Confessions of a Bookseller

For fifteen years I was a bookseller in Toronto. I would spend four to eight hours a day, three to six days a week talking about books, most of which I’d never read. I had my tastes and my preferred genres, but I also tried to keep up on what was selling well and what was winning awards. Still, small press poetry and weird fiction consistently beat out the Giller short list and hardcover releases on my reading list, so I often found myself stretching the truth. In my experience, many booksellers will do this, especially when the shop is busy. Bolstered by cover copy or an overheard line from a co-worker, they claim to have devoured a title just to nudge the customer to commit to the purchase. The more honest way is to draw from reviews. Then you can say something like “The New Yorker just raved about it” or “So‑and‑so really likes this one.” But sometimes, many times, out of self-consciousness or just laziness, I found myself barefaced lying about my favourite part...