The Secret Lives of Booksellers and Librarians: True Stories of the Magic of Reading

“Everyone says that kids don’t read anymore, which I don’t find to be true. We have so many enthusiastic kids leaving the store with stacks of books. They’re staring at computer screens all day long, so having a physical book in their hands, I think, allows them an escape.”

This quote subverts the common assumption that younger generations don’t read for leisure and claims that technological advances detract from the appeal of books. Instead, the writer explains how the integration of technology into everyday life enhances the escapist qualities of books, making them even more attractive to young people.

“‘A room without books is like a body without a soul.’ That’s the line printed on our new in-store table signs.”

This widely quoted aphorism memorably and concisely communicates the importance of books through use of a simile. The implication is that the presence of books is a prerequisite for a dwelling place to be considered a home, and it creates an association between books and one’s soul, identity, and sense of belonging. The aphorism has its origins in the writings of Roman author and orator Cicero (Letters to Atticus): “Postea vero quam Tyrannio mihi libros disposuit, mens addita videtur meis aedibus,” which translates to “Moreover, since Tyrannio has arranged my books for me, my house seems to have had a soul added to it.”

“Everybody I know reads, and we talk books all the time. I have to remind myself that I’m living in a bubble. I’m always astounded to hear about the number of people who don’t read. I’ve taken to double-checking those sobering statistics compiled by Literacy Inc., that 33 percent of high school graduates never pick up another book, and that 42 percent of college grads don’t either. Oh yeah, and apparently 80 percent of American families did not purchase a book this year. I can’t imagine what people do without books in their lives.”

The writer uses statistics to concisely communicate how little the average American reads. The numbers are intended to shock the audience, who may share the writer’s “astounded” and “sober” perspective. Statistics add authority and objectivity to the assertion that the writer’s experiences with reading and with the literary world are an outlier or “bubble” rather than the norm, while the use of the interjection “oh yeah” retains the chapter’s informal, conversational tone.

“We push for a long time to get one particular author to the store. ‘Can we get James Patterson? Can we get James Patterson?’

And finally we get to host James Patterson. As you would imagine, we have a huge turnout, with people lined up for a good while. It was all very smooth and organized. He was a delight. Everyone was happy. So that was an amazing night.”

The repetition of the question “Can we get James Patterson?,” as well as the usage of the adverb “finally,” shows the degree of insistence that was needed to secure his visit, as well as the booksellers’ determination to do so. References to Patterson within the book show his power as a literary figure, his widespread popularity with the general public, and his omnipresence within commercial literary settings. Such positive testimonies as this contribute to James Patterson’s carefully maintained personal brand.

“People come into the mall and see empty storefronts around. ‘This is the first time I’ve been to the mall in years,’ they tell me. ‘What happened?’

‘It’s the first time you’ve been to the mall in years,’ I reply. ‘It’s as simple as that.’”

The writer uses reported dialogue to make a point about how vital footfall is to the survival of shops. Greene’s retort humorously and pointedly repeats their interlocutor’s statement back at them in response to their question, thereby explaining how they are partially at fault for the sorry state of the mall. This indirectly chastises any readers who do not themselves regularly visit their local malls.

“Another customer comes into the store. ‘I’m looking for a book. I don’t know the title, but the cover is blue.’

‘What’s it about? Do you know?’

‘Dystopian, I’m pretty sure. And it’s long, about nine hundred pages.’

I show her The Passage by Justin Cronin.

‘Yes!’ the woman practically screams. ‘I can’t believe you found it!’

There is no higher high than winning the ‘cover is blue’ contest.”

This quote references a longstanding joke within literary circles, namely that librarians and booksellers are often asked to identify books based off insufficient information. This joke was referenced in the title of Elias Greig’s book on library culture, I Can’t Remember the Title But the Cover Is Blue (2018). The sense of victory that comes with finding the correct book is heightened by the difficulty of the task and made into a source of humor by the perceived absurdity of the request.

“The stack of waiting-to-be-read books on my nightstand towers as high as the Berlin Wall.

And I keep adding to it.”

The writer, Mike Bursaw, uses a simile to illustrate the tallness of his pile of books. The Berlin Wall famously divided East and West Germany during the Cold War until it was torn down in 1989. It was a symbol of the divide that was notoriously difficult to traverse. The comparison is comedic because it implies that Bursaw’s pile of books is tall to the point of being insurmountable but potentially unstable and prone to toppling. The fact that this reference is so outdated and historical now is thematically linked to Bursaw’s assertions that he is himself too old to work as he once did.

“‘Have you ever watched the Firefly series?’ I ask my staff. The beloved cult TV show from the creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a space opera about a motley crew of characters flying a big rust-bucket spaceship that’s constantly having to be duct-taped together.

That’s my vision, that I am the captain of a rust bucket with a crew of wonderful, quirky people who enjoy working in an independent bookstore.”

Nina Barrett compares running a bookstore to piloting a “rust-bucket spaceship” through a reference to the sci-fi TV show Firefly. This pop-culture reference concisely and evocatively conveys Barrett’s experience with the business in a humorous way; the comparison is unexpected—particularly since the referenced media is not book-related—but nonetheless seemingly apt.

“I jump on the idea and start calling authors I know—Anne Lamott, Isabel Allende, and Khaled Hosseini, author of the international bestseller The Kite Runner—with worldwide fab bases. Ann Patchett, Dave Eggers, and Michael Connelly are also early participants. It’s amazing, but not surprising, to see authors, readers, and industry organizations step forward, a supportive community that stretches far beyond the Bay Area.”

Barrett uses tripling, the listing of elements in groups of three, to list out the authors and supporters who contributed to this idea. The names of those involved are divided into groups of three to avoid a long, unbroken list of names, so the names are communicated more memorably and strikingly. This device allows Barrett to give credit to a high number of contributors, expressing her gratitude, and lets her show off the popularity and prestige of the project through its many high-profile participants.

“One of the jewels in our collection is our Holocaust survivor testimonies, video testimonies that were recorded in 1995. They’re incredibly moving. I keep a lot of Kleenex in the viewing room. The moments of recognition are indescribable. Many of those survivors have since passed away, but that person comes back to life on-screen.”

Joel Bangilan metaphorically refers to the testimonies as a jewel. This communicates the cultural value of the recordings and further implies that the collection of resources he manages is akin to a hoard of treasure. The fact that he assigns such importance to something other than a book shows the wide range and variety of resources available in libraries. His reference to the need for tissues and assertion that survivors “come back to life” shows the emotional power of the testimonies, and it highlights the important role played by the library in nurturing understanding and connections with the past.

“How do I describe to him the joyous feeling I get when I put the right book in the right hand? How do I explain that this small act has the potential to change someone’s life? How do I explain how I want to create a business that makes a difference in the community? That I want to create a work environment that is satisfying and nourishing for my staff?”

Roxanne Coady uses repeated rhetorical questions—questions that are asked with no anticipation of a response—to illustrate her uncertainty and the difficulty of communicating effectively. This technique also encourages the reader to ponder the questions themselves and to acknowledge the validity of Coady’s motivations for changing careers.

“In February 2022, shortly after the Tennessee school board banned Maus, a graphic novel about the Holocaust, a pastor from the state livestreams a book-burning event on Facebook. A large crowd cheers as copies of books from the Harry Potter and Twilight series, among others, are tossed into a bonfire.

The incident in Tennessee inspires me to update our message board: We put the ‘lit’ in literature. Inside, I create a display showing well-known banned books such as To Kill a Mockingbird and Fahrenheit 451.”

Baker references events that were widely publicized and reported on at the time, forming an immediate bond of recognition between Baker and any reader previously familiar with the controversy. The opportunity to hear Baker’s side of a well-publicized story makes the chapter more relevant. Even for readers previously unfamiliar with these events, the information in this quote is easily researchable and verifiable, which makes Baker’s testimony more reliable. This quote also includes an element of comedy with the pun “we put the lit in literature” in Baker’s defiant but outwardly flippant display. The humor of the play on word and accompanying display is intended to show confidence despite the somber references to the Holocaust and book burnings because it is a form of resistance to such censorship.

“‘Thank you for doing this,’ people tell me, especially around the holidays.

My response is always the same. ‘It’s my wife, not me. Thank her. She’s the magic.’”

David Lucey’s deflection of praise onto his wife is indicative of her leading role in the business, his own humble nature, and the strength of their relationship. The demurring is particularly effective because the prior chapter, Chapter 9, was written by Lucey’s wife herself, meaning that the reader was already aware that she does indeed take point position in managing their business. The decision to include successive testimony from both members of the couple creates a sense of cohesion and shows how even people working in the same store—never mind in the same industry—can have different perspectives and experiences, even while sharing a love of books and a commitment to literacy.

“Take a chance on something. We have so many great stories to share with you.

And remember: it’s a library book. If you don’t like it, return it and try something else!”

The writer uses the imperative mood to forcefully encourage the reader to use their local library. This command is intensified by the short sentences of concise instructions, the exclamation mark at the end of the paragraph, and the use of the second-person pronoun “you” to directly address the reader. The writer also creates a sense of community and belonging around the transaction by using the first-person plural “we” and the verb “to share,” along with a reassuring tone through the reminder that there’s no pressure or permanence associated with borrowing a library book.

“I don’t care how you consume your books, whether you read them on paper, whether you read them on your Kindle or your phone or your tablet, or whether you are listening to them. I do all of the above, and it all counts, as far as I’m concerned.”

This quote subverts one of many assumptions that people make about librarians: that they value the reading of paper books over all other forms of literary consumption. Mara Zonderman outright refutes this point of view and aligns herself with those who are often criticized by admitting her own impartial habits. This subversion of expectations is key to the book’s appeal as it fulfills the secret aspect of the book’s title, The Secret Lives of Booksellers and Librarians.

“It’s a beautiful thing. For my parents, reading is like breathing. Our home is covered in books. Mom and Dad are constantly talking about what they’re reading. To be able to join in on these conversations makes me feel like I’m truly a part of the family.”

Cappy Yarbrough’s love of reading, despite her initial difficulty, is made abundantly clear in this quote. Literacy and literature are foundational elements of her natal household, and sharing that creates a familial bond between her and her parents, which is beautiful. She describes her parents’ ease as akin to breathing in a simile that emphasizes the difference between their automatic ability and Yarbrough’s hard-won skill. This description of her childhood experience with reading explains Yarbrough’s lifelong commitment to literacy, inviting the reader to discover or rediscover the joy of reading too.

“Babylon Village on Long Island, where I grew up, is, as the locals say, a drinking village with a fishing problem. […] Sag Harbor, I’ve realized, isn’t a village with a bookstore. It’s a village that is a bookstore.”

In the first half of this quote, Berry subverts and reverses the expected phrases “fishing village” and “drinking problem” to humorously express the prevalence of drinking in her village. She uses a similar formula afterward to express and exaggerate the importance of literature in Sag Harbor through reversing the order of the words “village” and “bookstore” while changing the relationship between the two concepts in a witty and expressive parallelism.

“Building literacy doesn’t even have to start with actual reading. I’ve seen little kids who insist on carrying around a Harry Potter book or a Paul Auster novel. Maybe they just like the colors on the cover. And that’s okay. The important part is that they are identifying as someone who totes around a big book.

It doesn’t matter whether or not that child can truly read it. That child is loving that book. We can still celebrate it.

It’s all a part of literacy development.”

Amy Cheney clearly makes a distinction between learning to read and literacy development, illustrating how the importance of the latter is often overlooked and under-appreciated when reading is not directly involved. The example of young children carrying around and loving books they cannot yet read paints a sentimental picture and is likely familiar behavior to many people who interact with small children. Cheney highlights the importance of identifying as someone who loves books regardless of reading level and encourages the celebration of typically overlooked stages of literacy development.

“I went through a tough time myself recently. […] Seeing myself through the eyes of the character, a young trans boy who is trying to prove himself to his family and to the world, helped me with my own struggles.”

Kai Burner describes his own experience identifying with books and finding support in them when going through a difficult period. This autobiographical testimony is key to the appeal of The Secret Lives of Booksellers and Librarians, providing insight into the experiences and perspectives of real people. By candidly communicating his struggles, Burner invites empathy from the reader and creates a bond with any who have used books as a crutch in their own lives.

“I have a student from the Middle East,’ the teacher says. ‘She’s very shy and doesn’t speak much. But when I read I’m New Here to the class, this little girl just lit up for the first time. After I finished reading it, she came and asked if she could take the book home with her.’

The girl took the book home and showed her parents, who were so moved they called the school to express their gratitude. Reading the book in class had such a positive impact on their daughter and her new life in America.”

This example shows the positive impact that books can have on children and the meaningful difference that efforts to foster inclusion and community can have on people’s lives. Quoting the teacher directly lends more credence and immediacy to Pamela Blair’s story because it allows a closer connection to her story. The teacher’s feedback is proof that Blair was correct about the need for the shop in her community. This quote functions as an argument in favor of providing children with access to more diverse books, particularly in educational environments.

“I gasp and sit up in my gray recliner.

My heart is racing. My stomach is churning, and I’m physically shaking, my nerves are so on edge.”

Martha Hickson conveys emotion by describing her physical reaction to the accusation against her. Her body language conveys the depth of her shock, as does the use of short, repetitive sentences. The visceral reaction encourages sympathy for Hickson and preemptively justifies her feelings of betrayal and frustration when the school district fails to defend her.

“Ohio loves its libraries. Cuyahoga County Public Library has been named the number one library system in the country for twelve straight years in the same category as the New York public libraries and the Boston public libraries.”

Bill Kelly personifies the state of Ohio by assigning it the agency to love. This communicates the important role that libraries play in the community structure there, as well as the library’s high status in Ohio. Kelly’s pride in his work is evident in his quoting of the library’s ranking and in his pointed reminder that it has surpassed more prestigious and high-profile rivals in New York and Boston.

“I look out the windows at a sky bruised grayish purple with the rotational force of ominous-looking black clouds. Within seconds, the rain starts blowing sideways with a kind of power I’ve never witnessed.

We’re all scared to death. It’s clear we’re in the path of a tornado.”

The use of the descriptor “bruised” foreshadows the coming violence of the storm and evokes a vivid, almost tactile impression of the color of the sky. The detailed descriptions of the weather and the use of negative language like “ominous” and “scared to death” builds tension as the tornado approaches, intensifying the presence of the writer’s fear. The use of short sentences and matter-of-fact statements in the final paragraph further contributes to the building tension.