Book Burgling

A pilfered reading nook.

I love book burgling.

As my writer friend and fellow burglar Fiona could tell you, book snatching is not about stealing books (I'm not into that). It's about...borrowing them from your friends and relatives. Most of the time you ask them nicely before pilfering from their library. Unless you think they're going to say no, and then you stick the book you're coveting down the back of your pants and sachet towards the exit.



I have great memories of doing this as a kid. I snuck Pygmalion out of my grandfather's prized library--I didn't know what a Pygmalion was, but I wanted to read about one. He thought it was such a funny choice for a seven year old that he let me have it. Any time I go over to a friend's house, the first thing I ogle--without fail--are the books on their shelves.

This summer I find myself in a fortuitous burgling position. I'm spending a lot of time at Mom's house; Mom has a LOT of books. There are tons of classics I've never read, modern mysteries I've never heard of, and children's books I haven't enjoyed in years. Not to mention the books I left behind when I moved over to Australia. So I'm setting myself a summer reading challenge: read books exclusively pilfered from Mom's library. No new books (well, except this one). Just the ones on all these heavy shelves.

First up: Test of Wills by Charles Todd.

Current writing soundtrack: "The Woods" by Daughter

Book Cover Love: Ripper

This book just came out and I know next to nothing about this author. But you know what? I'm going to have to get it. Partially because it's a YA historical mystery, and I'm into those right now. But mostly because I'm a book cover floozy. And I'm in LOVE with this cover design. Sleek, classy, evocative. 

Great covers are like great stories: timeless. This is the kind of cover I'd frame and hang as artistic statement on my wall. 

Book Cover Love: We The Drowned

I didn't know what this book was about when I bought it. At all. I didn't even read the jacket flap. I ordered it because I needed it. I needed this cover in my life. It is everything I love: layered but clean, tactile and arrestingly beautiful. I almost want to frame it. Hopefully the book's content will prove as satisfying. Have any of you read it yet?

Put your money where your mouth is: would you pay to get into author events?

In an attempt to escape the pile of student papers waiting to be graded (they're staring at me judgmentally as I type), I stumbled upon an interesting book-related NY Times article. It's all about the fact that independent bookstores are starting to charge admission to author events. The article purports that indie bookstores are losing revenue to sites like Amazon as customers start to use their local bookseller as a glorified library: come in, put some titles on your iphone, then go home and get them cheaply on the web. Owners are worried that if they don't shift their business model and start thinking of new ways to bring in the cash, they'll be in (even more) serious trouble. I don't blame them.

And so, some bookstores are charging people to come to their many author events, and I can understand the logic. I went to a book launch the other night and enjoyed free wine and snacks, a series of readings by emerging authors, and a Q&A with an Australian writer. I didn't buy her book at the event and I felt pretty guilty about it. Why? Because one of my favorite bookstores just spent money to make sure I enjoyed myself and they got not a penny from me. Author events both large and small are a fun form of entertainment. I pay to go to live music gigs, outdoor concerts, comedy shows, etc., so I think that bookstores are perfectly within their rights to charge us.

A lot of bookstores are asking people to buy the featured book as a form of cover. I think this is the ideal solution, because it means that the store, the author, and the publisher are all winning out. But I don't think it's a practical solution, because a lot of people just can't afford to pay $32.00 to get into an event, even if it means walking away with a novel. Prices like that will turn away a lot of students, young professionals, single moms, pensioners, and tight asses the world over. It'll also discourage walk-ins who don't know the author but like the idea of sitting in for a read-along. Some would argue that won't make or break an event, but some of the artists I've come to love and loyally support are ones I discovered by accidentally walking in on one of their free events. As Anne Patchett points out, "those are your readers". Authors may not be able to afford scaring them away.

That said, I'd be happy to pay five or ten dollars for a few hours of books and conversation, especially if I'm not going to buy the featured book. It's a way to show my support for the event and for the indie that runs them. Don't get me wrong, I'd love author events to stay free. Wouldn't we all? But it irritates me to hear people bemoaning the fact that indie bookstores are a 'cultural center' and that it's bordering on blasphemous for them to slap a price tag on what are supposed to be community events. Well guess what? Bookstores are also a business. Sometimes, when we wax on about the book as cultural lifeboat, we forget about that.

I'm a big fan of having my cake and eating it, too (and making it myself so I can lick the bowl and spoon), but the reality here is pretty simple: if we don't find ways to support our local indies, then they are going to go away.

So what do you think? Would you pay admission to get into an author event?

Parallel Importation (Or: Why Are Books in Australia So Expensive?)

The high price of Australian books has baffled me since I first landed here. I can still remember my popped-eyed, open-mouthed dismay when I realized that the average price of a new, good quality paperback hovered around $32AUD. An A5-size, "cheap" trade paperback that would have cost me $14.95 in the U.S. cost me $23AUD. If you ask me, that seems a little bit outrageous. It's not that I don't think literature is worth a little extra. But when I had to say no to Tony Horwitz's new book ($60 in hardback), hop onto Amazon and order it from America (even with the shipping, it cost me less), I started getting a little angry. WHY in the world are books so expensive here?

You'd think after several Writing & Editing Masters-level courses and a lot of conversations with bookish friends, I'd get it. But it wasn't until I did some sleuthing on parallel import restriction (PIRs) that it all started falling into place. Parallel importation, as I understand it, is when a 'non-counterfeit' product is bought and brought into another country without the permission of the intellectual property owner. For example, most big magazines - for example, National Geographic - have individual branches in different countries that publish their own version of the mother product. For example, the U.S. publishes National Geographic, whereas Australia publishes its own version: National Geographic Australia. But some retailers will still import copies of the U.S. version and sell them, as well. Parallel import restrictions mean that Australian distributors can't buy a foreign (mother) version of a book if an Australian company has bought copyright and is already producing the book in Australia.

To look into the implications of PIRs I'll follow a particular book through the distribution process. Let's pretend that I just had a book published in the U.S. (Torn, let's say; it's good to be prepared). Foreign publishers will buy the rights to publish my book and will proceed to print and distribute it in their own country. In order for my book to be protected by PIRs, the Australian publisher who buys the rights needs to publish the 'Australian' copy of Torn within 30 days of its release in the U.S. and must have the capacity to reprint it within 90 days. If they don't, then Aussie retailers can buy Torn from an overseas market at a more competitive price and have it shipped in. These restrictions are meant to protect the Australian publishing industry, but a debate continues to rage about whether PIRs really do that, or whether they simply make book prices higher.

PIRs seem to mean a couple of things. First, it means that the Australian publishing industry is being protected. A free market without PIRs would mean that retailers could source books from overseas, which would inevitably undercut the industry at a local level. A lot of the profit from PIRs goes back to Australian authors and publishers, which is, of course, a wonderful thing. But it also means that PIRs help keep book prices in Australia high because they create a less competitive market. A recent study suggests that consumers in Australia are paying around 30% more for books than the rest of the world. Yikes. If Australia didn't have PIRs, then distributors could buy a shipment of books from another country on the cheap, bring them into Australia and sell them at a retail price somewhere between price A (the price they bought it for) and price B (standard Aussie pricing, including the GST). That kind of competition could mean lower prices for consumers - if local chains *ahemDymocks* could be persuaded to sell their books for less. But it could also devastate the Australian publishing industry.

I've heard a lot of Aussie authors get fairly upset about doing away with PIRs, and I can understand their worry. Many authors argue that chucking PIRs will silence Aussie voices both old and new. Because PIRs help ensure that Aussie publishers see the same kinds of profits from printing international favorites like Charlaine Harris's Sookie Stackhouse series as they do from Aussie up-and-comers, they're still willing to take chances on local talent. Local author Kim Wilkins makes great points about the many potential pitfalls that might come of axing PIRs, including the 'Americanization' of the Aussie industry: cheap books imported (well, because they're cheap) from the U.S., with an American cover and American spelling, that means a lesser product for the consumer, a smaller royalty for the author, and a lot less business for Aussie publishing.

The Australia Library & Information Association (ALIA), not a favorite with Aussie authors these days, found that local writers WOULD miss out on a certain amount of money if PIRs were done away with. But they also maintain that the people making the most out of PIRs are international authors, who reap much higher returns than local talent. That means that much of the book buyer's money flows right through the fingers of the Australian economy and straight overseas into other markets. But not as much as they might if PIRs were axed. Because in order for their to be an Australian publishing industry, there has to be money to support it. Otherwise everyone suffers, from writers to publishers to consumers.

I'm not sure where all this sits with me. One point rings out as clear as coins hitting the bottom of an empty jar, and that's the 'propositions' that the productivity commission proposed to help support the industry if PIRs are abolished. Most of their recommendations circle around 'providing grant funding' for writers. Okay, grants are all well and good, but that's a pretty vague and frustrating solution. And why oh WHY is it that writers have to fight that hard to make a living? Writers should be allowed to make money for their craft, just like any other job. They shouldn't have to beg and plead for the funding to be able to do what they do, especially if the demand for their stories is there.

One thing seems certain: book prices are too high. I'm sorry, but $60 for a hardback? No wonder we can't get people to read. I can only imagine how many people (myself included) are using Amazon and Book Depo to get books at a better rate, which can't be all that great for local industry. It sounds to me like PIRs aren't working as well as they could for both consumer and author. That said, I think protecting the industry is incredibly important. I'd hate to see the U.S. and U.K. market, rubbing their hands together and cackling, waiting to eat the little Aussie publishing world alive if there was nothing in place to protect it - because that's exactly what would happen. Protecting and serving authors and publishers means placing a value on cultural integrity, which inevitably means better quality for consumers and more opportunities for people like me.

The End of an Era

The giant, three-story Borders in Brisbane city finally closed. I went to visit it several times in its final weeks in order to say goodbye--and to be one of the swooping vultures taking advantage of sale prices. It was sad seeing the shelves cleared off and barren, the books stacked up in crooked Sale bins.

It's not that I'm a huge lover of chain stores. I'm really more of a local indie girl (Avid Reader and Riverbend are my favorites in Brisbane). But as far as chains go, I've always appreciated Borders. I loved this Borders in particular, because it had a massive selection, a lot of nooks in which to sit and read, and because I made a lot of memories in it.

I was sitting in that Borders when I first realized I was actually writing a novel. It was the same place I had some long, memorable chats with my favorite Brisbane friends. It was the place where I first heard some Brisbane musicians that have gone on to feature as a major addition to my music library. It was just sad to see it coming to the end of its life. Especially so because the store looks the way feel--a little forlorn.

But it seems fitting, in a way, that Borders is shutting its doors when my own time in Australia is coming to a close. It reminds me that life is about change, and that change is not always a horrible thing. Most good things do come to an end. I believe in celebrating endings and milking them for all they're worth, and in these next two months, that's exactly what I'll be doing.

Someone Save Me (From Myself)

Life gets tough sometimes. So much so that we want to disappear.

Some people disappear with naughty things like booze and random dalliances with muscly strangers. Me? I read. I've always thought this was a fantastically wholesome habit. What's better for a hurting spirit than a good 'ole dip in the literary pond? But then I started reading when I should have been doing other things. Like applying for jobs. And working on my writing. And eating proper meals off plates.

I read to get away from the stuff I don't want to deal with. Sometimes that means I'm spending over half a day reading instead of being a productive member of society. And I find myself wondering: is there a point when a book addiction becomes bad for you? Has that point been reached when you try to read and do dishes at the same time? Or when you actually contemplate skipping a shower because hygiene takes up valuable reading time?

My name is Kate Armstrong, and I'm a readaholic.

Reverence, Respect & Mauling

In Anne Fadiman's book Ex Libris, a fabulous ode to book nerds the world over, she discusses the different ways in which we treat our books. Fadiman wisely surmises that "... just as there is more than one way to love a person, so there is more than one way to love a book". The way she sees it, there's 'courtly love' and 'carnal love'- and which the book lover practices can say more than one thing about them.

I found myself fascinated by her articulation of a thing I've thought about for years. It's interesting to me how people treat their books and how adamant they are about the right way to love literature. One of the authors at work- definitely a courtly lover- admitted to me that she hates writing in books, so much so that she didn't want to mark in a copy of her own book. I'd say that's an old-fashioned feeling- books are hallowed, keep them clean- but I've known many an older reader who beat their most loved books into submission. My grandfather lived by his books, and he wrote in his (with a pencil). Granted, he only put tiny tick marks next to paragraphs, a pretty minimalist legacy to leave behind. Reading past his tick marks is like becoming a detective: why did he mark that part? What was it that made him slow down and make note?

It seems to me like every reader has their own cringe-worthy feelings about a certain book marking vice. There are those who think writing in a book is a huge bookkeeping sin.

Then there are those people who want to cry when they see a book laid open and face down instead of using a book mark. I've never much cared about leaving books laid open, but a broken spine is a tough pill for me to swallow.

Then there are those people (I'll say right now that I DO NOT get you) that won't buy second-hand books because they are 'dirty'. You know what else is dirty? Money. Treadmills. Door knobs. Your car seat probably has a higher probability of giving you somebody's cooties. And isn't there something great about a book with a history? One that you know has been in someone else's hands, has passed through somebody else's life? Plus they are savers of trees. So get over yourself.

I'm a carnal lover of books (shocking, I know). I tend to devour them, underline them, sometimes (often) stain them. That, plus my frighteningly acute power of losing book marks (even while lying supine and still), means that dog-earring is sometimes a necessity. But ever since I watched Finding Forester, I've had conflicted feelings about dog-earring a page. I can understand why someone would find dog earring offensive... but isn't it better to see that a book has been consumed?

All of this nerdy musing leaves me wondering: can you tell the level of love a book has experienced by its condition? By looking at how someone treats their books, can you learn anything interesting about them that you wouldn't have known otherwise?

I went to my own bookshelf to investigate.

Most of my books are still State side, so I've got a limited sample size. That said, here are some of my findings from books I picked (somewhat) at random:

St Lucy's Home For Girls Raised by Wolves (loved it): browned, water wrinkled, and written in. Still has the price tag on from Politics & Prose (bought 12/7 of an unknown year), which makes my heart squeeze.

Confederates in the Attic (loved it): Holding up well, but a little dirty around the edges. It still smells like the bookstore at the Antietam battlefield. Makes me think of fall and of my Dad.

Down Under (loved it): Wow. I just found my ticket stub from my flight from Paris to Dubai in this book- one of the flights on my first long journey to Australia. I can tell I had this book while in 'Europe' mode- it is yellow, beaten, tired-looking and proud of it.

Watership Down (loved it): scratched and a bit weather beaten, but still in pretty good shape. I found a bus slip in it from grad school days. Spine still very much unbroken.

Mudbound (loved it): spine broken (damn), and bottom corner stained, probably because I loved it so much I loaned it to three people and keep on my desk (where I often eat [spill] breakfast and writing snacks).

Conclusions?

1. I have not made a habit of keeping books I've only sorta liked since coming to Australia.

2. I can tell which books are from which eras of my life. Dog eared and written in profusely= high school falling-in-love-with-literature era. Sun damaged from sitting on a windowsill/dented from holding up a bed= frantic, boisterous college era. Filled with memorabilia but otherwise treated with some semblance of respect= big girl era. All have been ravaged. Just in different ways.

3. My books are a time machine through which I can revisit the time when I bought them and read them. That's pretty nice.

4. The only books of mine that look pristine are the ones I haven't read yet.

Inconclusive findings, but interesting (to me, anyway). So what's your book handling philosophy?

Conquering The Pile

Anyone who calls themselves a Reader will know The Pile. Go look at your bookshelf... what do you see? There are the books you've just finished, stuffed lovingly between the ones you read over and over again. If you're like me, you see books from your childhood; books you're saving for friends; monsters that were a big part of your college education that you can't bring yourself to get rid of. Looking good!

OK, but wait... look closely. What about all those books that you bought/were given many moons ago, but you just haven't gotten around to reading? Are those unread titles, neglected and gathering dust amongst your best-loved classics, burning their images into your retinas? Telling you (as does your partner/roommate/family member who is disgusted by your book-buying problem) that "you HAVE books in your bookshelf you haven't read. Why don't you just read one of those?"

You've been trying to avoid them, haven't you? That's why, for me, they're called The Pile. I've stacked these books (not small in number, I'm afraid) and let them teeter precariously in a conspicuous spot. That way, every time I walk out the door and make a bee-line for Avid or Borders, I am reminded that trees died so that I could use these books as window dressing. Heavy, space-stealing, hard-to-take-with-me-overseas-in-large-quantities window dressing. I can almost hear their tiny voices pleading, "Read us. You'll like us. Promise."

It's not that I don't want to read them. I bought them because I wanted to read them (or was given them by someone who I respect and adore). It's just that I don't want to read them right NOW. A book can be ruined if you read it at the wrong time, squandering my potential for ultimate enjoyment. There just never seems to be a great time to give them the attention they deserve. That's why I stopped making New Years resolutions like "I will read every book that I own that I haven't already read." It's a guaranteed failure, every time. Plus, I have a bookstore addiction... but that's a subject for another post.

Still, a girl's got to put her foot down sometime. Some of my now-favorite books have come from The Pile. My Dad gave me The Time Traveller's Wife one year, and it wasn't until maybe two years later that I actually cracked that sucker open. That sucker then proceeded to rock my world.

This is My List, currently harassing me from the corner of my desk:

Song For Night by Chris Abani

If On A Winter's Night A Traveller by Italo Calvino

Amsterdam by Ian McEwan

The Moviegoer by Percy

The Idea of Perfection by Kate Grenville

Accordion Crimes by Annie Proulx

Lie Down In Darkness by William Styron

The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold

Netherland by Joseph O'Neill

Time to get cracking on whittling my List. Who's featuring on yours?