We hope you all got stacks and stacks of books for the holidays, and we understand if you are trapped on the couch by their weight. There are worse things that being stuck at home with too many books to read. We’ve read a few ourselves, and yes, we have made notes in our fancy book journal. You have your copy, of course. [If not, well, we know where you can get them.]

Publishing starts throwing books at us again next week, and we’ll be ready to catch and release in our time-tested fashion. We’ll also be starting up our various events. Please note the blue sidebar where we list the upcoming events (in this case, it’s Write Time on January 22nd and Book Club on January 24th). We’re going to be reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude for January’s book club, by the way. 

Most of this week’s new books are of the sort that one usually purchases at the beginning of the year when resolutions are being resolved, and if you’re wondering whether you should resolution, we can provide a few suggestions as to how you might approach such mindfulness. We also have a lot of great books that have nothing to do with bettering yourself or figuring out how to clean all the crap out of your life, because, well, you know . . . resolutions . . . whatever . . . 

Now, if you haven’t succumbed to the gentle pressure of many books and have found yourself wandering around the house with nothing to read, we have a few suggestions. In fact, by “few,” we mean “lots.” Might we suggest a perusal of the newsletter archive to remind yourself of what we’ve mentioned over the last year or so. 

Newsletter Archive Page

And, with that, we’re going to go tidy the shelves and maybe sneak in some reading while we do so. 


COLBY: Are you sure this is the right way? 

BOB: I’m driving. You’re in charge of navigating. 

COLBY: Who made that rule? 

BOB: Every driver. Ever. 

COLBY: Well, no one asked us, so I’m not sure it’s entirely fair to dump such a responsibility on us—

GLOM-GLOM: Glom glom. 

COLBY: That’s right. We don’t even know how to read maps. 

BOB: Oh, so I’m supposed to let you two navigate by what? Star signs? Bird droppings? 

COLBY: Okay, two things: 1) bird droppings are seasonal, and they only really tell you if the birds are coming or going; and 2), you have to be pretty high up to actually navigate by the stars, and I’m a ground-based nature lover. 


COLBY: Well, you’re a bit taller, but yeah, him, too. 

BOB: For as much as both of you like to remind me that you know how to actually read, you’re dodging your responsibilities pretty solidly here. 

COLBY: Look at this thing! Where’s the narrative!

BOB: That’s not what a map is, you furball. 

COLBY: Oh, name calling now. I see how this trip is going to be. 

GLOM-GLOM: glom! 

BOB: What? Where? Oh, there. Yes, I see it. 

COLBY: Civilization! We’re saved. 

BOB: Just in time too. We need gas. 


SFX: Bell tinkling. 

COLBY: Oh, look. They have a bell on the door. That’s so adorable. You can play with it. 

SFX: Bell tinkling. More manically, though. 

GLOM-GLOM: Glom glom.

COLBY: Okay, okay. Sheesh. Funwrecker. 

PORTIS: Hsssssssss . . .

COLBY: Oh, they have one of those furry snakes too. This bookstore is very droll. 

PORTIS: . . . ssssssss!

GLOM-GLOM: Glom glom? 

PORTIS: sssss—ek! What? Oh? You’re readers? Oh, okay. Sorry about that. I thought you were vermin. 

GLOM-GLOM: Glom glom glom.

PORTIS: Well, not you. Him. The beaver. 

COLBY: I’m not a beaver!

PORTIS: Whatever, mange. You smell like wet dog. 

COLBY: I’ve been in a bus all day!

PORTIS: Uh-huh. So, Tall & Antlered. What can I help you find? 

GLOM-GLOM: glom Glom-glom-glom-glom. 

PORTIS: Really? Mustich’s 1,000 Books To Read Before You Die? The whole thing? Wow. I, uh, are you sure—you know—relative lifespans and all . . . 

GLOM-GLOM: Glom Glom.

PORTIS: Okay, okay. I’m just saying. The old dude who pays the rent on this place is like eight hundred years old—that's in cat years, mind you. I wouldn’t even let him order that book. It would have just made him all bent out of shape, and I can’t have him getting all maudlin. Then he’ll want to me to do that lap thing. Ugh. I hate that. Almost as much as when he tries to brush me.

COLBY: Oh dear. That’s very . . . I’m sorry. 

PORTIS: Thank you. Who brushes a cat? 

GLOM-GLOM: Glom glom. 

PORTIS: Well, I don’t care if that is something dogs like. I am a cat, and I am here by choice. I could walk out that door any time I feel like it. I could be feral again in about ten minutes. 

COLBY: I’m sure you could, but . . .

PORTIS: But what? 

COLBY: Nothing. It’s a nice shop. Why would you leave? 

PORTIS: I’m not saying I am leaving. I’m just saying I could leave. 

COLBY: Right. Freedom of expression. I get it. 

PORTIS: I’m not sure you do, beaver. 

COLBY: Oh, it’s going to be—


COLBY: <sigh> Okay, fine. Anyway. This is a bookstore. You’re a cat. I don’t suppose we could look around? 

PORTIS: Sure, I guess. But don’t move any of the books. 

COLBY: Why would we do that? 

PORTIS: I know how you beavers are. 

GLOM-GLOM: Glom glom glom. 

COLBY: Yeah, maybe I should go wait in the bus. 


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