompany him to the talk in his chauffeur driven limo we did not refuse. Oh no we did not refuse. We went in the limo. We discussed books and writing. Glenn and I suffered shock and awe. In a good way. Then we listened to Franzen talk. Zadie Smith was sitting behind us with Hari Kunzru. We were all in shock and awe. In a very long winded way what I'm trying to say is that the last time I visited the O2 centre it was a memorable experience...
I entered the O2 through Sainsbury's. After silently karate chopping my way through the throng of well-fed North London folk milling about in the orange ailes I made combat with leaflet waving types at the bottom of the escalators before rising to the upper levels. Here I discovered that Books Etc was now Waterstone's. I went inside and thought I would have a look for Philip Hoare's Samuel Johnson Prize winning book Leviathan. I couldn't find it anywhere. I was without a book and was seriously thinking about buying Leviathan so I could read it that afternoon. And this is where the fun starts.
I went over to the counter and asked the chap standing there if they had "That book about Whales, the Philip Hoare one."
"Leviathan or the whale by Philip Hoare" he responded. "Yes I think so" he said "follow me."
So we set off to look on several tables then the Natural History section and finally Gardening. But there was no sign of the book.
"Is it out in paperback?" I asked.
"Yeah, we were selling it at the weekend" he replied. "I'll check the stock room."
I hung around for a few minutes. There was a computer available for customers so that if they couldn't find the book they wanted they could order it via Waterstone's.com. The situation in a nutshell - how to compete vs the Net? Where everything is available now(ish) for less than on the High Street.
The bloke was back.
"I can't see it" he said. "We do have it in hardback but it's £18.99"
"It's ok" I said, "I'll find something else."
I was actually planning to leave but right away the bloke plucked a book from the shelf and handed it to me.
"What about this?"
Wow - I was impressed. I looked at the book. The bloke mumbled a few words about it in a manner with which I am very very familiar. He tried to compress what he felt about the book into a few sentences. It was a book he obviously loved and had read. I was infected but didn't want to admit it right away.
"Anything else?"
"That I've read?"
"Yes."
He pulled down a book of essays by Truman Capote. Cool.
"I'll have a look at these" I said and he was gone.
George Steiner's book looked really rather interesting.
At the counter I bought the book.
"Wasn't this a Borders or something?" I asked.
"It was Books Etc and now it's Waterstone's"
"What's the difference?" I asked.
"More books..." he paused for a beat "...and new computers."
Same staff though. Great people payed a pittance for their hard work and passion. The sort of job you do after leaving Uni for a couple of years. (In Germany you need a fu**iNg degree in bookselling!)
I spent most of the rest of the day reading Grammars of Creation. First in the pub, then on the tube, then in another pub, then by the river, then on the bus. I found it hard to understand but very engaging and extremely provocative and interesting. I would never have picked it up a million billion years but for that bookseller.
And that, dear reader, (if there are any left!) is why this post is an elegy. Booksellers are dying out. We are being snuffed by the net and by a culture that knows what it wants and wants it NOW. With our passing something will be lost. And that is sad - for the likes of us (booksellers) but also for you lot. Those with minds that search and search - who value the peculiar, the found, the forgotten.
Reader, our culture has spoken. Well done to Richard Charkin and the rest of the net book agreement destroyers.
You were right. We are NOT WORTH IT...
Friday, July 10, 2009
This is interesting...
That's pretty cool don't ya think? Of course these reference books are available on all smartphones, sales of which were 36.4 million in the first quarter of 2009!
Oxford have also released a number of dictionaries: Oxford Dictionary of Accounting; Oxford Dictionary of Biology; Oxford Dictionary of Business & Management; Oxford Dictionary of Chemistry; Oxford Dictionary of Computing; Oxford Dictionary of Finance & Banking; Oxford Dictionary of Law; Oxford Concise Medical Dictionary; Oxford Dictionary of Music; Oxford Dictionary of Philosophy; Oxford Dictionary of Politics. All of these hefty tomes can fit on a wee device that fits snugly in your top pocket!
Can you see where I'm going with this...
Margins are tight enough in bricks and mortar shops as it is...
I type this as I sit looking at two full shelves of very thick, very heavy, very expensive dictionaries...
Spot The Difference
We get a booktrade newsletter every day in our email. Here are the top two items this morning:
Book Workers Battle To Stop Job Cuts And Long Hours
----------------------------------------------------------------------
NUJ members at Penguin books in London are seeking reassurances from
their bosses after the firm announced plans to cut 100 jobs
http://www.booktrade.info/i.php/22073
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Paul O'Grady Nets GBP2 Million Book Deal
----------------------------------------------------------------------
TV host and comedian Paul
O'Grady has been paid GBP2 million for
the second installment of his autobiography
http://www.booktrade.info/i.php/22076
Well, can YOU spot the difference??
Book Workers Battle To Stop Job Cuts And Long Hours
----------------------------------------------------------------------
NUJ members at Penguin books in London are seeking reassurances from
their bosses after the firm announced plans to cut 100 jobs
http://www.booktrade.info/i.php/22073
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Paul O'Grady Nets GBP2 Million Book Deal
----------------------------------------------------------------------
TV host and comedian Paul
O'Grady has been paid GBP2 million for
the second installment of his autobiography
http://www.booktrade.info/i.php/22076
Well, can YOU spot the difference??
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Shah of Shahs
Have been reading Kapuscinski's book on the Iranian Revolution and struck by the remarkable similarities with the present events (even though the Mullah's regime appears a good bit less tyrannical than the Shah's). Although not expilicitly connected to what's going on this week this lengthy passage really struck me as the depressing inevitability of people's willingness to ignore experience and repeat the mistakes of greed, hubris and division.
'Oil kindles extraordinary emotions and hopes, since oil is above all a great temptation. It is the temptation of ease, wealth, strength, fortune, power. It is a filthy, foul-smelling liquid that spurts obligingly up into the air and falls back to earth as a rustling shower of money. To discover and possess the source of oil is to feel as if, after wandering long underground, you have suddenly stumbled upon royal treasure. Not only do you become rich, but you are also visited by the mystical conviction that some higher power has looked upon you with the eye of grace and magnanimously elevated you above others, electing you its favourite. Many photographs preserve the moment when the first oil spurts from the well: people jumping for joy, falling into each other's arms, weeping. Oil creates the illusion of a completely changed life, life without work, life for free. Oil is a resource that anesthetizes thought, blurs vision, corrupts. People from poor countries go around thinking: God, if only we had oil! The concept of oil expresses perfectly the eternal human dream of wealth achieved through lucky accident, through a kiss of fortune and not by sweat, anguish, hard work. In this sense oil is a fairy tale and, like every tale, a bit of a lie. Oil fills us with such arrogance that we begin believing we can easily overcome such unyielding obstacles as time. With oil, the last Shah used to say, I will create a second America in a generation! He never created it. Oil, though powerful, has its defects. It does not replace thinking or wisdom. For rulers one of its most alluring qualities is that it strengthens authority. Oil produces great profits without putting a lot of people to work. Oil causes few social problems because it creates neither a numerous proletariat nor a sizable bourgeoisie. Thus, the government freed from the need of splitting profits with anyone, can dispose of them according to its own ideas and desires. Look at the ministers from oil countries, how high they hold their heads, what a sense of power they have, they, the lords of energy, who decide whether we will be driving cars tomorrow or walking. And oil's relation to the Mosque? What vigor, glory, and significance this new wealth has given to its religion, Islam, which is enjoying a period of accelerated expansion and attracting new crowds to the faithful.'
Try this link to follow what's unfolding in Iran today...
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Everybody Aht!!
While I sympathise with my working Brothers and Sisters in the RMT in their struggle to fight the filthy capitalist aggression of the corporate bourgeoisie did they have to bloody strike for two and a half sodding days. Business is drier than a snake's ass today...
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Ace Jokes
On Adam & Joe just now:
How do you find Will Smith in the snow?
Just look for the Fresh Prince
Why did Rachel's colleague at the office go to jail?
He was inciting Rachel hatred
What do you call a Newcastle Ian Curtis fan?
Geordievision
What do you call the antipodean prophet who absorbed the 10 commandments?
Ozmoses
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Small but significant points of realisation in the ageing process
I am now the same age as Steve McQueen was when he made Bullitt.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
This was not sent from my iphone
Because some c***s***ing motherf***** nicked it. There's a special place in hell reserved for you my friend...
And in other ereading news:
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
On Discovering Anne Carson's Burners Go Raw...
I found a copy of the LRB on the floor in my flat. It had been kicked under the sofa but the plastic wrap was still on so I blew the dust off and tore into it. A glance down the contents revealed an essay by Michael Wood on Roberto Bolano's books 2666 and Nazi Literature in the Americas.
I turned to the relevant pages and saw the LRB had done what the LRB tends to do and stuck a poem in the middle of the review. My usual reaction to these poems is to read a few lines, yawn, shrug and then read the review. But this poem was different.
It was called Burners Go Raw and it was by someone called Anne Carson. The poem was like no poem I have read before. I read it. I read it again. I have since read it five more times and can't get away from it. I am beguiled. I even forgot to read the Bolano reviews for a few days - each time I turned to those pages I found myself reading the poem again...
On further exploration it seems some people feel Anne Carson is hardly a poet. She herself says she is more of a visual person and hesitates to describe herself as a writer. What she does with words is different. It's better. It's poetry, that's for sure. Or music? What her writing really reminds me of is hearing fragments of several different conversations whilst walking round a supermarket. Lives and situations hinted at. Glancing blows. Adverts for mental states that are best avoided. Hospital waiting rooms. Theatres after everyone has left. Carousels on the rubbish dump. Naked mannequins queuing for the No 12 bus. All the things you never quite remember to say to the people you say you love. The exhausted hiss of breath that was going to be those famous last words...
(She's one of those discoveries I feel compelled to share. Forgive me if you are there already!) Sometimes language can and sometimes it can't I suppose.
I turned to the relevant pages and saw the LRB had done what the LRB tends to do and stuck a poem in the middle of the review. My usual reaction to these poems is to read a few lines, yawn, shrug and then read the review. But this poem was different.
It was called Burners Go Raw and it was by someone called Anne Carson. The poem was like no poem I have read before. I read it. I read it again. I have since read it five more times and can't get away from it. I am beguiled. I even forgot to read the Bolano reviews for a few days - each time I turned to those pages I found myself reading the poem again...
On further exploration it seems some people feel Anne Carson is hardly a poet. She herself says she is more of a visual person and hesitates to describe herself as a writer. What she does with words is different. It's better. It's poetry, that's for sure. Or music? What her writing really reminds me of is hearing fragments of several different conversations whilst walking round a supermarket. Lives and situations hinted at. Glancing blows. Adverts for mental states that are best avoided. Hospital waiting rooms. Theatres after everyone has left. Carousels on the rubbish dump. Naked mannequins queuing for the No 12 bus. All the things you never quite remember to say to the people you say you love. The exhausted hiss of breath that was going to be those famous last words...
(She's one of those discoveries I feel compelled to share. Forgive me if you are there already!) Sometimes language can and sometimes it can't I suppose.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Bother That Cat...
I was awake at 2am last night. Finn was upset and writhing around. Mary was upset and saying we needed to take him to A & E. But thankfully I am EXTREMELY lazy at that time of night/morning and managed to calm everything down. We chatted about motorbikes and biscuits until we were all soothed. Then we all piled in the "big" bed together.
After several hours parched on the extreme edge of the bed too scared to move in case Finn wakes up and wants to play football the cat makes his usual appearance. In other words he jumps on the bed and starts telling us it's about time he was fed. I tell Mary to hit the cat. She refuses (this happens a lot when he's out of my reach) I pick up a pillow and try to wallop the cat. I miss and knock a glass of water off the bedside table and all over Finn who wakes up and is rather pissed off and confused.
"You idiot" says Mary.
Yes indeed...
After several hours parched on the extreme edge of the bed too scared to move in case Finn wakes up and wants to play football the cat makes his usual appearance. In other words he jumps on the bed and starts telling us it's about time he was fed. I tell Mary to hit the cat. She refuses (this happens a lot when he's out of my reach) I pick up a pillow and try to wallop the cat. I miss and knock a glass of water off the bedside table and all over Finn who wakes up and is rather pissed off and confused.
"You idiot" says Mary.
Yes indeed...
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Friday, May 01, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)