Adopting Eighty Year Olds: A Review of “Soft In The Head”

Affection is something that grows on the quiet, it takes root without you knowing, then overruns the place worse than Japanese knotweed. By then, it’s too late: you can’t dose your heart with Roundup to weed out feelings.

– Marie-Sabine Roger, Soft In The Head

Soft In The Head by Marie-Sabine Roger, is one of the most brilliant books you will read this year, or likely read in your entire life. So few books have the same ability to warm your heart as this one does, and I can’t help but want to share this book with everyone I know.

Soft In The Head follows the story of Germain, a man on the wrong side of forty, who finds himself out of place in his own social world. Dubbed a ‘worthless halfwit’ by his mother, abandoned by his father before he was even born, and the constant butt of his own drunkard friends’ jokes, Germain is a man who is not afraid to tell it like it is, even if he is not quite sure what it is. Yet one day, in amongst his quest to have his name etched on the town war memorial, feeding the pigeons and whittling pieces of wood into beautiful figures, Germain finds the best thing to happen to him – Margueritte, an eighty five year old woman sitting on a park bench. The book goes on to tell the story of their relationship, each teaching the other what they have to offer, and learning how the smallest encounters can change their way of looking at the world, and bring happiness where there was none.

This is a book that climbs into your heart and sets up camp there for long after you have turned the final page. The whole time I was reading it, I was mesmerised by the gentle and understated loveliness of it. The prose is true and honest and deeply specific to its narrator, whilst feeling comfortable and familiar at the same time – a striking balance that I have to commend Marie-Sabine Roger for.

The protagonist and narrator, Germain, is easily one of my favourite first person narrators in fiction. With a voice somewhere between that of the narrators of The Rosie Project and The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Germain is unabashedly honest in his way of looking at things, unafraid to be himself in a world that does not always accept people with mental disabilities. And then there is Margueritte, the loveliest eighty five year old you could possibly imagine. Germain’s determination to adopt her as his grandmother (a funny turn on the adoptive family idea), is one of the most wonderful things I have ever read. I could not help but laugh as Germain set about his idea to adopt Margueritte, “just in case”.

But what strikes me about this book the most is the way it shines a glowing spotlight on the myriad of relationships it describes. No relationship in this book is perfect – in fact, they are all incredibly messy and troubled. But they are all filled with something unique and special, and no two are the same. Marie-Sabine Roger has created a group of people who reflect human relationships in a tender and heartfelt way, without sugar coating the troubles that come with being human. Soft In The Head is about affection, and the way you don’t even notice your deep affectionate attachments with people until it is too late, and you are stuck with the people you though you didn’t like, but realise you can’t live without.

A special thanks goes to the translator, Frank Wynne, who has skilfully translated this beautiful piece of French literature to English. As always, I am astounded and extremely grateful for the work of translators of fiction, and knowing how happy this book made me, I cannot thank Wynne enough for bringing this story to English language readers.

If you are looking for something unique, brilliant, and full of affection and light, I cannot recommend this book enough. Marie-Sabine Roger has delivered perhaps one of the greatest stories in modern literature with such gentle care and I know that it will stay with me for a very long time.

 

Soft In The Head is now available from Pushkin Press’ online shop or in all good bookstores. As always, INWORDSANDINK encourages its readers to buy from and support their local independent bookstores.

Thank you once again to Pushkin Press for sending me a copy of Marie-Sabine Roger’s Soft In The Head. Whilst I was sent the book for reviewing purposes, I was not in any way paid or financially obligated to write this review.

 

© Hayley New 2016

Walking My City: A Review of Lauren Elkin’s “Flâneuse”

Flâneuse [flanne-euhze], noun, from the French. Feminine form of flâneur [flanne-euhr], an idler, a dawdling observer, usually found in cities.

That is an imaginary definition.

– Lauren Elkin

Lauren Elkin’s latest release, Flâneuse, is quite possibly the best reading experience I have had all year. Part memoir, part cultural history, part commentary, Flâneuse recounts the experiences of women and their relationships with the cities they lived and worked in.

Being a dual English Lit and Cultural Studies major at University, the idea of the flâneur is not new to me – most of the books I read for class are written by the great flâneurs of literature. But it was Elkin’s take on flânerie that really appealed to me when I found this book tucked in the back corner of my favourite bookshop. Putting women at the forefront of her work, Elkin gives space to some of the greatest and yet most underrated women artists in our history.

As a female writer, I was particularly struck by this book’s focus on the way in which female flânerie was linked so closely with the creative self, and how walking the city, becoming part of its social landscape is described as an artistic venture. Beginning with her own writing and her creative experiences in Paris and New York, Elkin describes some of the greatest cities on Earth and their inexplicable ties to human experience, art and creative cultural expression. In many ways, Flâneuse can be read as a love letter to Elkin’s most familiar city, Paris. Having lived there for a considerable time now, Elkin maps her own cultural and creative journey onto the city and its history, describing the city’s magnificent past and the women who used Paris as their own space for art and revolution.

But Flâneuse moves beyond Paris, stretching its arms out to New York, London, Venice and Tokyo, and even to your own cities. Elkin is sure never to get in the way of your own experiences, instead challenging you to pay attention to the way you interact with your city, and how you move through it. Whilst reading this book, I found myself paying particular attention to the ways in which I interact with my city, its culture and its creative landscape, the ways in which my femaleness is framed in the social spaces I inhabit. Flâneuse is as much a challenge to think about embodiment and inhabiting spaces as it is a record of cultural creativity and fluid cityscapes.  

Elkin’s prose is some of the best writing I have come across, particularly in Non-Fiction. Her way of layering cultural history, commentary and autobiography is unique and I was mesmerised by her talent for honest storytelling as I was reading. Through her writing, Elkin is an everywoman, but one with a special flair for sharing her thoughts in a respectful but confident way. There are moments in her writing that remind me of the same sort of tone as Caitlin Moran, but Elkin has a more polished voice, one that has been sanded around the edges by time, where Caitlin Moran boldly refuses to be shaped by anyone. Having never come across Elkin before this novel, I was astounded to find myself comparing her to my other female role models and favourite feminist writers, but looking back on my reading experience, I don’t doubt that gut instinct to put her up there on that list. Elkin is a genius, and I am incredibly grateful for her writing, and the personal and cultural history behind this book.

Flâneuse is now available from Penguin Random House or in all good bookstores. As always, INWORDSANDINK encourages its readers to buy from and support their local independent bookstores.

© Hayley New 2016

“Burning With Stars”: A Review of ‘Hide’

Books such as Hide don’t come around very often, but when they do, they break your heart.

Hide follows the story of Wendell Wilson, a taxidermist, and Frank Clifton, a veteran, who meet just after World War II, a time when their blooming relationship is not only considered socially offensive, but is also illegal. Deciding that their life together is more important than anything else in their lives, they move away from town, severing all ties with the outside world to protect themselves and their love for one another. But when Wendell finds an eighty-three year old Frank lying outside having a stroke, all the work they have put into their relationship starts to unravel.

I have never read a book that looks at domestic life between a gay couple like this, but I wish that a book like this had found its way to me sooner. Whilst, there is an element of tragedy to this story that I think is always closely linked to historical homosexual relationships such as this, the tragedy is not their homosexuality – it is the fact that they have to remove themselves from their community in order to live an ordinary life. The tragedy is the law that caused this, the society that made these men feel unsafe, and beyond that, afraid, to even be seen together in the supermarket. I was worried in some places that this book would play into the “sad tragic gay” trope a lot of fiction tends to fall into (purely by accident), and while there were moments where these men suffered because of their homosexuality, it was never their fault, it was always because of the law that forbade their relationship, it was because they were trying to protect those around them from ending up in jail because of a fundamentally sickening law.

But this book is about so much more than just the fact of their homosexuality. Hide is just as much about the changing domestic lives of couples as they age, as their bodies and minds start to fail them. As Frank gradually deteriorates throughout this novel, so too does Wendell, broken as much by Frank’s inability to live the life he was once able to, as he is by his own ageing body. Frank’s stroke at the beginning of this novel really cements for me what this book is about – it is about how love continues and grows, how it changes, over a lifetime together. There were moments of gentle bickering and poking fun at each other that reminded me of my own grandparents, the grumbles and jokes and regularities of everyday home life. These men felt like family – and that is no easy feat for an author to achieve.

The way Griffin describes these men leaves a very clear image of them in my mind, both of them in their youth, and in their older years. I can see Frank with all his tattoos up and down his arms, I can see Wendell watching Frank intently, trying with his eyes to ask the one question he can’t actually voice aloud. I can see them both poking and jabbing each other in their old age, sinking into wrinkled armchairs and trying to find each other in the murkiness of Frank’s disappearing memory, in the mess of their lives post-stroke. These men were vivid in my mind, and I can’t help but congratulate Matthew Griffin for the way he has brought them to life.

I will warn however, that some moments in this book could be disturbing for readers. For me at least, the scene where Frank tries to mow the lawn himself, with devastating consequences, was particularly uncomfortable to read, and honestly, made me feel sick to my stomach. I have to say though, that the methodical and non-accusing tone of Griffin’s writing really struck me in this moment. At no point does Griffin ever blame Frank for what he has become, but instead looks to save him in the very same way that Wendell wishes he could. And the heartbreaking thing is that we know that Frank’s brain will probably never let that happen.

I cried more than once reading this book, at both the happiest and saddest moments. This is a book about loss, and the harsh reality of losing someone even as they stand right before you. There is something beautiful about Griffin’s writing, the thoughtfulness of it, the way it rhythmically moves in and out and then in again. The dialogue feels genuine and familiar, whilst the prose rings true and bright and wonderful. I can’t wait to see what Griffin does next.

 

Hide by Matthew Griffin (RRP $28) is available in all good book stores from September 2016, or directly from the publisher, Allen & Unwin, here. 

As always, INWORDSANDINK encourages its readers to buy from, and support their local independent book stores.

 Thank you once again to Allen & Unwin for sending me a copy of Hide. Whilst I was sent the book for reviewing purposes, I was not in any way paid or financially obligated to write this review.

 

© Hayley New 2016

Unashamedly, Unabashedly Feminist: A Review of “I Call Myself A Feminist”

 

I Call Myself A Feminist is a collection of essays on feminism, written by a group of twenty five women under thirty. Interspersed with quotes from famous feminists, these essays get at the heart of modern feminism, discussing issues as widespread as catcalling, female genital mutilation, trans activism, sexual assault, education, intersectional discrimination, workplace sexism, and many more, this collection is easily one of the best, brightest and funniest assemblages of feminist work I have seen.

By limiting the collection to essays written by women under thirty, this collection allows the voices of young feminists the space to share their own stories about their feminist history and vocalise their concerns about how the patriarchy and misogyny operates in their world. I have rarely come across a collection such as this which focuses so significantly on the concerns of young feminists, those who have inherited a rich feminist history and tradition, and have, by extension, inherited all the stereotypes and problematics of this feminist tradition. More than one of the women in this collection have a personal family connection to a famous feminist or feminist movement, and the discussion that this collection allows them to have about their connection to historical feminism and the expectations around furthering the feminist cause is a vital one, especially when considering how young people are often the ones who seek the most revolutionary changes in society.

Perhaps the most poignant theme carried across the collection is a concern for the term ‘feminism’ itself, and the problematic associations people have attributed to the word in the last few decades. As a young feminist, I completely empathise with this concern. In many spaces, feminism is still considered a dirty word, used in connection with the archaic idea of the angry bra burning feminist, the feminist who hates all men and wants to eliminate them in order for female domination to ensue. I don’t think I have ever met a feminist like this in my life, and the likelihood of my meeting one any time soon is extremely slim. And yet, to call yourself a feminist can often mean that people immediately envision this version of you – a bitter angry woman who wants to complain about everything.

I Call Myself A Feminist seeks to reclaim the feminist label for those who seek both small and immediate changes alongside fundamental shifts in human thinking. The essayists in this collection proclaim their appreciation for the feminists before them, whilst also seeking to write their own feminism, seeking equality and justice in all aspects of life. As the editors state in their introduction to the collection:

“This book is for everyone everywhere – a statement of intent. ‘I call myself a feminist’ is an active, personal and powerful phrase. It is a statement of a way of thinking that we have chosen to become a part of us – a part of the many quirks and intrigue that make us ourselves.”

It is for this reason that I cannot help but sing my praises for this book. I Call Myself A Feminist is an important read for young feminists, to encourage them to unashamedly, unabashedly call themselves feminists, without fear or worry for the connotations that the label has held before. It is call for us all to find our own definition of what it means to be feminist, and to actively hold ourselves to account when enacting our own feminism.

 

I Call Myself A Feminist is now available in all good bookstores. As always, INWORDSANDINK encourages its reader to buy from and support their local independent bookstores.

Thank you once again to Hachette Australia for sending me a copy of I Call Myself A Feminist. Whilst I was sent the book for reviewing purposes, I was not in any way paid or financially obligated to write this review.

© Hayley New 2016

Gracefully Grayson: A Review

I don’t think I have ever come across a story about a young trans person written for young people before, so when the opportunity arose for me to review Ami Polonsky’s Gracefully Grayson I couldn’t help but be drawn to it. I was curious about how this book may portray a young trans person in the process of navigating their trans identity, and how they might come out to themselves, a narrative that I think has been absent from children’s literature.

I am instantly suspicious of any trans narrative written by a non-trans person. Most of my own education about trans people has come from people in the trans community themselves, the things they have written, the art they have made, and the stories they have shared. If there is anything I have learnt from this, it is that the best people to discuss trans experiences are those who have had those experiences, simply because they have the best tools to talk about what it is like being trans. But it should never fall to trans people to be the educators of the non-trans population – and that is where books like this come in.

Gracefully Grayson is a lovingly written book, focusing on the story of young Grayson, who is starting to explore her* own identity. Uncomfortable in the body she has been given and the constructs that have been built around that body, she frequently toys with the idea of her too long shirts becoming dresses and her baggy pants becoming skirts, but continues to hide her feelings through self-imposed isolation at school and at home. However, when the opportunity arises to audition for the school play, Grayson decides to audition for the lead female role. When she gets the part, she must brace herself for the onslaught of opinions from her family and the potential bullying at school, whilst also trying to come to terms with her emerging trans identity.

Gracefully Grayson is aimed at younger readers, probably from about twelve years old and up, but even as an older reader, I could see that this book held an important story to share with its readers. This is not necessarily a book about realising that you are trans or even about coming out to other people. First and foremost, this book is about learning about yourself, and learning to come out to yourself, despite what others around you try to impose – whether this is through social constructs or bullying. For that, I cannot help but commend Ami Polonsky, and thank her for making this a book both for and about Grayson, rather than about the people around Grayson as she tries to navigate her own trans identity.

Don’t get me wrong, I still found that I had a few problems with this book. The early stages of the book started to set up a confusing and problematic framework for Grayson’s trans identity, almost leading the reader to see a connecting line drawn between the trauma of Grayson losing her parents and her being trans, as though her trans identity was a symptom of this trauma. The later stages of the plot quickly undo this, recognising Grayson’s identification as female prior to the loss of her parents, but I cannot help but feel uncomfortable about this earlier framework regardless. I fail to see why Grayson should have to lose her parents, and connect this loss with her trans identity for this story to be told. But ultimately, this is a fiction book, and so, there is always an exaggeration added for fiction’s sake, even if it is not necessarily the most just thing for the narrative.

Despite these problems, I definitely think that this book is vital in helping start a conversation with young people about trans people and trans identity. No book written about trans experience by a non-trans writer is going to be without its problems, but I think this book is very aware of itself and its problematic features. It is careful not to assume, and doesn’t pretend to speak for all trans coming out experiences (for example, at no point in the novel does it assume a particular racial identity or sexuality for Grayson). Grayson could be anyone, and anyone could see themselves in Grayson. Honestly, it is a book I think that all young children should read, and I look forward to seeing more literature about trans identity become available to young people.

If you have read this book, or have any thoughts about literature about trans experiences written for young people, please let me know in the comments below. I look forward to reading your discussions.

Ami Polonsky’s Gracefully Grayson is now available in all good bookstores. As always, INWORDSANDINK encourages its reader to buy from and support their local independent bookstores.

Thank you once again to Hachette Australia for sending me a copy of Gracefully Grayson. Whilst I was sent the book for reviewing purposes, I was not in any way paid or financially obligated to write this review.

 

*I have chosen to use she/her pronouns for Grayson in my review, in respect for both Grayson and her trans identity, as well as others in the trans community who may feel uncomfortable with the use of he/his pronouns used in this book in reference to Grayson.

 

© Hayley New 2016

Young, Lost and Female: A Review of “My Favourite Manson Girl”

There is something undeniably striking about Alison Umminger’s debut novel My Favourite Manson Girl (also published in the US under the title American Girls). Sure, the title may bring a little shock with it, being a YA novel that features the Manson girls so prominently, but the power of this novel moves well beyond its ability to grab you from the title alone.

My Favourite Manson Girl follows the story of Anna, a fifteen year old girl who runs away from her family problems at home in Atlanta in order to escape to Los Angeles, where her sister works as an actress, and where she believes she might find some answers to why she feels like she no longer has a place in her own family. Instead of landing in the LA of television dreams, Anna finds herself lugged around by her begrudging sister Delia, owing her mother and her new partner Lynette a substantial amount of cash. The deal: she can stay in LA over the summer to get some space provided she can earn back the money she took for her plane ticket. To earn back the cash, she takes a job from her sister’s strange filmmaker ex-boyfriend researching the Manson girls for his latest project, only to find some disturbingly close links between her own life and those of the Manson girls.

I’m not quite sure why there is so much stuff going around about Charles Manson lately. From television shows to movies to books, it seems that there is almost a resurgence of the fascination around the Manson “family” and their famously grisly murders. As someone who has never really known much about Charles Manson and his strange cult, it surprised me that I was so drawn to a book like My Favourite Manson Girl, and not just because of its beautiful cover. There was something very intriguing about the title, the idea that someone could have a favourite from a group of scary murderesses under the wing of a man like Manson. I suppose that the focus has always been on Manson himself, rather than the girls he seduced with his strange ideologies, the girls whose lives could have otherwise been fairly normal. There is something very strange in remembering that.

In the author’s note, Umminger says:

“The Manson girls were lost girls who made bad choices. Really bad choices…I think the reason that the Manson family continues to fascinate because – as hard as it is to imagine – the Manson girls were once “regular” girls as well.”

But My Favourite Manson Girl isn’t really a story about the Manson girls at all. It is a story about the falsehood of the New American Dream, the let downs and disappointments of a world we think we know, a story about emotional violence rather than the kind the Manson family dealt in. Anna soon learns that LA is not the starry destination she thought it would be, but instead a place that trades in lies and secrets as part of its day-to-day existence. She finds herself caught up in reality of human relationships, without the flourishes of television scriptwriters behind it. This book feels like what being a teenager feels like, without the need for a fantastical façade in front of it, a refreshing moment in YA fiction.

While reading, I did find that the first few chapters took a little while to get off the ground, but from that point forward, the novel was all-consuming, and I simply could not get enough of the story that Umminger had written. A word of warning for older readers, ultimately this book is YA, so by nature there is a romantic sub-plot, and a few moments of seemingly stereotypical teen angst, but by no means does this take-over the narrative, instead creating opportunities for these YA tropes to be thrown on their heads later in the novel. This book is more than just teen fiction, and I would recommend it to readers from about sixteen years old and up.

Umminger has accomplished something brilliantly unique here, succeeding to write what she describes in her author’s note as a novel about “what the American dream might mean to a kind of lost, basically decent, deeply cynical fifteen year old girl,” and beyond that, a brilliantly consuming story about what it feels like to be a teenager all over again. This book is fundamentally about Anna trying to find her way back to a place in her family, trying to reconnect with her sister and her strangely indecisive mother, whilst also coming to terms with what she wants from these relationships, and I am glad to see stories like this arriving on our shelves.

 

My Favourite Manson Girl is now available in all good bookstores. As always, INWORDSANDINK encourages its reader to buy from and support their local independent bookstores.

Thank you once again to Hachette Australia for sending me a copy of My Favourite Manson Girl. Whilst I was sent the book for reviewing purposes, I was not in any way paid or financially obligated to write this review.

 

© Hayley New 2016

Julie Koh’s “Portable Curiosities”: A Review

Julie Koh is one of Australia’s best writing talents and her newest short story collection Portable Curiosities only serves to cement her place as one of the best voices in contemporary literature.

Portable Curiosities, a collection of twelve of Koh’s infamous satirical tales, takes reality and creatively twists it into a strange dark world with brilliantly absurd humour and spot-on critiques of important social issues.

Sight, the first in the collection is perhaps the best introduction to Koh’s witty writing style, taking the magic of childhood imagination and bringing it to reality with the physical embodiment of a child’s imaginative eye, sitting in the place of a belly button on a child chastised for taking it out and trying to see the world and all its ghosts. The Fantastic Breasts similarly tugs on familiar strings, relaying the problems with casual misogyny and the objectification of women in mass market media. I can’t help but see Scarlet Johansson’s Black Widow when I read this story, and all the conversations I have had with friends about the problems surrounding the way her character is presented and spoken about, and the injustice of having such strong character potential deliberately restrained despite fans crying out for the strong female superhero lead film that she deserves. But I can also see the way in which men I have known, have continued to discuss women as objects. It also contains one of my favourite lines in the collection, which made me laugh a little too hard:

“Hollywood adapts the comics into the blockbuster hits The Fantastic Breasts, 2 Breasts 2 Fantastic, The Fantastic Breasts 3: Tokyo Drift and The Fantastic Breasts: Redid, Redone & Rewound.” *

Honestly, I could continue to go on about every single one of the stories in this collection, but I will leave it to you to read and discover how incredibly creative and insightful her work is. That is the magic of Koh’s writing: you can’t help but see our social world hidden behind it, with all its terribly familiar problems out on show.

I have been a fan of Koh’s work since I read The Three-Dimensional Yellow Man (perhaps my favourite of her stories) in The Lifted Brow some time ago, so to see it in this collection felt like a familiar step into the witty satire that I admire in Koh’s work. Her ability to take the absurd and make it feel deeply familiar is a gift that, as a writer, I am incredibly jealous of. As a reader, I am incredibly glad this talent exists.

Portable Curiosities is an apt name for this collection, not just the title of one of the stories contained within, but also the best description of the stories themselves. You can carry these amazing curiosities with you and enjoy their magic and dark humour anywhere, and I encourage you to do so, if only to laugh yourself silly in public places and tell people that they should read this amazing work as well. You can nibble on a single story at a time or devour the whole collection in one sitting, letting the brilliant wit of it completely take over. This a book for anyone who is even mildly interested in short stories, satirical takes on social issues or indeed anyone with a wicked and witty sense of humour. Portable Curiosities, and indeed  all of Koh’s work, is unique and brilliant, and I seriously cannot recommend it enough.

 

Portable Curiosities is available in all good bookstores.

As always, INWORDSANDINK encourages its readers to shop at and support their local independent bookstores.

You can also follow Julie Koh on @juliekoh on Twitter.

 

*That is more times that I ever expected to use the word ‘breasts’ on this blog – maybe that was Julie Koh’s secret agenda the whole time… Well done Julie, well done.

 

© Hayley New 2016

Magic Spaces: The Wonders of Independent Bookshops

The independent bookshop is one of life’s purest joys.

As someone who has spent far too many hours in bookshops, I have no qualms about making a statement as grand as that. Bookshops are a haven for any reader, a place of wonder, a place of comfort.

But unlike chain bookshops, where layouts and stock are replicated from store to store, indie bookshops have a quirky individualism, a certain charm and character that brings you back for more. You get to know the people, they get to know you. You can wander about in the tangle of stories you didn’t even know you were looking for and feel entirely at home.

Whenever I feel not quite myself, it is a bookshop I seek out to make me feel better, the unique atmosphere of my favourite indie bookshops acting to soothe my nerves or make me feel calm. The sheer endlessness of possibilities a bookshop provides instantly makes my day just that little bit brighter. Buying books from these indie bookshops is like bringing home small pieces of sun to light my room, piecing together my own set of stars on my now overflowing bookcase.

***

The fate of the independent bookshop has been up in the air for some time now, with popular indie book hot spots closing their doors seemingly everywhere. With the increase in online book buying from popular sites such as Amazon or The Book Depository, indie bookshops have come under the possible and very real threat of extinction. With major chain bookstores such as Angus and Robertson meeting their demise in the last few years, it seems almost inevitable that one day we will walk up to the closed doors of our favourite indie bookshop and find it shut forever, killed by the ease of online book buying.

I won’t lie, buying books online is sometimes easier and cheaper than physically buying books instore. I am a huge culprit when it comes to buying from The Book Depository. Getting books in the post is very gratifying.

But still not as gratifying as a bookshop.

Much like the fear that the rise of e-books seemed to cause, it would sometimes feel that online book shopping is presented as a fear of change, as an aversion to the new technological world, as fear of the new and the different.

I think this drastically misrepresents the attachment readers feel with their bookshops. Readers are not ones to become utterly entrenched in the past – if they were, new releases would be a total waste of time. People don’t go into bookshops because they see them as antiquated spaces. Sure, there is an element of nostalgia there, but it is a nostalgia for more recent and personal feeling, the opportunity to relive the excitement that comes with finding some little gem that you weren’t even aware you were looking for, something new and shining and brilliant. Celebrating bookshops is not a condemnation of online book shopping, it is merely sharing an especially intimate relationship with the stories and opportunities that these spaces provides.

***

The independent bookshop is a strange phenomenon, but a beautiful one, one that needs to be preserved. Projects like Independent Bookshop Week and Books are my Bag are taking positive steps to save local bookshops from extinction, however they don’t seem attract a lot of attention in Australia, potentially causing irreparable harm to the Australian Indie Book Industry. Australian publishing houses rely on these bookshops to share local fiction and non-fiction, along with other specialty publications that chain bookshops are not generally interested in. To remove the indie bookshop from the industry is to remove the potential for these unique publications to find their way onto the market and into the hands of readers. The end of indie bookshops could so easily spell the end of unique literary publications and their creators, which could only be seen as a terrible loss for the wider creative community.

My favourite indie bookshop, Gleebooks, is one such space. I have found so many little independent book, poetry and short story publications in Gleebooks that I have never seen in a chain bookshop. To think that if Gleebooks were ever to shut, I would lose access to this range of unique literature, is devastating. That bookshop is my second home, and I have always found the very best books there, along with recommendations from the people who work there that never fail to stun my imagination and devastate my bank account. For the online book buyer, they, like many indie bookshops these days, offer online purchasing options, allowing readers the convenience of online shopping alongside supporting local business. I cannot say enough wonderful things about the magic and light that Gleebooks holds for local readers – it is the best collection of pieces of sun I have ever come across.

***

Considering not only the physical space that indie bookshops foster, but also the unique literary spaces they develop and maintain, it goes without saying that these places of wonder are central to the world of the book industry and are clearly valuable to writers, readers and wider creative communities. I’d rather not see them die out, and I don’t think you want to either.

 

© Hayley New 2016