Talking to brick walls.

Books currently on display in the window of Pegasus Books:

My Year of Meats, Ruth L. Ozeki
The Giant's House, Elizabeth McCracken
Motherless Brooklyn, Jonathan Lethem
The Pilot's Wife, Anita Shreve
Dead Sexy, Tate Hallaway
The Dogs of Babel, Carolyn Parkhurst
Jewell, Bret Lott
Sea Glass, Anita Shreve
The Map of the World, Jane Hamilton
Case Histories, Kate Atkinson
Memoirs of a Geisha, Arthur Golden
Angela's Ashes, Frank McCourt
Night Moves, Tom Clancy
Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, Lisa See



Comment of woman walking by, "Oh, it's mostly science fiction...."

Sigh.


Comment of regular blog reader. "Oh, you have so much more stuff than I expected. You have lots of books!"

Double sigh.

See here's the thing.

Advertising and promotion is all well and good. Signs, and displays, and talking and blogging and jumping up and down in a monkey suit are all fine ideas.

But they can't overcome the mightiest hurdle of all.

Preconception.

A set mind.

When I brought in new books, I knew that it wouldn't matter to just about anyone who had been in my store in the last 25 years. They would continue to think of Pegasus as what they made up their mind about Pegasus when they first visited. Whether it be comics or cards or toys or science fiction or whatever.

On the other hand, the majority of new visitors are open to the idea that I'm a bookstore because they actually believe the evidence before their very eyes.

That's great. I can build on that.

Here's another situation that arises ten or fifteen times a day.

Customer walks in and asks, "Do you have Native Plants of North America?"

"We carry almost exclusively fiction," I say.

Completely blank look. Not the answer they expected. No, would suffice. Yes, would be good. Don't know, is what they expected.

"So you don't have it?"

"Probably not. We do fiction...you know -- novels...."

Slowly, perceptively, the understanding of what I'm saying enters their mind.

But I don't want to just say No. This is my opportunity to do a little marketing, one on one, the most valuable kind. So I make the effort. If I just say, "No," they leave and are never the any wiser about my store. Sometimes, they'll brighten up and say, "Oh, great. I've been looking for a good read!" and actually walk over and start looking around.

But it can be frustrating.

The Big Blowdown.

I got bogged down in another George P. Pelecanos book, The Big Blowdown.

I love his writing. He's fantastic.

I was asked once if he was any good, and I answered without thinking, "I don't know how anyone could be so good."

So what's the problem?

I've read a couple of his novels and really admired them. I really LOVED one of his books. (More of that below.)

His plots are believable and complex.

His characterization is spot on.

His dialogue is brilliant.

His urban milieu is evocative and reeks of authenticity.

So again, what's the problem?

I think it's that last thing. The urban milieu. The urban hopelessness. The ethnic trap.

I just can't cotton to it. Why don't they get the fuck out? Go somewhere else! Escape your toxic neighborhood and your dysfunctional family and your generational sinkhole.

O.K. I know it's not that simple. But I just don't want to read it. I had the same problem with Mystic River, by Dennis Lehane. Get in your car and drive! You were Born to Run.

The one Pelecanos exception was King Suckerman. Which not coincidentally was about that very subject -- trying to get out, to escape the trap.

Sadly, I've also stopped reading LeCarre because his last two novels were so damn hopeless. Everyone dies. Screw that. In fact, in the last novel, the main character turns out to be dupe. He's the fall-guy. Anyone remember Warren Beatty in the Parallax View? That kind of godsmack ending. Yuck.

So why do I still like Jame Ellroy? Or James Lee Burke? Their visions are almost as dark, if not darker.

I think they leave a hope, somewhere in their dense plots, for an escape. A hope that the right moral decision will lead to a better world.

I used to have much more tolerance for this kind of existential malaise. In fact, I scorned readers who weren't willing to read harsher books. Maybe it's age. I don't know. If you still like reading this kind of thing, more power to you.

Pelecanos is a great writer.