Marilyn Thiele

Reading Lynne Patrick’s post The devil’s in the details earlier this week reminded me again how much she and I think alike. I am neither a writer nor an editor, merely a reader and a bookseller, but I am sometimes as troubled as she by the jolt one receives when an inconsistency interrupts the flow of a narrative. I had been thinking about the editing (or lack thereof) in the process of bringing books to market because while on vacation I thought I had found another example of carelessness in a book I was reading during my few quiet moments in an active visit to the UK. More about that book later.

As a bookseller, I am frequently asked to “look at” books by self-published authors with an eye to displaying them in my shop and recommending them to customers. This post is not about the issues and value of self-publishing, but in these cases I have come to expect inconsistencies and confusing exposition. I am actually surprised when the grammar and spelling is somewhat correct. It is when I find errors in works by bestselling authors produced by major publishing houses that I wonder if anyone other than the author read the book before it went to press.

Three examples are memorable enough to have stayed with me for several years. In a book by a British author of several series focused on small villages where there is an inordinate amount of crime, an older woman witnesses a murder. Her distress, compounded by the necessity of reliving it during police questioning, leaves her too flustered to drive home. Her son, who has arrived to assist her, drives her home and says they will get her car the following day. The next morning, she arises, dresses, and trots out to her car, off to begin her amateur sleuthing.

The first of a new series by an American author famous for two previous series, had a character named “George” who appeared somewhere around Page 70. As I read, he seemed awfully familiar; in fact, he seemed to be awfully like “Harry,” who had been involved since the beginning of the book. A lot of page flipping and rereading led to the realization that the character’s name had been changed with no warning. And no, these weren’t aristocrats or Russians with multiple names; just plain old Americans with one first and one last name. It appeared that the author had renamed his character, but forgot to go back to his earlier chapters. The book was written in the mid-1990’s, but even then word processors had global change capabilities.

The third instance is from a book by an author whose work is always on the bestseller list shortly after release, and who has grown in popularity with each book. Her series character is a medical examiner. The plotting and characterization are excellent, but the scene which remains most in my mind is one in which the protagonist is preparing to do an autopsy. She reflects with sadness on the youth and good looks of the murder victim as he lies naked on the table. But to work! She begins with scissors, cutting off his jeans and shirt.

I can understand how these errors in detail can slip in when an author is focused on the larger plot. I have even wondered if some came in during a revision process, when the earlier event (leaving the car at the murder scene) is forgotten when making the morning scene move at a faster pace. The “fresh eye” may be necessary not only after the author completes the work for submission, but again after the final edits are theoretically complete. The author of the book with the autopsy scene credits several friends with helping her edit the book; if the error slipped in later, perhaps the publisher needs to have someone unfamiliar with the work give it one last read. I understand that there are people assigned during filmmaking to be sure that clothing, hair styles, and other details are consistent from scene to scene; the publishing industry needs to define a similar role in the editing process.

None of these errors is catastrophic; they do not affect the events of the plot in any serious way. I do not find myself looking for more errors as I read on. But, for me at least, there appears to be a longer term effect. In preparing to write about these inconsistencies that have stayed in my memory, I decided to go back to my list of books I have read. I have been keeping this list for over twenty years, mostly to prevent the disaster of getting part way through a book, realizing I have read it before, and not having another one available. I was looking for the dates when I had read these books. What I found was even more interesting. In all three cases, these books were the last I had read by the author. This was not a conscious decision; I at no time felt that the error was so egregious that I would never read another book by that person. In fact, all three are writers whose work I like. But somewhere some credibility was lost, and when choosing from the multitude of unread mysteries on my shelves, I chose others. Subconsciously, I did not want to be annoyed again.

And now a warning, largely to myself. If something looks like an error, be sure it is. As I was reading a book by one of my favorite authors, saved up as a treat for vacation, I found a series of five sentences that I was sure I had already read. Did I put my bookmark in the wrong place? Had I forgotten what I read before I fell asleep last night? No, there were the same five sentences, seven pages earlier. They were great sentences, expressing a mood and a silent communication succinctly and clearly. Had the author forgotten he had already used them in another situation? In only seven pages? Did the editing process fail again? Was this to be my last book by this author, now relegated to the bottom of the pile by my subconscious? I read on. The same five sentences were in the concluding paragraphs of the book. Only then did I get the point the author was making. My mistake, not his. Thank goodness.

Marilyn Thiele

I just set a new reading speed record for myself. Not the fastest I’ve ever read a book, but the slowest – three weeks to read a 350 page mystery, the kind that usually takes me fewer than three days. I only finished it in that time because I needed to read another book for a reading group and was running out of time; the most I can handle is two books at once, the second being the audio going in my car. I didn’t finish the book for reading group in time either, although that one was Possession by A. S. Byatt and definitely slower going than my usual fare.

I kept losing track of both the plot and the characters.  Who was that guy again? Flip back. Scan. Flip back. Scan.  Oh yeah – he’s the police detective working with the main character, a private investigator, in one of the towns which may have a crime related to the main inquiry. Usually, if I need to refresh my memory about a character, I can remember the approximate place in the book where he appeared. I always claim that my mind and fingers with a paper book are faster and easier than any electronic search. But this time, I almost wished that I was using my e-reader. I often hadn’t a clue where to start looking. The character(s) just hadn’t registered at all.

At this point one might wonder why I bothered to finish such an awful book, one that obviously was not compelling or well-written. I stayed with it because I suspected that the failings were not the author’s, but mine. The author has been praised by other authors I respect (and I don’t mean just jacket blurbs), and the start of a new series was an opportunity to try her work.  This book was at least her fifth from a major publisher. None of this means that I should like it, but it does indicate that she is not an amateur who can’t handle plot or characterization. So why was it so difficult to finish this book?

My own inability to focus is the culprit. It’s one of those unsettled times when too many things are going on at home and work, most of which are incomplete for reasons outside my control but which require that I stay on top of them. My mother would have said “too many irons in the fire”; my husband says “too many windows open.” When I sit down to read and try to forget the pressures for a while, my mind starts jumping to the details of daily life that need to be remembered and soon pages have gone by with nothing retained from the reading. I’m not complaining. Life gets like this sometimes, and always gets better. I have a badly needed holiday approaching, the preparation for which (home, business, travel agenda) is part of the problem , but which I know will refresh my outlook.  It’s not fair to blame an author for not being able to penetrate my overloaded brain.

How often do we reject an author for reasons unrelated to the quality of the work? I am reminded that I refused to read Dark Places by Gillian Flynn because I found Sharp Objects so repulsive. I read Gone Girl because I wanted to know what all the buzz was about. Gone Girl is certainly unsettling, but I was fascinated rather than repulsed. I realized then that my problem with Sharp Objects was my own squeamishness about the subject matter. Another reader would not be so disturbed, and would be able to enjoy the excellent writing.  One member of our reading group could not get through Middlesex because the notion of hermaphrodism was just too disconcerting. The rest of us were not bothered in the least.

Our individual distastes for certain subjects are probably not going to change. Sometimes, though, our discomfort with a topic is situational. Years ago, I was astonished at how adamant a friend was in condemning The Horse Whisperer as a “piece of trash.” She and I usually enjoyed the same books, and although I wouldn’t have called it great literature, it was an enjoyable read with a satisfying ending (changed, I should mention, and to the detriment of the entire story, by Hollywood). I later learned that she had just discovered that her husband was having an affair. No wonder this plot was distressing! There are several people in Cleveland right now who would not find a thriller about a serial kidnapper of young women entertaining reading. Life’s ordeals can put us in a place, either temporarily or permanently, where certain subject matter does not lend itself to an enjoyable reading experience.

My own experiences have taught me that when I find a particular book unsatisfactory, I need to consider the reasons beyond  “It didn’t grab me” or “I found it distasteful.” If the writer’s style or consistent choice of subject matter is not to my liking, then I won’t waste my time in the future. But if the author happened to write one novel involving a subject that makes me uncomfortable, or if my own distracted mind or current life situation kept me from giving the work my full attention, I will try at least one more of her works. It might not be the author’s weaknesses; it may be mine.

Marilyn Thiele

I spent yesterday afternoon in booklovers’ heaven, our local Friends of the Library book sale. This annual event is a great opportunity to fill out my inventory of used books with items that are requested but which, for whatever reason, no one has brought to my store. The organizers of the sale have in recent years set up a “Preview Sale,” which requires a ticket purchase and is limited to 60 shoppers, on the Friday afternoon before the public weekend sale. Most of the attendees are book dealers, willing to spend a little extra to avoid the crowds and contribute to library programs at the same time.

Having a bit of time before the sale and not wanting to get involved in an extended project, I took the opportunity to catch up on the posts of my fellow Dead Guys for the week. Lynne Patrick’s post “Second time around” seemed particularly relevant to my state of mind. It was cheering to read the emotions of a true booklover expressed so perfectly: Hay-on-Wye, a place I’ve always wanted to visit, described as a “little piece of heaven on earth”; the time in a bookshop in a “golden haze”; the feeling of the purchases as being “loot”. My husband still doesn’t understand why I, spending all my working hours with books, can’t walk by a book shop without going in. Professional curiosity? Not really. I want a dose of my drug of choice.

After sharing the delight Lynne felt in being surrounded by books, I started thinking about her concerns about the morality of purchasing second-hand volumes. As someone who sells, and thereby profits from, this trade, I, too, have wondered if it’s the right thing to do. Authors should be generously compensated for their work. I am amazed at people who feel that now that the Internet is dominant, everything should be free. Information is free, ideas are free; the creative expression of either involves effort, and deserves to be rewarded. That’s what copyright law is all about, and I applaud the advent of “pay walls” on journalism sites; payment for quality writing should lead to a better product.

So how do I justify reselling books at no additional compensation to the author? The crudest view it that it’s just another physical possession; the author and publisher were paid on the first sale, the owner sold it to me, and now it’s mine to do with as I wish. No different than purchasing that designer dress at the local thrift shop. Many customers view what I do as a “green” enterprise: recycling an item rather than having it in the landfill.

There’s a little more to it with books. The resale of “pre-owned” volumes can actually lead to more sales of new books. I frequently recommend authors who are not familiar to a customer. They may be reluctant to invest the full price of a book in an unknown quantity, even taking into account my impeccable taste and knowledge. I suggest they try a used copy of one of the author’s works. More often than not they are back for the rest of the series, and will purchase the books new now that they are hooked. Since I sell both new and used books, this phenomenon benefits me either way. Books purchased at second-hand-only shops lead to the searching out of the author’s other titles in shops that sell new books, or from on-line retailers, both to the author’s benefit. I used to apologize to visiting authors who would see second-hand copies of their work on my shelves. I was surprised that they all seemed to understand that this market actually generates more sales. (Or maybe they just like to see a lot of their books on display.)

There are other justifications for reselling books. A certain number of my customers simply cannot afford new books, and the library is inconvenient for them. All libraries and book stores face a shelf-space limit, and books early in a series or popular several years ago may no longer be readily available, even if they are still in print. The second-hand book shop is the place to find out-of-print titles. The out-of-print problem may ease somewhat as publishers can make titles available electronically which they would not want to store in physical format. But for those of us (and we are legion!) who still prefer, as Lynne says, “that inimitable and habit-forming aroma of well-loved paper and print,”  there is nothing like the bricks-and-mortar shop (or the library’s book sale) for a taste of paradise.

So you want a copy of the latest bestseller, or a time-honored classic, or the next in a great mystery series you just discovered? Go on-line, usually to the Big A, get it at a cheaper price than your local bookseller can offer; buy enough and get it shipped for free.

Gift shopping? If you know the reader’s preferences, you can choose a book and have it shipped directly, saving money and time. Hardly takes a moment’s thought.

But what if you want to send a book as a gift, but want it to have a special meaning to the recipient, perhaps communicate a personal message? You can spend a little more time, browsing by looking at the details. Five stars? Must be great. Read a few reviews. Looks like the perfect choice. Maybe.

A close friend stopped in my store a few weeks ago, and as we got chatting, I heard the latest in an ongoing saga about her husband and his daughter from his previous marriage. The daughter lives with her family in a western state, and the father-daughter relationship, always rocky, had reached the level of “estranged” over the last few years. The (grand)father, my friend’s husband, sends Christmas and birthday gifts to the grandchildren, and the response is a minimal “Thank You,” if that. There have been no reciprocal holiday or birthday greetings for several years.

But starting late last year, there were a couple of brief e-mails with some news. A card at Christmas.  When my friend’s husband’s birthday came around in February, he expected nothing from that quarter. A package arrived, shipped directly from Amazon, preceded by an e-mail from the daughter indicating that something was coming. The birthday boy was elated, sensing an attempt to reach out and heal the breach. It really didn’t matter what the gift was. Or did it?

The gift was a “Grandfather’s Memory Book” to a grandchild, something like a reverse “baby book.” On the surface, not a bad idea, a chance for the grandfather to convey information about himself to distant grandchildren. Apparently, however, a substantial portion of the book was devoted to the grandparents’ marriage (including space for wedding photos) and the joys of raising their own children. Whoops!

My friend said her husband wanted to put the best light on the choice, but was fighting the notion that he had received a somewhat inappropriate “homework” assignment. Surely his daughter did not want photos of my friend’s wedding to him (her relationship with the daughter is even worse!) Did she really think he still had mementos of his marriage to her mother, which ended over 30 years ago? He was granted only the minimal access the law required to his children as they grew (a contributing factor to later misunderstandings); what family events from that period should be memorialized in this book?

It occurred to me, as a bookseller who loves to find the limitations of on-line shopping, that the problem was not any nefarious intent by the daughter, but a simple lack of knowledge of what she was purchasing. My friend and I spent a few minutes on the computer, and here’s what we found:

A search on the “Big A” in the Books category using the word “grandfathers” yielded a list of subtopics, the second of which was “Grandfather’s Memories.” Clicking on that choice led to a few books, the second of which was the one chosen as the gift. “LOOK INSIDE!” yielded a view of pages headed “Occupation,” “As a Boy,” and “As a Young Man.” Innocuous enough. The page headed “My Child Growing Up” might have raised a red flag, if someone got that far. The book has a 4-star rating. Roll over the stars, and find “This is a great way to let your grandchild know about your life” and similar comments.

If one took the time (and we did) to read all of the reviews, one could find the pertinent information: this book works only for traditional families. (Interestingly, it apparently has space for elucidation of the “risks” and “choices” that Grandpa faced in life; Grandma gets to write about family and social occasions.)

If the daughter had sought out a gift book at a real bookshop, and looked through the physical book in her hand, the limitations of this volume for her situation would have been obvious. One could argue that she could have reached the same conclusion with a more detailed look at what the on-line retailer revealed. Unfortunately, the on-line world has led us to cursory viewing of information. The seller is going to put the best reviews first; the details are there, but why read forty reviews if the first few made the book sound like an ideal choice?

Now I have another incident to support my case for patronizing your local bookshop. I recall a lament on a local talk-radio show about the dearth of toy shops selling unique items. Where have they all gone? I wanted to call in and say, “You need to buy your checkers and Monopoly games there, too, not just shop for special items while getting the popular ones at a discount. They can’t stay in business that way.” You can draw the parallel. And please don’t use the shop for browsing, noting your choices, and taking your business to the on-line discounter. It happens more often that you would believe.