The nightmare before Christmas

Last week I spoke at a local secondary school about bookselling and running a small business. One of the questions asked was “What’s the hardest part of owning a business?” “Fear of failure,” I said. What I didn’t say was that, at the moment, things are scary.

We’ve led a fairly charmed life for the five years we’ve been in operation. Even the period during Covid-19 proved successful, once we made it through the first lockdown with sanity just about intact. When our children could go back to nursery in June of 2020, and we could open the shop doors for click and collect, takings rocketed. Everyone who could was working from home, which gave our residential location a huge advantage, and Waterstones was closed. It was this period that gave us the capital to move and expand our Bristol shop and open a second store in Portishead.

Last autumn these moves were paying off. This autumn has been another story. Costs are up, takings are down and the Christmas sales uptick only arrived in December, six weeks later than normal. For the first time since we opened in 2018, nerves are, if not frayed, feeling a little worn.

The cold comfort is that we’re not the only ones. Seeing the stories on Facebook from other bookshops, and hearing reports from the various sales reps that visit us, times are tough for everyone. Other sectors are also feeling the pinch. I met a friend yesterday whose restaurant has grown and grown for the past decade (both in size and profit). As we had lunch he told me his takings are 28% down year-on-year!

As the interest rate hikes bite on people’s mortgage renewals, as food prices stay stubbornly high, as the cost of every activity and product has to increase to cover costs (or gauge prices in the case of some of the big brands), shopping habits are changing. People are buying less. Last year our customers may have bought a hardback as a gift, this year it’s a paperback. Last year they may have bought two or three books for one person, this year it’s just one.

Seeing the stories on Facebook from other bookshops, and hearing reports from the various sales reps that visit us, times are tough for everyone

The increased prices of books haven’t helped. Non-fiction paperbacks have broken the £10 barrier. Big title fiction hardbacks are now £25, up from £20. I will happily argue that this is exceptional value for the lifetime of joy you’re getting, especially in comparison to the £4 coffee that lasts 30 minutes. But to those buying presents while watching their budgets, these price increases, even if just psychologically, are putting people off.

The other challenge is that there’s a lack of must-buy titles. Last year Prince Harry’s Spare was a sales juggernaut. These sales were predominantly from Amazon, the supermarkets and Waterstones, but even for independent bookshops the book’s watercooler status drove more people into the stores. This year, there’s nothing that comes close. Rory Stewart’s Politics On The Edge has proven one of the most popular books of the autumn in our shops, and Barbara Kingsolver’s Demon Copperhead continues to sell well, but they’re not talked about by the general public. They’re selling to the converted.

I realise that I’m sounding like a certain Mr Scrooge so before Marley’s chains start rattling my floor, I will say that there’ve been many, many books to love this year. Alice Winn’s First World War gay love story, In Memoriam, broke the hearts of most of our team; Jacqueline Crooks’ Fire Rush is an incredible marriage of music and prose set amid the late 1970s dub reggae scene; Louise Erdrich’s The Sentence somehow gave a state of the nation address within an at times absurdly funny ghost story about Native American identity; Eleanor Shearer’s River Sing Me Home is both an ode to motherhood and a Caribbean history lesson, with cinematic appeal; Francis Spuffor’s Cahokia Jazz took the tropes of crime noir and set them in an alternative American history to dazzling effect; Nathan Thrall’s A Day In The Life Of Abed Salama gave a timely and deeply affecting look into life in the West Bank; and Katharine Rundell’s Impossible Creatures is simply an immediate classic, with a denouement that matches any book I can think of.

Next year’s not looking too shabby either. Glorious Exploits by Ferdia Lennon, which comes out in January, is a laugh out loud tragedy about war, brotherhood, forgiveness and the perils of amateur dramatics; whilst Carys Davies’ tender, lyrical Clear (due in March) has somehow lived up to the colossal expectations I approached it with.

So yes, times are tough. Failure is a real fear. But books, as always, have balm for the soul and spring for the step. Our doors are still open, our shelves are still full, and there are plenty of stories waiting for everyone in need of some festive cheer.