Not long ago, we brought you a fine discussion about the new “upperbacks” and how they’re leaking out into the world. At the time, the story focused on the excuse being given for the new format: old eyes on old readers. Setting aside the absurdity of that for a moment, we turn our short attention space to the consequences of switching to this format. Yes, we’re talking about shelf space. Adding several inches to the height of a book is going to cut into real estate. Wire racks will need to be adjusted to fit the new size. . .and […]

Ah, the vending machine. For some, they represent the last place on earth to buy stale gum. For others, they’re a big, huge item to abuse while the last candy bar in the universe hangs stuck between freedom and those coiled metal holders. And for some, the hip, the cool, the intelligent, they serve as repositories for useful items one needs in the middle of the night. For example, if you are in Tokyo, you can step out to buy such things as Pocari Sweat, beer, whiskey (various sizes ranging from small to very large), and batteries (also a wide

Often one feels as if all bases are covered when, in reality, only one base is covered. We forgot to tell Jim where we hid the spare key should he misplace his. We don’t like to speculate*, but our imagination is such that we spent many a moment visualizing his trying to figure out the weakness in the awesome security that surrounds this blog. If only he knew how easy Jill really is. . . But that’s neither here nor there. Today we have lots of things to discuss, very little time, and a sneaking suspicion that we’ll be distracted

Hmmph. Last time they went out of town, they asked me to take care of the cats. That was much less nerve-wracking. Food. Water. Laser Pointer. Hi, my name is Jim Connelly, and I am what that Google ad over to the right refers to as a “First Time Author.” I’ve been writing (and occasionally publishing) non-fiction for a very long time — nearly as long as I’ve known Booksquare, come to think of it — and only recently have decided to try my hand at writing fiction. So this world is all very new to me, which I think

You’re sitting around on a Saturday night after a fine dinner with fine friends (discussing an appropriately obscure American independent film*). You’re talking about your upcoming trip to Vancouver (and remembering that Canada is, indeed, another country. Must. Bring. Passport. Remember. What. Happened. To. Catharine.). You playfully recount the day’s meeting with the new cat sitter. You remind the husband that he needs to print the cute Get Well note for the old cat sitter — she likes cute. Then, oh, somewhere around what should be your last glass of wine, you remember. You’ve taken care of the job. The

Susan Gable kindly points us to our first news item of the morning (for which our sinuses are bowing down in appreciation): your name in lights. In a manner of speaking. It is quite simple — all you have to do is win an auction on eBay (and surely you know how to accomplish that) and voila! you are a character in a book. Proceeds go to the First Amendment Project. Authors include Stephen King, John Grisham, Amy Tan, Dave Eggers, Michael Chabon, Nora Roberts, Daniel Handler (aka Lemony Snicket) and others. Chabon said: “It feels a little scary for

Was it just last summer that literary hoaxes were all the rage? Has time flown so quickly? The Boston Globe reminds us that it’s true — summer is nearly gone — be revisiting the literary hoax. After asking the all-important question — And finally what separates an artful hoax from an authentic piece of literature? — the article goes on to define three separate types of literary hoaxes. Yes, indeed, there are three. For those of you who don’t revel in the hoax, you should be aware that the art is far more subtle than you believe. But not all

Americans tend to love the notion of fairness. We like the idea of balance. We often seem to believe a world without bias is possible. That it is feasible to create “no spin” zone. This is a Velveeta with Miracle Whip on Wonder Bread viewpoint. It’s safe. It’s nice. It’s boring. Last week’s Washington Post apology for allowing Marianne Wiggins to review John Irving’s new book was interesting for what it was and wasn’t. It wasn’t a refutation of the review. It was an admission that it’s a small world after all. At Slate, Jack Schafer argues that a little