(And sits behind the counter, because they work here! Wow!)
Fortunately for our customers, joke-telling isn’t part of my job. Smalltalk in this shop, though, is a given. When you work part-time, it takes longer to build up relationships with the regulars, and that often begins with a “What do you do when you’re not here?” Answer: I study. “What do you study?” Answer: (humbly) English and Creative Writing. “How fitting!” they say, and I never tire of it. I’m blessed. I know it.
Though only a semester into my studies, I feel I’ve gained a language, another way to talk with our patrons about books that hit me hard without just saying “it made me cry, you’ll love it”. I was always the kind of student to get teary-eyed at a beautifully crafted sentence, but I never understood why. Now, I can discuss concepts like intertextuality, convention, theory, historical and cultural context, devices, all of which help when customers with a background in academics want to chat. No longer am I intimidated by your big words. Take that! Not bad for someone who couldn’t read until they were ten.
The key, of course, is balance – there are beloved customers who just want a yap about that cheeky scene in chapter five, or whether I thought the plot twist was predictable, or if this bestseller is overrated, or the latest literary scandal, which is stimulating in a different and equally rewarding way. I love that there are so many angles to take with these chats, and it isn’t unusual for customers to spend twenty minutes, half an hour, talking about the ins and outs of our favourite books before I’ve even gotten their name. I now know your guilty pleasures, your fears, your grief, but don’t know what to call you; there’s a special kind of intimacy in that.
One thing I’ve noticed in my time both as a bookseller and a student is that people are supremely shy. Coming in, admitting what genres they like (usually, this is romance readers, and that breaks my heart. I make it my personal mission to make sure romance readers know that I, too, am a hopeless romantic. The shame is so deeply rooted in misogyny and I won’t stand for it!) but I get it. I do. I’m shy as well. Part of the joy is making people feel welcome and safe, coaxing them out of their shells so I can give them the best recommendations. In seminars, I’m usually the oldest. Twenty-six with a few years of experience in a room full of nineteen-year-olds who tend not to want to open up, so I have to encourage them. (I think they call that gentle parenting. Have I unwittingly adopted 30 teenagers?)
It is such a difficult but rewarding thing to be seen. Some of my favourite customers are the ones who are honest and sincere, who tell me they’re trying to get back into reading but don’t know where to begin. They sheepishly ask for help. Don’t be so ashamed! We booksellers aren’t intimidating. We fumble, we’re as overwhelmed as you are, we’re emotional. Most importantly, we have been you! We’ll find the book that tickles your brain.
I’ve also adopted an honesty policy. Thanks to uni, I’ve developed the skill of making it seem like I’ve read a book that I most certainly haven’t for academic essays. This is standard, I’ve heard, but by no means do I carry that over to work. In fact, I’d say I’m honest to a fault. While at university, my task is to convince readers that I’m an expert who has read every possible text in the field, at work, I tell no such lies! There are some customers who expect us to have read every book in the building, but that’s just not possible, especially with a space as carefully curated as Clemo Books (we only have 12 square feet to work with, here!) and it can be tempting to say “Yes, I’ve read that one! Loved it! Buy it! Pay our bills!” but that isn’t my style. What I will do is tell you what it’s about, its central themes, and some companions for it. I’ve been known to have the odd nightmare where a customer has come back and given me grief for a poor recommendation, but I’m happy to report this hasn’t happened. (Please don’t take this as a challenge.) Selling a book you’ve never read is truly an art.
Ultimately, though, I’d say what this overlap has given me most is hope. It’s easy to lose yourself in cynicism these days, to consume all this content about anti-intellectualism, brainrot, waning attention spans, and feel like we’re losing something crucial and human, but that isn’t so. Rebellion and enthusiasm and passion exist every time someone breaks a spine (or, in some cases, carefully opens a book and reads it at an awkward angle to desperately avoid breaking the spine). If my university peers and the dear customers of Clemo have one thing in common, it’s sincere curiosity, the willingness to explore the world around and beyond them with ruthless affection. I am so blessed to be surrounded by literature and booklovers day in, day out, who always have something to teach me.
Thank you for reading! My name is Sonny, I’m a twenty-six-year-old writer from Newquay, full-time English student and part-time bookseller. You can catch me on Sundays in Clemo Books and on my Substack (@sonnywalker)!
