We had our first real fire of the winter today - fed by logs from the apple tree which we cut down earlier in the year, giving the whole house a beautiful aromatic smell. I think apple logs are my favourite. And having the fire crackling away in the grate made an afternoon of study a pleasure rather than a chore. I even stole a few minutes to read a novel - in the middle of the afternoon!
Venturing out to fill up the log basket every couple of hours wasn't quite so much: London has been bitterly cold all week. But there is something quite comforting about donning a thick coat, scarf and gloves just to go into to garden and something very serene about peeling off the layers and toasting into front of fire when you get back in. All in all, a peaceful and productive day.
A slow day in the bookshop today but after a very busy week it came as a bit of a relief. Packing a dispatching took less time than usually, meaning hubby and I had enough time this evening for a visit to the gym and then, just to undo all the good we'd done, supper in the pub. Lovely to have the time to enjoy each other's company for once but here's hoping that The Virtual Bookshelf will be a little less virtual over the weekend and that books will fly off the shelves.
I usually have three or four books on the go at the same time. One will probably be from the reading list for my forthcoming degree course; one I'm reading for review; one for the reading club I'm in and one just because I want to read it! I might also have a volume of poetry on the go, and perhaps something I'm reading for work. Of course, often those categories overlap.
I have it in mind to start a reading dairy. This is just a first attempt.
I haven't kept a reading diary like this before. I've tried to remember when I read particular books, but it may be that some of the books in the list below were read a little earlier that 2005.
Fiction
For Reading Club
For University Course
Non-Fiction
Poetry
Unfortunately my books-to-be-read pile seems to grow more rapidly that the list of those that I have read. It's not that I mind having the books around, but every time I see them, they remind me of all the treasures and gems I have yet to explore and how little time there is to meet each and every book I would like to.
Fiction
Non-Fiction
For University Course
Poetry
For Review
These are books I would like to read, but have not yet purchased (or otherwise acquired).
I've hardly put my nose outside my front door tomorrow - and every time I did, it got frost bitten. But yesterday I had half an hour to kill around Victoria. What better way to spend the time that to release a few more books into the wild. Here's what you might find if you go hunting around the train and bus station (paritcularly as none have been journalled yet). Four of five books are science fiction, so a real treat for fans of that genre of fiction.
Undercover Aliens by A E Van Vogt
As Time Goes By: A Biography of Ingrid Bergman by Laurence Leamer
The Net by Loren J Macgregor, and
War Against the Rull by A E Van Vogt
Not sure what any of this means? Want to take part in a fascinating experiment in serendipity? Or just want to get more fun out of your books? Visit bookcrossing.
Time was when Alibris was a sound selling venue for UK sellers. Yes, they marked up our stock above that of US competitors, and told buyers that it would take at least three weeks for the book to be sent out to them, let alone delivered. But with Alibris' strong marketing and its deep penetration of the US market, it was still a good venue for UK booksellers offering interesting and well-described books. Add to that the once a week consolidated shipping, paid for by Alibris and the fact that Alibris almost always absorbs returns, it site provided a stready flow of sales and the 20 per cent commission, although painful, could be justified. Even on the tiny inventory we had on line in 2003, some 5,000 books, we regularly shipping 20 to 25 books to Alibris each week.
All that changed during 2004 and the early part of 2005. First UK sellers were removed wholesale from the link up between Alibris and Barnes and Noble. That hurt. Our sales via Alibris halved over night and from conversations with colleagues I know others suffered even more. Then came Alibris's abortive public offering which damaged their reputation and in turn resulted in another dive in sales. The change in fee structure earlier this year was another kick in the teeth, especially for UK sellers. By insisting on a monthly subscription as well as commission per sale, albeit at a slightly reduced rate, Alibris seemed to be sending a message that it really didn't welcome sellers with small stock and that it was setting itself up to be all about turnover and quantity. But in a passing gesture to those who swim the seas of the rare and antiquarian book trade, a low level scheme was introduced for those with an inventory of less than 1,000 which allowed them to opt out of the monthly subscription if they agreed to an additional per sale fee. We tinkered with this option for a month, but the tiny number of sales did not justify the enormous data management required to send just a small proportion of our inventory. Some UK sellers stuck with this model, a few, like us, have kept their entire inventory at Alibris, but many left the scheme although.
And now Alibris have announced that even the low level scheme will come to an end in the new year without any similar replacement. I predict that for many UK and other European booksellers this will be final nail in the coffin of their relationship with Alibris. Apparently, the scheme was too confusing. All those poor little booksellers out that - they just couldn't get their heads about a commission only agreement. What utter bosh! If you sell books on line, believe me, you understand commission and subscriptions in the same way that an bookmakers understand odds. It's in the blood. More likely that Alibris found that it was not worth their while to adminster a separate scheme for a small number of booksellers, especially when their sales are declining in the same way as snow melts in the sun. So Alibris delivers another kick in the teeth to booksellers operating outside North America while it positions itself as an exclusively American site for Americans. This may keep the corporate accountants and city fund managers happy but it will not bring sales for Alibris. They have taken a major step to remove some of the most disintinctive, most interesting and, in the US, some the hardest to find inventory.
I suppose the writing was on wall, if perhaps only in pencil, with the initial change in fee structure. This latest move puts in in ink. Alibris is no longer a truely international site for international trade. And with out I doubt it will last long as a site for book collectors in the ultra-competitive internet bookselling marketplace. Unless there are some real and quick changes in their business model, that ink will be replaced with inedible marker pen. Move over Alibris. Move on up Biblio.
By now it will come as no surprise to my loyal and tender readers (sic) to hear that I've been crossing again. Taking advantage of a crisp but dry day, four more books hit the streets as wild releases.
Here are the details should anyone fancy a wee hunt in the middle of the night.
Jewels of Aptor by Samuel R Delaney
Ships of Merior by Janny Wurts
Frankenstein Unbound by Brian W Aldiss, and
This last is a sweet little book, packed full with an eclectic anthology of song, verse and prose all about pigs. Beautifully illustrated too. I really hope it finds a warm and loving home. I know someone picked it up because it had gone from the bench where I left it within minutes, but as yet the catch has not been journaled.
Two weeks ago I put in some commission bids at an auction that I couldn't get to. I'd been to inspect the lots the day before, and left my bids with the lovely, helpful ladies at the reception desk. I always perfer to bid in person, so that you can watch and judge the other bidders in the room but on this occasion it just wasn't possible and there were some really good books in some of the larger lots. With Christmas around the corner, we need refresh and interesting stock. Each of my bids was rather low-ball, reckoning that conservativism was the order of the day as I wouldn't be there to judge how the sale was doing, so to increase the chances of greating a decent volume, I bid on rather a lot of lots (if you see what I mean).
Well, wouldn't you know it. I won them all. Each and every lot. Some 28 shelves full of books, mostly double stacked, and a few assorted boxes, crates and, bizarrely, a suitcase full of books too (I really don't remember that being with the lot when I inspected). Now, I'm not really complaining. These are good, interesting, saleable books bought at a reasonable price. But we're a small outfit. I simply don't have the space to take that voume of books - I reckon some 4,000 - all at once. Now you guys could help me out here by buying some of our existing books but working on the basis that my plea will fall on deaf ears, I've bitten the bullet, as it were, and taken on more storage. Now I just have to wait for the books to arrive. Hours of pleasure to come sorting and cataloguing them all. I love that part of the job; almost as much as I love bidding at auction in person.
Had a torrid day yesterday. I have a torrid day every time I have to visit the dentist, even if it's only for a check-up. But yesterday I was feeling groggy anyway and the last thing I wanted to do was travel all the way to Oxford to sit in a cold waiting room - admittedly I only had to wait because we were a little early - and then shiver all the way back to London with my husband cursing that the car was too hot already, even before I turned the heating up. I blame him - not a single stop for coffee on the way there or the way back.
Still, I did manage to remember to release a book in the waiting room: Rosary Girls by Richard Montanari, so if anyone fancies going hunting, you know where to look.
Much as I like the dentist in Oxford, I think it's time to find one a little closer to home.
Much more of a stay at home day today, although I did venture down to Dulwich to start filling my new storage space, once again rented from Dulwich Storage Company.
A lovely gentleman from the States called this afternoon, after books illustrated by Margaret Tempest for his wife - who apparently was disappointed not to be able to travel to London with him. I love the fact that someone from so far away takes the time to visit and browse our books. And the thought that there are going to make someone so far away happy is very rewarding.
Yet another book released into the wild in Victoria Gardens has been caught and journaled. The benches in Victoria Gardens are very definitely my most successful site for wild releasing. Just yesterday I released a copy of Anne Edward's compassionate biography of Vivien Leigh. This morning it has been caught and journaled - and as an added bonus, the person who caught the book has joined Bookcrossing.
Over the last three months I have released 7 books in Victoria Gardens. 4 of them have been caught and journaled. For wild releasing, that's a great return rate. Other wild release sites run at about 10 per cent being caught and journalled.
Done a little registering as well, adding a handful of uncorrected bound proofs to my "available" list on bookcrossing. Have a browse and if you see anything you'd like just let me know.
Well, this is a first for me.
Some time ago, I was sent a proof copy for Kathryn Fox's Malicious Intent for review. A gripping crime thriller, the central character of which is a forensic physician, somewhat reminiscent of Patricia Cornwell's Dr Kay Scarpetta. A thoroughly enjoyable read.
When I review a book and think that I might like to read it again, I usually purchase a "proper" copy and pass the proof on to someone else who I think may enjoy a new-to-them author. (Being a very law abiding bookseller, I don't sell proof copies that I have been sent directly from the publishers in advance of publication). So I gave my proof copy of Malicious Intent to a fellow bookcrosser and ordered a brand, spanking new copy for myself from Amazon. Of course I had to wait a couple of months for the new book to be published, but that's no problem. What is a problem for me is that the book which finally arrived this morning is such a flimsy paperback that I doubt it will stand one reading before the pages start to come away from the spine. Such a shame: the proof copy was a lovely, solid, pleasantly-feeling volume with eye-catching covers. The edition I've just received is insipid.
Time, I think, to rethink my policy on parting with proofs and replacing them with published editions. Such a shame that the pressure of discounting has drive book production standards so low. But there is perhaps a greater problem here for publishers. We review pre-publication books so that we can make sensible recommendations to customers. If I can't be sure that the published book will actually stand reading, I'm unlikely to make a recommendation. I'm sure other booksellers will feel the same. I feel I've been misled. I'm certainly not going to mislead bookbuyers in turn.
I released a copy of Charles by Penny Junor "into the wild" yesterday. Left in on a park bench in Victoria Gardens in Westminster yesterday morning, nestled amid a scattering of fallen leaves, the book was found and journaled by lunchtime! Wonderful. And the finder seems to intend to pass the book on again. More Wonderful. Releasing books into the wild is an addictive exercise in serendipity.
I also released a rather turgid biography of Fleetwood Mac. That book, so far, has yet to find a home but if you fancy going hunting for it, the release details can be found here.
Thank you bookcrossing!
I have good news for those who enjoyed Corinne Hofmann's The White Masai and are keen to read her other books.
To date, only The White Masai has been published in English. Arcadia Books, who published the english version of The White Masai in September this year, are planning to publish Reunion at Barsaloi in autumn 2006 and then Back from Africa after that.
If you would like to be kept informed when further details of publication and availability become available, please just leave a comment against this entry.
Personally I can't wait to read the next installments - shame we have to wait a year, but it is good to know that these books will be available eventually.
Following the review of Corinne Hofmann's The White Masai that I posted earlier this year, several people have asked us where they can get hold of Ms Hofmann's other books in English.
Sad to say that The White Masai is the only one to have been translated into English to date. Ms Hofmann's own website keeps a list of translations that are available so, should there be plans to translate either of her other books into English, I'm sure this would be the place to find out first. Of course, if we have any news, we'll post it - and would be grateful if anyone else hearing news would pass it on.
Around 4 am last Sunday, and I was tucked up fast asleep in my cosy bed, all warm and happy. Something woke me. My feet felt damp. No, I must be dreaming. Feet don't get wet in bed in the middle of the night. Back to sleep. A few moments later, I have the mad thought that perhaps it's not water on my feet but blood. Put out a tentative hand to inspect. Phew! That's a relief. It's only water after all. Back to sleep.
No! That's not right. My feet really shouldn't be covered in water. Sit bolt upright. Yep, it's not just my feet that are wet but so is the quilt at the bottom of the bed, and the sheets and the matress. And there's this horrid drip, drip sound. Drip, drip. It's coming from the ceiling. Drip, drip. Worse, it's dripping from the light fitting. Drip, drip, drip. I have to wake Rod.
Good thing I did, because hero husband knows exactly what's happening. The water tank has overflowed. And he fixes it in a jiffy (how does he manage to be fast asleep one minute and vaulting into the loft the next?). And then he grabs a couple of pillows, the only spare quilt and a blanket and, five seconds later, is fast asleep again on the sofa. Ok. But the only problem is that's he's left me with damp bedding, and it's still dripping. Drip, drip. Into a bucket now, but still dripping. Drip. Drip. Drip.
I've been rather slow on the wild releasing front for the last couple of weeks. I think I have got so used to carrying a few books around with my, in what Rod has come to call my "book bag" that I forget they are there and so forget to drop them off when passing through appropriate places. Still, I've managed to set four books free today. They are:
Dusty by Lucy O'Brien - a super biography of Dusty Springfield, who tragically lost her battle with cancer a few years ago.
Carrie Fisher's wonderful Postcards from the Edge - yep, that's the same Carrie Fisher who starred in the early Star Wars films.
The Tangle Box by Terry Brooks - a treat for fantasy fans, but not really quite my style. Hope it finds a good home.
The Weapon Makers by A E Van Vogt - A real science fiction classic, although perhaps now a little dated, it's still worth a read.
All were released within a few hundred yards of home, but not quite close enough to watch to see if any were caught quickly.
I had a super catch earlier on this week though. I released a book in Victoria Gardens, right next to the House of Lords, in central London, as I was walking between Portcullis House and the office, after a fascinating meeting on civil resilience - not that that is really relevant. I left a copy of Family Life: Birth, Death, The Whole Damn Thing on a friendly looking bench at the side of the park. It was caught and journalled within a couple of hours. Great result. I shall try releasing there again - I have about a 50 per cent success rate with releases in Victoria Gardens.
A slightly fictionalised account of my nightmare 48 hours without the internet:
A small hitch hit us on Thursday morning. Our ADSL line went dead (although it took nearly 24 hours to determine that that was the cause of the problem).
Our ADSL service does fail, very occasionally, for an hour or two usually - perhaps twice a year - so in the first instance I just thought to myself that it was a good excuse to get off my butt and away from the computer for a while. I washed the kitchen floor, hoovered the sitting room, popped to the corner shop and prepared Rod's favourite winter supper - Apricot and Chicken casserole.
But two hours later, and still no internet. Being a little fed-up with housework (it doesn't take much!), I phoned our ISP and reported the fault. A very friendly, helpful guy, says yes, he can see a fault and they'd fix it - they'd even send me a text message to tell me when it was back. He cheerfully quipped that it wouldn't be more than an hour or two.
Great! Feeling a little re-juvenated, I tackled the bathroom. Scrubbed, wiped, washed and polished my way through the next couple of hours, moving into the bedroom after a while. Not a speck of dust missed me and I finally managed to hoover up the last of the feathers than escaped last week when a pillow exploded.
Time to get back to books. Or not. Still no internet. Called Claranet again who this time seemed to think the failure was somewhere on our network rather than theirs. The chap who had been so friendly before now became serious and had me do various different tests on our PCs and server for nearly an hour. Much of this involved getting down on my already sore housewife's knees, pulling all sorts of plugs and cables from the back of boxes that haven't seen the light of day - or a duster - for half a decade. The result was lots of dirt and dust (and, strangely, one more cable than I had to start with), but no internet. Finally, he concedes that the fault is probably on the ADSL line and that it would have to be reported to BT.
So, after a quick call to India, where BT seems to be these days, I set-to to clean up the mess I'm made in the office while testing our network. I'm half way up the step ladder, trying to eradicate dust from the curtain rails, when a text message arrives to tell me that the fault is fixed. Abandoning the curtains to their dusty fate - they've coped without cleaning since the Spring, they can cope a few weeks more - I finally sit down with a nice cup of tea to do some work, satisfied that supper is now in the oven, Rod on his way back from work, and all is well with the world.
Not! No internet. The delightful lady in Calcutta, after commiserating with me about the rainy day in London, says yes, one fault has been corrected, but she can see there is a second fault on the line. (Don't these guys test the line before declaring it fixed?). I give up for the night, not exactly reassured by her assurance that all will be well by morning.
Friday morning comes. No internet. But we do have a BT engineer drinking copious amounts of builder's tea and tucking into freshly baked coffee cake (well, what else was I meant to do?). While he's traipsing up and down to the exchange box, some 200 hundred yards away, I decide that there's nothing for it but to clean the windows; that doesn't help.
Still no internet. Sweep the terrace, pick the last remnants of apples which are so overripe that they smell like cider even before being stewed, clean out the window boxes and hanging baskets which have been screaming for attention for weeks; and finally fix the fencing panel which came down one windy night three weeks ago. Still no internet. George, the BT engineer, who has three kids, an ex-wife and a pet piranha, decamps to the pub for lunch.
I consider swapping my hairclip for a a large hankerchief with knots at the corner and scrubbing the front door step, but can't find a hankerchief large enough and instead take the drying cleaning, ignored since our last holiday, down the road, buying cakes for tea on the way back. Still no internet. There's really nothing left for it, so I light the first log-fire of the winter spend the afternoon lounging on the sofa pretending to read Moll Flanders but in fact making better progress with Patricia Cornwell's latest tome (which, to judge from the first 100 pages, is really not that good. Poor Scarpetta!).
Still no internet. I do something which probably counts as a record and cook for the second evening on the run. Still no internet. George says he has to get home to feed the piranha. We finally get fault diagnosis and service restoration around 10 am on Saturday morning. In euphoric mood, I break the golden rule that has kept our marriage happy for the last 15 years and disturb Rod's Saturday sleep-in to tell him. His only comment: Does that mean that the house will be dirty again and I won't get my supper cooked tonight? He even had the gaul to suggest that perhaps we should turn the internet off for 24 hours once a week.
that is it almost a full month since I made an entry here. I keep meaning to do a little write up of what we did on our holidays, but it so long ago now that I'm beginning to feel in need of another trip.
I promise, promise, to be better in the future and do a little more to keep this flowing. It was such fun when it was.
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