I'm your bookseller, not your "honey"

I have come to terms with the fact that I come across as a very sweet, helpful, kind person. I hold open doors for people, I help carry bags, I put change in meters. I have round cheeks and dimples and am soft-spoken. I dress like Nancy Drew. In regular, private life, people call me by endearments on a regular basis. I don't go a week without someone--some stranger--calling me "sweetie", "dear", or "honey". Despite what I might think, I may actually just be a nice person, and, in the end, those people who chose to give me names usually reserved to their nearest and dearest are probably paying me a compliment.

But I want to talk about why this practice is not okay when it occurs at my work. Yes, I am in retail. Yes, I am very helpful and knowledgeable and friendly. Yes, I am the youngest staff member. That does not make it okay to call me "dear" or to pat me on the shoulder. That does not make it okay to call me "sweetie" when I give you your change. I'm a professional, doing my job. It might not look like a particularly difficult or glamorous job--"You work in a book shop? You must get to read all the time!"--but, like all things, it is more complex than it looks. I deserve your respect, just as much as you deserve mine. I may be at your service, but I am not your servant.

Maybe this sounds harsh, especially since I am willing to let people in my day to day life call me by whatever endearment they see fit. But there is an uncomfortable edge of condescension, the sensation that one is lesser than, of belittlement that stings when a customer calls me "honey".  It demeans me, my work, and my skills. It is taking liberties. Save endearments for times when I'm not working; let me do my job with the same respect and courtesy that I show you. 

Readers': Going Postal

Sometimes I wonder if the post people think that I am crazy.

I wouldn't mind if they did. I mean, it is a little odd to be sending and receiving so much personal mail in these days of email and texting and tweeting and whatever else people are doing. After all, the venerable United States Postal Service is a failing business, trapped by the obligation to explain each and every business move to a Congress that clearly couldn't care less about the postal system. I recall particularly pathetic statements from the former Postmaster General, Patrick Donahoe, toeing a careful line between begging for more money and begging to be able to increase rates, so that he wouldn't have to beg for more money next year. The USPS should be jolly well grateful that I use letters as a means of communication.

But the oddest thing about the large volume of letters between me and my best friend is that we talk every day on more technologically advanced media. We text, we snap-chat, we email. Sometimes, we even phone each other. Surely there isn't anything left to write handwritten letters about.

There always is. There are things that are easier to tell a friend in writing; there are things that are easier to discover about yourself when you're writing it down, rather than speaking it, typing it, or, worse, typing it with one's thumbs. It is a means of journaling, but with an audience, one that cares about what you're feeling, one that will offer you support and advice somewhere down the road.

Also, letters are the most protected form of communication. Conversations can be overheard, the NSA reads our email, police have access to the GPS in our cell phones, but, by God, it is still a felony to open our mail. If one were to plan a criminal act--and obviously, that's not at all what we're doing--the USPS is still the best means of plotting. (It actually goes the same way--the Feds got Ponzi on mail fraud)

The pure physicality of letters helps center a life-long discussion firmly in reality. Letters, as one of my favorite books, Going Postal (Terry Pratchett), points out, provide a sense of reality that every other form of message cannot. You cannot doodle on the envelope of an email; you cannot add dinosaur stickers to a text. Maybe that picture of your cat will get there faster if you text it, but your friend can't frame it.

I'm not even going to talk about the joy of love letters, the kind professing eternal romance that one ties up with a ruby red ribbon. I don't really get love letters, in the most traditional sense. In a sense, in this time of digital communique, all letters are a protestation of love. It takes time and thought and, most importantly, a stamp to get a letter.

Incidentally, and, not to be egging anyone on here, Readers' has some great notecards, stationery sets, and postcards. Just in case you happen to feel like sending someone some love today.

Crossposted: Readers' Books Facebook

10 Ten Second YA Book Reviews

The Sin Eater's Daughter, Melinda Salisbury: In a medieval, low technology world, an intersection of religious traditions and political machinations surrounds a teenage avatar of a goddess who can kill with a single touch. For those who like politics with their love triangles.

Darkest Minds, Alexandra Bracken: Like Children of Men meets X-men, but less well thought-out: if all the kids in the world develop dangerous psychic powers, why isn't anyone worried about the future generations of the world? Endearingly, contains no love triangle; sadly, characters are unfleshed to the point of being mere stand-ins for people.

Rook, Sharon Cameron: In the far future, the past repeats: a re-working of The Scarlet Pimpernel that features a tough and fallible female freedom fighter in the ruins of Paris. Marvelous and daring adventures; Dickensian coincidences and many layers of disguise and connection; unfortunate tendency towards the typical characters (loyal servants, love-lorn compatriots, weak and ailing father).

13 Little Blue Envelopes, Maureen Johnson: One of the best books for teens about to travel. A teenager sent on an adventure with $1000 from her deceased aunt, learning all the things to and not to do when abroad. A satisfying ending that does not depend on a love triangle.

Dove Arising, Karen Bao: Hunger Games or Divergent, but on the moon. Mostly interesting for the multiculturalism and the fast paced adventure; characters tend to be stereotyped and the love triangle between "intriguing new guy" and "long term male friend" is beyond old.

Out of the Easy, Ruta Septys: Set in the 1950's American South, the daughter of a prostitute lives in a New Orleans brothel, but aspires to more. Despite the questionable historical accuracy (can't say for sure, but seems rather far-fetched), this story is both heart-touching and firmly placed in reality.

I Was Here, Gayle Forman: One of the crowd of teen-suicide novels, Forman's stands out with a story about the aftermath of suicide. The best friend of a victim searches to find meaning in the act and, in the process, discovers more about herself and her friend. Particularly useful to teens and comforting to parents afraid of copy-cat behavior is the author's note, which assures teens that they are not alone, and provides accurate information on places to get help. 

Atlantia, Ally Condie: In a departure from her dystopian series, Condie has created an elaborate city-state under the sea. Religion as an opiate for the masses as well as complex sociological themes makes what could have been a dull repeat of teen-with-super-power-dealing-with-family-issues more interesting. Condie chose to consider why such a society would exist, showing great growth from her Matched series. 

The Wrath and the Dawn, Renee Ahdieh: A fairy tale retelling not set in Western Europe at last! However, the excitement dies down when faced with wooden characterizations and unlikely motivations. Shahrzad deserves better than another staid love triangle. 

Salvage, Andrea Duncan: A fantastic imagining of the future, featuring a teen who barely escapes from persecution by her space dwelling, misogynistic family. She lands first in a community existing on the trash island in the Pacific and, with the help of very different female mentors, learns to be strong and self-sufficient, finally able to chose her own path. An inspiring and thoughtful novel. 

Crossposted: Children of an Idle Mind

List: Good things to ask your local bookseller vs. things not to ask your bookseller

Do this:

1. What was your favorite book this year?
2. If you had [insert budget here], what would you buy in the store?
3. I need a gift for a child [insert age and gender here] who likes to read.
4. When is the next book in this series coming out and what should I read until then?
5. This book was put away in the wrong place and I didn't want to put it away wrong as well.

Not this:

1. Do you know the title/author of this book so I can get it off the internet?
2. Can I have your wifi password?
3. Why isn't this out in paperback?
4. I'm here all the time; can you hire me?
5. Why don't you have this book in the store, since I loved it?

Bonus points: Don't tell us we're a dying breed. Say we're all very pretty instead.

Readers': Why I am not in Law School

I love the law. This is not a new love, nor one I acted upon--I wasn’t pre-law, for example. When the O.J. Simpson trial happened, which was when I was around five, I watched the whole thing. Looking back now, I’m mildly surprised that my mother encouraged this, but she is against censorship and apparently I was interested. According to my parents, I would walk from one end of the room to the other, imitating the lawyers by pontificating “On the one hand…” and then, upon reaching the other end of the room “On the other hand…” I don’t really remember anything about the whole thing besides the fact that I really liked the idea of being the judge, and was crushed when I was informed that to be a judge, you had to be a lawyer first. I was clearly not impressed by that fact, even then, which proves that, even if I am nothing else, I am at least consist.

Law school sounds like an absolute blast. I don’t think many people realize what a radical and precious growing document our constitution really is. It doesn’t promise that to be American is to be perfect; it only promises to give us a chance. Even just the first amendment gives us this amazing array of rights: we can believe in what we like, we can print it and share it with other people, we can be in groups of as many people as we like, and we can send petitions to our government. Most Americans forget how much freedom that gives us. But even when writing it, those privileged white men decided to make room for changes, for a world that looks very little like it did then. Can you think of any politicians who would do the same now?

And therein lies the rub: American law, as a set of ideals to live up to, is a thing to admire and to be proud of. But that set of ideals have been prostituted to suit selfish needs: the law has been pimped out by the lawyers.

Okay, there are good lawyers out there. There’s the ACLU, there’s ABFFE (American Booksellers Foundation for Free Expression). There’s overworked, but still idealistic, ADA’s and PD’s out there. But there are also the lawyers that make my skin crawl, people who use loopholes and trickery to win victories that should never be won and make loads of money while doing it.

What I’d really like, is to be a lawyer without having to deal with other lawyers. But even then, one would have to attempt to help people when they are at their worst: when they are losing their homes, or making huge mistakes, or watching love die. I suppose what I’d really like is to be able to skip the whole step of practicing law and be allowed to study it, and then make rulings on it. Basically, I just want to skip being a lawyer altogether.

Readers': Fruitful Labors

Two of my favorite people--my father and my best friend--love to garden. My father watches the progress of his squash plants with great--and justifiable--pride. My friend sends me pictures of her seedlings on a weekly basis. They like to think of the relative pH levels of their respective garden beds; of the compost that needs to be created and the fertilizing that needs to be done. My dad likes to extol the meditative properties of weeding. They love their gardens; I, to my shame, do not. I like dealing with the products of gardens. I like drying and preserving, freezing and canning. But plants, excepting hardy herb beds, tend to wither under my indifferent care.

One of my favorite cookbooks, The Victory Garden Cookbook, seems to have been written for families just like mine. There’s advice for people who grow the vegetables, both common and obscure, and advice for what on earth to do with all these freaking zucchinis. (There’s a particularly good recipe for zucchini spice cake, which has the merit of not tasting at all like a zucchini) It gives information about carrot’s love of sandy soil, and how to tell when to pick kale. I find this book comfortingly inclusive of both sides of the gardening life: those who care for the plants, and those who love the produce.

This year, mindful of drought restrictions, my family is doing all we can to save as much water as possible, but none of us ever considered cutting back on the vegetable garden. Lawns? Sure. But just try to take away our fresh tomatoes.

The Victory Garden concept reaches back into WWII, when the act of creating a vegetable garden was an act of patriotism. (Before that, the home vegetable garden was merely a way of saving money during the Depression; prudence and practicality rarely equals victory, at least in the broader cultural milieu). But the vegetable garden reaches far back into the distant past. Small gardens came before larger farms: they could be the first signs of settled human habitation. In other words, growing one’s own food is a sign of permanency. It is a promise to stay in one place, for at least as long as it takes for plants to bear fruit. A garden means home.

Maybe I’m not a gardener, but maybe that doesn’t matter. The art of gardening is nothing without the art of knowing what to do with the results: what good would masses of eggplants do anyone without someone knowing what do with them? In these California days of water restriction, we all have to weigh our hydration choices. In a recent op-ed in the LA Times, lawns are praised and defended as the heart of the middle class home and neighborhood. In my mind, the lawn matters much less than the garden: that which marks our desire to care for ourselves by caring for the land. It is the humble vegetable garden marking the boundaries of home that I shall make sacrifices for. I’d never take a two minute shower for a lawn; I’ll always do it for the tomatoes.

Older, better, faster, longer: new robots in sci-fi/fantasy

The Mechanical
Ian Tregillis
440pgs
Copy: ARC
Read: 27 April 2015
Spoilers: as few as I could
Recommend to: People who like to think and like sci-fi; fans of Asimov; fans of Susanna Clarke; maybe fans of George R.R. Martin; if you liked "The Dark Tower" series

So Susanna Clarke readers and Asimov readers actually tend to be pretty different. So are "Song of Fire and Ice" and "The Dark Tower". You've got alternate history vs. robotic future and two epic fantasy series (complete with loads of sex) written in completely different styles and settings. What makes The Mechanical so interesting is that it pays homage to all of these disparate themes and styles while still remaining completely individual and distinctive.

Tregillis has created a world that differs from ours in that the Dutch became the great world power, not on the power of trade or sail, but due to their mystic creation of mechanical slaves. Created by the inclusive and terrifying Alchemist Guild, these Clakkers are controlled by the Guild and the royal family and rented out to wealthy families or for production needs. These Clakkers, despite independent thought and an underground language, are unable to rebel against the orders of their owners--indeed, any order creates an imperative pain until that order is carried out. They live hundreds of years, trapped within their own bodies.

Despite these geases, some Clakkers speak to one another of Free Will and others mysteriously develop it. The Alchemists destroy them as soon as they are discovered, throwing them into the great Forge. 

Against this background, the Dutch are increasing their territory in the New World, fighting against the last stronghold of the French court. In New France, the female spymaster (the Tallyrand) Bernice, Vimcomtess is desperate to maintain their foothold in the world and to fight back against the insatiable power of the Clakker backed Dutch, while also fighting against her own court politics. On the other side, the female head of the Clakker police force and head torturer (cleverly called Tuinier--chief gardener), Anastasia Bell begins to wield a terrifying new technology that questions the very existence of any kind of Free Will at all. Jax, a lowly servitor mechanical, is thrown into this complex tangle with about the same effect as throwing in a grenade. 

While the basic premise of the novel is impressive in and of itself, Tregillis handles questions of religion and freedom with ease and grace. He is thought provoking without being distracting from the excitement of the story. Tregillis also creates powerful, yet dissimilar female characters: Bernice and Anastasia are both powerful women without having their femininity stripped away. Bernice, with her mind in the gutter and mouth like sailor, understands and uses sex as a means to an end; she also makes believable mistakes that aren't "punishments" for her sexual behavior. Although Anastasia Bell is harder to read, since we are never granted a 3rd person limited view into her thoughts, she clearly uses her delicate femininity as a kind of intimidating opposition to her job. She looks like a lady: she authorizes acts that devils would find a bit much. Tregillis has joined a unique club among sci-fi/fantasy writers: authors (male and female) that are able to create believable and human characters of both genders. Lets cross our fingers he can keep it up for the sequels.

Crossposted: Children of an Idle Mind, Librarything