"Do you have any books on how to die?"

"I need a book. I only have $10. Do ya have anything on mysticism, or MAGIC? Do ya have a magic section? Now this book's $14.95 but do ya think you can just give it to me for $10? Is there any way you can just give it to me for $10? C'MON man!"

And so begins another day at Shakespeare & Company.

You would think the Upper East Side would be relatively tame, or even sane, in terms of its population. At least that's what I thought prior to working at the Lexington Avenue location. Everything I ever thought about this haughty, over-privileged neighborhood is wrong. If there's anything I learned from this job, besides further developing my love for books, it's how to hate people. Prim, proper, botoxed Park Avenue moms with their ever-perfect coiffures and expensively educated children named Clark and Pierce expect you to immediately cater to their every need. After all, "salesperson" is in fact a synonym for "personal shopper", not to mention, "worthless slave". Senile, elderly women with their Shih Tzus nag you for a recommendation only to shoot down every book you could possibly suggest. There are your regular blatantly rude, ill-mannered adults and students who have no concept of courtesy, and of course, my favorite, the crazies.

Last week, a seemingly harmless man entered the store, sparking conversation with a few co-workers. Only this exchange lasted for an hour and a half, during which they were told that he would gladly return to our establishment to teach the store cat, Minnie, the art of samurai. He only has 10 dollars, and needs a book that will help him in the task of... dying. Unsatisfied with our selection of tarot cards and books on mysticism, he selected one on samurai (which will help him, in the future, to imprint his teachings on our dear feline), and proceeded to the back of the store. Where, of course, he solicited a customer, who honestly looked ready to shit her pants, for the extra 5 dollars he needed to gain knowledge for the afterlife. After haggling the price with a co-worker for another 10 minutes, he's asked to leave. But oh, he returns. The next day. And after a 20 minute phone-call to the store, complete with details of his personal life, where he lives, how last week it was his 40th birthday and he received no gifts, he comes back the day after. Oh New York, how I love thee.


What I didn't get a chance to tell Mr. Crazy was that I did have a book for him. On how to die. Though, it may not have been his cup of tea. Elena Ferrante's "Days Of Abandonment" metaphorically deals with death, the after-life, and rebirth. It has quite possibly become my favorite book. I have never wanted to re-read a book as much as this. If you have ever wanted to have your heart violently and painstakingly ripped out and stomped on repeatedly for hours, this is the book for you. Need a good cry? Pick up "Days of Abandonment."

An extremely depressing novel about one woman's descent into madness and recovery after being jilted by her husband, Ferrante's novel is beautifully translated from its original Italian. Raw with emotion, this work of fiction from Europa Editions seems as though it is autobiographical, with such intense descriptions of loss and love, of dependency and insanity. Olga is left with her two young children when her husband, Mario, abruptly abandons her on a summer afternoon. She traverses through bouts of lucidity and hysteria in trying to figure out what went wrong in her marriage. The literary quality is AMAZING, with intensely grim, descriptive passages and detailed accounts of humanity stripped to its core. The transformation of this character through her brutal ordeal will leave you crying, fearing to ever be left alone. Maybe a samurai-teaching loon with ten dollars wouldn't enjoy it, but you just might.