Summer Reading

The ironic thing about running a bookstore in the Hamptons in the summer while working part-time as a librarian, is that there is almost no time to read. I review catalogs and read reviews and order books, but the time to sit down and read is almost non-existent.

You might be amazed at the sneaky ways I find to read. There is a book in my car for the line at the automatic teller machine (and the occasional long red light). There is a book in the kitchen and my cooking truly reflects my love of fiction. There are books in each room, just in case I can grab and extra minute or two.

My summer reading this year reflects the quirky nature of my reading life. The following books are both wonderful and just a bit odd:

The Lace Reader by Brunonia Barry was released a few years ago and being re-released this July. It is a tale of twins and madness and religious zealots and love. It takes place in Salem and tells the of a generation of women who can tell fortunes by reading pieces of lace. It twists and turns and surprises you up to the end.

Belong to Me by Marisa de los Santos is another kind of story. It is the story of a small neighborhood and friendship and a marriage. It is a story of first impressions and how they can change. This book continues the story that de los Santos started in Love Walked In and she takes her characters on an interesting and very human journey.

How to describe The Monsters of Templeton? Well there is a monster and it is partially a historical novel and it is also a contemporary story of a historian hiding out in her hometown after trying to run down her married lover's wife with a bush plane in Alaska. Oh yes, the town is a thinly disguised Cooperstown, so the Baseball Hall of Fame also plays a bit part. Actually, I really cannot describe this book. I really liked it and I hope you do too.

I absolutely love Georgia Nicolson. I know these books are for teenagers but I just don't care. I love her slang and her outlandish ideas and her many friends. I even like her enemies (no one can be more nasty than Wet Lindsey). Stop in the Name of Pants is the latest in the saga, so if you haven't read Louise Rennison before you must start with Angus, Thongs and Full Frontal Snogging. I dare you to try to stop at just one book.

This is Buddha. He holds open the front door of The Open Book. Buddha has been licked by dogs, kicked by small children, sat upon, hugged and his stomach has been rubbed more times than can be counted. He had been called "Buddy", "Baby" and "That Chubby Guy". And still he sits patient and serene.

When we moved into the new store, we found that the big glass front door was extremely heavy. We tried rubber door wedges and wooden door stops and the door smashed them. I bought a cute cast iron dog and the door knocked it across the sidewalk. Finally we settled on a cinder block, which was practical but ugly and soulless. And then one day I came to work to find Buddha sitting in front of the door, effortlessly holding it open for all passersby. Jessica, the magnificent store manager and her husband, Seamus, the adorable, had brought Buddha from home to live and work at The Open Book. Seamus even built Buddha a little cart with wheels so that the Open Bookies could save their backs for lifting heavy boxes.

Buddha reminds people to ignore the siren song of the sand and sea and to come into the store to browse the books. He convinces people that the steak on the grill and the wine in the glass can wait a few minutes while they decide on a good read. Buddha reminds me to be kind and patient when I am tired and every face starts to blur into one.

I hope that having Buddha as a doorman is not sacrilegious. I believe his position is one of honor and sporadic respect. Moms with yoga mats have been known to teach their children to say "Namaste" to Buddha. I know that I have rarely left the quiet, empty bookstore at the end of a long day without giving his belly a little pat for luck and saying a thank you for his service.

So next time you are in town, come by and say hello to Buddha. Just don't call him "Baby".