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The Mystery of My Indie Bookstore Dream
[Editor's note: BookNerd is supposed to run on Sundays, but it was a busy weekend.]
Seattle Mystery Bookshop, at Cherry St. and 1rst Ave. downtown, is right in my neighborhood, but somehow I had never gone in. A typical inner dialogue:
"Books! I want to stop."
"You don't read mysteries."
"Maybe they have books that aren't mysteries."
"They're the mystery bookshop."
"Maybe I should be reading mysteries. I need to read more stories with plots."
"Oh, shoot. Happy hour's ending in 15 minutes."
Last Thursday, I finally had an excuse to wander in: Mother's Day. My mom loves mysteries.
Looking to find the next author for mom to read obsessively, I browsed a bit. I hovered around the Poe table, followed the trail of red-paint "blood" on the floor to the classics, and wandered across the aisle to "Animysteries." (I found out later that Animysteries are a cat-friendly sub-subgenre of the "Cozy" subgenre, which also includes "Culinary" mysteries—Strawberry Shortcake Murder, Blueberry Muffin Murder, Lemon Meringue Murder .)
Meanwhile, customers came and went, and the salespeople knew them. It's my indie bookstore dream: It's like Cheers . You walk in. You joke around a little. They know you, and they know your usual. Shelley Long throws in a literary non-sequitur.
After sorting through the new releases (dead body; missing child, dead body; hideously dismembered dead body chained to a piece of concrete in the river), I decided I was inadequately suited to pick the right authors for my mom, so I asked for help. Fran, the woman behind the counter, said, "That's what we're here for. What does your mom like?"
Me: She loves true crime. She's read everything Ann Rule's ever written. And she likes those alphabet books, A is for ... whatever.
Other customer: A is for Alibi. That's Sue Grafton.
Me: And she loves P.D. James.
(Fran walks me over to the H section.)
Fran: Has she read Susan Hill? She's also British.
(Oops. British? P.D. James is British? This is when I realize that the writer my mom loves is actually J.A. Jance, who's from Seattle.)
Me: Is Susan Hill literary?
Other customer: Ooh. Susan Hill. Can I see that book?
Fran: She's an excellent writer.
Me: My mom doesn't like descriptive writers too much. She doesn't like to spend three pages on the tree where the dead body was found.
Fran: She can be detailed, but she's really a good writer.
Me: My mom likes books that are hard to figure out. Intricate plots with lots of clues.
Fran: Has she read Stella Rimington? (She walks over the the R shelves.) Rimington's the former Director-General of MI5.
Me: (blank stare)
Fran: That's the British equivalent to the FBI. This one's about a terrorist...
Me: You know what my mom loves? CSI . Forensics. My mom is totally into forensics.
Ding ding ding. Fran then picked up the two books that would be my mom's Mother's Day present: Trace Evidence by Elizabeth Becka, a real-life evidence specialist, and Deja Dead, the first in a series by Kathy Reichs, the forensic anthropologist behind Bones (that TV show with Angel on it).
Fran so efficiently came up with ideas based on my mom's interests, and she was so sweet about it, and so enthusiastic about books in general (right up my alley!) that I decided she was the exact person I needed to usher me into the mystery genre. Based on the cryptic categories I gave her (funny, quirky, old, noir, supernatural), Fran loaded me up with a pile of books:
George Pelecanos, Shoedog
Dennis Lehane, A Drink Before the War
Yasmine Galenorn's Otherworld series
Loren D. Estleman, Poison Blonde
I also found one more book in "Small Presses to Watch." From Lemons Never Lie:
Fran invited me to sit with my imposing pile of books in an armchair near the Rex Stout collection. "We're not responsible if you sit in that chair and fall asleep," she said.
Just as I sat down, a customer came in: "Where's Michael Connolly? Do you have him in a special place?"
"Yes," says Fran. "He has his own shrine."
Seattle Mystery Bookshop is at 117 Cherry Street. A full list of mystery subgenres and a calendar with upcoming author events can be found on their website.
Seattle Mystery Bookshop, at Cherry St. and 1rst Ave. downtown, is right in my neighborhood, but somehow I had never gone in. A typical inner dialogue:
"Books! I want to stop."
"You don't read mysteries."
"Maybe they have books that aren't mysteries."
"They're the mystery bookshop."
"Maybe I should be reading mysteries. I need to read more stories with plots."
"Oh, shoot. Happy hour's ending in 15 minutes."
Last Thursday, I finally had an excuse to wander in: Mother's Day. My mom loves mysteries.
Looking to find the next author for mom to read obsessively, I browsed a bit. I hovered around the Poe table, followed the trail of red-paint "blood" on the floor to the classics, and wandered across the aisle to "Animysteries." (I found out later that Animysteries are a cat-friendly sub-subgenre of the "Cozy" subgenre, which also includes "Culinary" mysteries—Strawberry Shortcake Murder, Blueberry Muffin Murder, Lemon Meringue Murder .)
Meanwhile, customers came and went, and the salespeople knew them. It's my indie bookstore dream: It's like Cheers . You walk in. You joke around a little. They know you, and they know your usual. Shelley Long throws in a literary non-sequitur.
After sorting through the new releases (dead body; missing child, dead body; hideously dismembered dead body chained to a piece of concrete in the river), I decided I was inadequately suited to pick the right authors for my mom, so I asked for help. Fran, the woman behind the counter, said, "That's what we're here for. What does your mom like?"
Me: She loves true crime. She's read everything Ann Rule's ever written. And she likes those alphabet books, A is for ... whatever.
Other customer: A is for Alibi. That's Sue Grafton.
Me: And she loves P.D. James.
(Fran walks me over to the H section.)
Fran: Has she read Susan Hill? She's also British.
(Oops. British? P.D. James is British? This is when I realize that the writer my mom loves is actually J.A. Jance, who's from Seattle.)
Me: Is Susan Hill literary?
Other customer: Ooh. Susan Hill. Can I see that book?
Fran: She's an excellent writer.
Me: My mom doesn't like descriptive writers too much. She doesn't like to spend three pages on the tree where the dead body was found.
Fran: She can be detailed, but she's really a good writer.
Me: My mom likes books that are hard to figure out. Intricate plots with lots of clues.
Fran: Has she read Stella Rimington? (She walks over the the R shelves.) Rimington's the former Director-General of MI5.
Me: (blank stare)
Fran: That's the British equivalent to the FBI. This one's about a terrorist...
Me: You know what my mom loves? CSI . Forensics. My mom is totally into forensics.
Ding ding ding. Fran then picked up the two books that would be my mom's Mother's Day present: Trace Evidence by Elizabeth Becka, a real-life evidence specialist, and Deja Dead, the first in a series by Kathy Reichs, the forensic anthropologist behind Bones (that TV show with Angel on it).
Fran so efficiently came up with ideas based on my mom's interests, and she was so sweet about it, and so enthusiastic about books in general (right up my alley!) that I decided she was the exact person I needed to usher me into the mystery genre. Based on the cryptic categories I gave her (funny, quirky, old, noir, supernatural), Fran loaded me up with a pile of books:
George Pelecanos, Shoedog
Dennis Lehane, A Drink Before the War
Yasmine Galenorn's Otherworld series
Loren D. Estleman, Poison Blonde
I also found one more book in "Small Presses to Watch." From Lemons Never Lie:
Cathcart was a stocky man, short, with the broad low tugboat build that most good getaway drivers seem to have. He had obviously tried to dress himself to match his surroundings, but that brown suit wouldn't have belonged in this hotel even when it was new.
Fran invited me to sit with my imposing pile of books in an armchair near the Rex Stout collection. "We're not responsible if you sit in that chair and fall asleep," she said.
Just as I sat down, a customer came in: "Where's Michael Connolly? Do you have him in a special place?"
"Yes," says Fran. "He has his own shrine."
Seattle Mystery Bookshop is at 117 Cherry Street. A full list of mystery subgenres and a calendar with upcoming author events can be found on their website.
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