This issue’s Buy Local takes us to San Francisco. It’s there—and really, where else would you expect?—that the inordinately large Siamese twin population spawned by the government’s nuclear tests has based its activist community. We’re following a particularly compelling set, with the one sister having decided she’s done lugging around the inert head of her long-catatonic sibling. She’s pondering what would have to be considered major surgery…
Fine, fine. We’re not going to San Francisco, and the only place any of the above storyline exists is in the alternate present of Shelley Jackson’s novel Half Life, and none of that has anything directly to do with buying local. It’s a cheap ploy to get your attention.
Brian Woodbury of Toadstool Bookshop in Milford. Photo by Kevin Harkins.
But it comes courtesy of Becky Rowlands, who has everything to do with today’s topic of independent bookstores. Rowlands is the 24-year-old manager of The Book Rack in Newburyport, a lover of “weird stuff,” about circus freaks, kind of almost twisted sci-fi, dystopian books with weird hooks.” The Book Rack doesn’t specialize in freak show fiction, and Rowlands isn’t pushing it on somebody who comes in looking for a how-to on garden ponds. But she’s ready and eager to share her particular passion with any customer she thinks can handle it, which she’s getting pretty good at sensing. Somebody somewhere is grateful for being introduced to twisted sci-fi dystopian literature. And you know this type of exchange just wouldn’t, couldn’t happen at Amazon.com.
This makes Rowlands a local natural resource, one that you’ll find in various forms at each surviving independent bookstore in the Valley. For the purposes of space and clarity, here we are sticking to all-purpose independent stores that sell primarily or exclusively new books—what most picture when you say “bookstore”—and it’s true there aren’t as many as there used to be. But they’re not so endangered that you can’t find and patronize one with minimal effort. As to what separates survivors from the rest, the people running them almost universally cite the same things, in the process making a pretty good collective case for using their services. And because a successful business plan is more complicated than hiring a Becky Rowlands, we’ll break the secrets to their success into two basic categories.
Important But Not Terribly Sexy, So Disposed With Here As Briefly As Possible
Paul Abruzzi at Jabberwocky. Photo by Kevin Harkins.
Computers. It’s not much of a revelation in the age of iEverything, but staying modern became do-or-die for bookstores a long time ago. This means embracing technology for supply ordering, tracking industry trends and, the Web. It means that even if the local folks can’t hang with the giants in square footage and sheer volume, they can be right there in speed and selection.
“People are always surprised at the variety of books (in house) and our ordering capability,” says Brian Woodbury, manager at Toadstool Bookshops in Milford, N.H., a 19-year-old store in a New Hampshire family of three. Indeed, a point owners and managers interviewed for this article were most eager to make is that the book you’re looking for can be here in a day or two, not three or four or a week.
As for the Web, for some customers it was an early litmus test. “In the 90s, if you didn’t get a eeb site and a shopping cart and e-mails, people lost respect for you and you lost business,” says Andover Bookstore manager John Hugo, who at 27-years-old speaks like he’s been in the business for 40 years, probably because his dad has (Robert Hugo opened a store in Marblehead in 1965, and today the family owns five, including Andover and The Book Rack). But the benefits of being on-line should be more than symbolic in 2007. “There are still a good portion of people who by necessity or choice don’t have the opportunity to come in, but still want to shop locally,” says Paul Abruzzi, longtime manager at Jabberwocky in Newburyport’s Tannery Mall.
Jon and Robert Hugo of Andover Bookstore. Photo by Kevin Harkins.
Probably Less Important But Definitely More Fun To Talk About, So Addressed Now In Greater Detail
At Jabberwocky, owner Sue Little has paired with her sister’s neighboring toy store, Eureka, in an open concept, pay-in-either-store arrangement that creates a natural flow between the two. “A business person would use the word synergy or something like that,” Abruzzi says.
The Book Rack has a kids’ room and once-a-week story time—basically, they’ve all got something special for the little ones—but the store also developed a different kind of niche clientele. “We’ve got really good greeting cards,” says Rowlands. “There are people who come in all the time and say it’s just because we have unique cards.”
Andover, aside from the distinction of being one of the oldest shops in the country at nearly 200, has the whole wood fireplace-and-living room chair thing going. “One (10-year-old girl) said it was kind of like a library in your house,” says Hugo, who also has a steady supply of scholastic business to lean on. Up the street is Phillips Academy; textbooks account for about a quarter of the store’s business, and clothes are sold on the third floor.
Woodbury says Toadstool has been particularly “aggressive” getting authors and illustrators to visit, and has monthly group meetings for classics, knitting, crafts, and bridge, among others. But in 2001, it found itself with some extra space after a move, and filled it with used books. Thousands and thousands of them, which do “quite well,” says Woodbury. He describes the decision as, “One of those things—diversifying to stay competitive.”
A parting obligatory word or two on the reality/convenience of big box and Internet competition, lest you think the people featured here are unreasonable about the subject. Working a little harder for a little less seems to be OK with your local bookstore, if you’re willing to remember they’re there at least some of the time. “It doesn’t have to be all the time,” says Hugo. “I tell people to give me 1⁄3 of their (book) business.”
The alternative, Abruzzi would add to that, has consequences for more than just the bookstore. “When a school has a local fundraiser, they don’t call Amazon, they call me,” he says. “If I’m not here, what’s going to happen?”
Buy Local: Exploring the Valley’s Independent Bookstores – Spring 2007
Fine, fine. We’re not going to San Francisco, and the only place any of the above storyline exists is in the alternate present of Shelley Jackson’s novel Half Life, and none of that has anything directly to do with buying local. It’s a cheap ploy to get your attention.
Brian Woodbury of Toadstool Bookshop in Milford. Photo by Kevin Harkins.
But it comes courtesy of Becky Rowlands, who has everything to do with today’s topic of independent bookstores. Rowlands is the 24-year-old manager of The Book Rack in Newburyport, a lover of “weird stuff,” about circus freaks, kind of almost twisted sci-fi, dystopian books with weird hooks.” The Book Rack doesn’t specialize in freak show fiction, and Rowlands isn’t pushing it on somebody who comes in looking for a how-to on garden ponds. But she’s ready and eager to share her particular passion with any customer she thinks can handle it, which she’s getting pretty good at sensing. Somebody somewhere is grateful for being introduced to twisted sci-fi dystopian literature. And you know this type of exchange just wouldn’t, couldn’t happen at Amazon.com.
This makes Rowlands a local natural resource, one that you’ll find in various forms at each surviving independent bookstore in the Valley. For the purposes of space and clarity, here we are sticking to all-purpose independent stores that sell primarily or exclusively new books—what most picture when you say “bookstore”—and it’s true there aren’t as many as there used to be. But they’re not so endangered that you can’t find and patronize one with minimal effort. As to what separates survivors from the rest, the people running them almost universally cite the same things, in the process making a pretty good collective case for using their services. And because a successful business plan is more complicated than hiring a Becky Rowlands, we’ll break the secrets to their success into two basic categories.
Important But Not Terribly Sexy, So Disposed With Here As Briefly As Possible
Paul Abruzzi at Jabberwocky. Photo by Kevin Harkins.
Computers. It’s not much of a revelation in the age of iEverything, but staying modern became do-or-die for bookstores a long time ago. This means embracing technology for supply ordering, tracking industry trends and, the Web. It means that even if the local folks can’t hang with the giants in square footage and sheer volume, they can be right there in speed and selection.
“People are always surprised at the variety of books (in house) and our ordering capability,” says Brian Woodbury, manager at Toadstool Bookshops in Milford, N.H., a 19-year-old store in a New Hampshire family of three. Indeed, a point owners and managers interviewed for this article were most eager to make is that the book you’re looking for can be here in a day or two, not three or four or a week.
As for the Web, for some customers it was an early litmus test. “In the 90s, if you didn’t get a eeb site and a shopping cart and e-mails, people lost respect for you and you lost business,” says Andover Bookstore manager John Hugo, who at 27-years-old speaks like he’s been in the business for 40 years, probably because his dad has (Robert Hugo opened a store in Marblehead in 1965, and today the family owns five, including Andover and The Book Rack). But the benefits of being on-line should be more than symbolic in 2007. “There are still a good portion of people who by necessity or choice don’t have the opportunity to come in, but still want to shop locally,” says Paul Abruzzi, longtime manager at Jabberwocky in Newburyport’s Tannery Mall.
Jon and Robert Hugo of Andover Bookstore. Photo by Kevin Harkins.
Probably Less Important But Definitely More Fun To Talk About, So Addressed Now In Greater Detail
At Jabberwocky, owner Sue Little has paired with her sister’s neighboring toy store, Eureka, in an open concept, pay-in-either-store arrangement that creates a natural flow between the two. “A business person would use the word synergy or something like that,” Abruzzi says.
The Book Rack has a kids’ room and once-a-week story time—basically, they’ve all got something special for the little ones—but the store also developed a different kind of niche clientele. “We’ve got really good greeting cards,” says Rowlands. “There are people who come in all the time and say it’s just because we have unique cards.”
Andover, aside from the distinction of being one of the oldest shops in the country at nearly 200, has the whole wood fireplace-and-living room chair thing going. “One (10-year-old girl) said it was kind of like a library in your house,” says Hugo, who also has a steady supply of scholastic business to lean on. Up the street is Phillips Academy; textbooks account for about a quarter of the store’s business, and clothes are sold on the third floor.
Woodbury says Toadstool has been particularly “aggressive” getting authors and illustrators to visit, and has monthly group meetings for classics, knitting, crafts, and bridge, among others. But in 2001, it found itself with some extra space after a move, and filled it with used books. Thousands and thousands of them, which do “quite well,” says Woodbury. He describes the decision as, “One of those things—diversifying to stay competitive.”
A parting obligatory word or two on the reality/convenience of big box and Internet competition, lest you think the people featured here are unreasonable about the subject. Working a little harder for a little less seems to be OK with your local bookstore, if you’re willing to remember they’re there at least some of the time. “It doesn’t have to be all the time,” says Hugo. “I tell people to give me 1⁄3 of their (book) business.”
The alternative, Abruzzi would add to that, has consequences for more than just the bookstore. “When a school has a local fundraiser, they don’t call Amazon, they call me,” he says. “If I’m not here, what’s going to happen?”