A few more of our booksellers share their holiday memories with us:
Sometime in the late 70s, my dad gave me a paperback of P.D. James' Death of an Expert Witness for Christmas. It seems like a small thing, but it meant a lot to me that he had made the effort to talk to a bookseller and get a recommendation for a new mystery author, since by then, I'd pretty much polished off Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers, and was making inroads with Ngaio Marsh and Josephine Tey. I really enjoyed the book, and couldn't name any other gifts I received that year. It's now been ten years since my dad's death, and I'm looking forward to reading James' new release, The Private Patient, when it comes out this fall, as part of his legacy to me.
And bookseller Chuck writes:
Books have always been a part of my holidays but nothing was really jumping out at me. If we ever got to open an early present it was almost always a book, hours were spent in the living room in front of fires with family lounging around reading or being read to. Every year my mom would read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas to us, but not just any edition, it had to be our grandfather's edition with the wonderful illustrations. One year we spent hours looking for that edition even though we had other editions we could have read to us. It not just the stories it also the books.