How are you today?
Participating in a book fair just down the street, rather than down the snowy interstate, was a pretty nifty adventure for Fence last Friday night. I was happily surprised to see such a playful group of Albanians come out in support of local art, local poetry, and the local celebration of diet day (marked by a launch party for this book). On a January evening after all the bacchanalia, I predicted the stalwart folks of the Capital Region would rather lie in bed with a good book than trudge across town for one.
Needless to say, I was mistaken. The little back room where Fence shared space with Albany Poets, Anchorite Press, Flim Forum Press and A.P.D. Press was abuzz with curious and surprised bookophiles. Which got me thinking about the nature of the book fair. (We’re in the midst of gearing-up and fearing-up in preparation for the AWP conference.)
So, in honor of Albany and of the bookfair dynamic, an analysis:
There you are, an editor, a designer, a checker-for-typos, a carrier-of-boxes, suddenly peddling a fairly humble product (mostly rectangular, made of colored paper, with no particular press-this-button excitement) to customers who aren’t quite sure where they might have landed. Each seems to wear an expression that betrays a desparate hope for something vaguely recognizable. He or she might be in the mood to talk, to look over your head, to be entirely anonymous, or to find the right piece of free chocolate, and if you the bookseller don’t react appropriately to these unspoken desires, the visitor will be instantly gone. You find yourself saying things like, “this book is really wonderful,” in reference to whatever object a person happens to move their eyes toward. Or staring up unabashedly, with great bored eyes, at whomever stands before you for more than 30 seconds, thinking seriously about his or her outfit. Then thinking about coffee.
All around you, similar tables with similarly beautiful and intrisically invaluable products are peopled by folks who are sort-of like your competition, but mostly just commisserators and fellow pass-the-timers. Who are knitting, who are reading, who are staring up at their own strangely-clothed visitors. Thinking about coffee and free chocolate. And the whole thing is, in its way, quite fun.
Who else out there is preparing for AWP? Send all suggestions for preparatory booktable calisthenics this way, please.