Market research read. If anyone knows any novels published 2019 forward about women plotting to commit or caught up in crime, let me know.
Death of a Bookseller is the debut novel by Alice Slater. Published in 2023, it's a first-person account of a young bookstore clerk and true crime fan in the northeast London neighborhood of Walthamstow. Given to morbid self-intentions, she becomes obsessed with a radiant co-worker, who narrates her segments of the story as well. I can't recall which page Slater made me abandon my distaste for first-person narration or switching points of view and enjoy what she was cooking, but she does it quickly with precise and often witty writing, a fascinating milieu, and a suspenseful story that kept me turning the pages.
Brogan Roach works at her local branch of Spines, a bookstore chain whose arrival in the 1990s forced two local booksellers to shutter and in 2019, is now on its last legs. Roach lives in a flat above the bar her mother operates. She keeps a giant African land snail named Bleep as a pet and consumes true crime books, electing herself curator of that section at Spines. She dismisses the "Pumpkin Spice Girls" who flock to true crime like any new trend. A loner who surrounds herself with books and morbid explorations of death, Roach considers herself above the "normies."
Laura Bunting appears to Roach like a vision, a pretty and confident and well-liked bookseller who transfers to her branch with a new manager and the male bookseller Laura is fixated on. Her mother the victim of a serial murderer, Laura writes poetry that champions the lives of victims. Without sharing her macabre family history, Laura takes offense to Roach's gothic obsession with death. The harder her new co-worker tries to win her approval, the more Laura ignores her. Bad idea.
I have a sweet spot for any story about work and workplace dynamics. Slater doesn't stop there, identifying a favorite milieu of writers and readers alike--the bookstore--and on its most immediate level, Death of a Bookseller is a great book about books. Slater writes what I've thought about: management, perky co-workers, popular books or trending topics, and finally customers, who interfere with what otherwise would be a fun job. Her writing is sharp, substantive and sometimes laugh-out-loud funny.
I've always fancied myself a death row bride. I'd rock up in black lace, a leather jacket, sunglasses. I liked the idea of writing to a serial killer in jail, striking up a friendship, finding out what made them tick. It was difficult to find cool serial killers to write to in the UK, though. They lacked the glamour of the Californian devils of the 1970s, the wry smiles and sarcastic waves to the press, the rock-star swagger, the achingly cool indifference to it all. There were loads of them in the '70s. It was like the Satanic American dream: girls with bare shoulders hitchhiked and climbed happily into the cars of strangers, housewives left their back doors unlocked, slept with their windows wide open and welcoming. But that was then. The golden age of serial killing was over, and the chances of me finding one to marry were slim.
The toxic male-female friendship in the novel is really well written. Laura's co-worker Eli enjoys the attention Laura bestows him--and his girlfriend perhaps doesn't--while Laura wastes her youth on a man who's unavailable. Neither possess the maturity to shake hands and retire to their separate corners as colleagues. Slater also associates alcohol consumption and blackout drunks among people in their twenties struggling with adulthood, depression and palpable fear of going home to an empty flat and vacant lives.
Psychologically, Slater takes all the best lessons from Patricia Highsmith. Her narrators are not very good people, but the more of their stories they told, the more empathy I felt for them. Finally, I understood them, and took a rooting interest in them escaping prison or death despite the best efforts of the other characters in the story to do them in. I finished the novel in four days, a good land speed for me, and anticipated getting back to it every day. This is the easiest five stars I've given a novel in months and recommend it highly.
The Christmas and New Year's Eve setting the novel stalks toward was an accident and made the book that more enjoyable to me, particularly as Roach shares her thoughts on the consensus best book of the year (it's not Yellowface).
The book of the year was Flower Crowns of the Arctic, like I give a shit. Another mass-market paperback with a pseudo-smart title for book clubs full of Lauras to fawn over. It was about some girl's dead mother, and climate change. Laura had written a neat little recommendation card for it: a sweeping novel about the way things can feel broken beyond repair, how things can feel ruined, and how we must heal before we can move on. Laura xox. Sentimental bullshit.