Amazon Uncovered

by

Murray Browne

To some book shoppers, brick-and-mortar purists, it must seem like heresy to even mention Amazon when talking about book shopping. Should Amazon even be considered a book store, since it also sells appliances, garden accessories, and furniture? (Remember, it wasn’t always that way: When Amazon opened its doors in 1995, it touted itself as the Earth’s Biggest Bookstore.) Nevertheless, despite its wide range of non-book merchandise, Amazon is still our national, albeit virtual, bookstore. Most of us have surfed their website, bought something, and maybe even commented in a review of a book without ever physically meeting another reader or the editors who monitor the website. Even though there is no store to visit, Amazon is a nationally shared book shopping experience.

For the conscientious book shopper, the relationship with Amazon is a complicated one. After weighing the guilt that supporting such a retail juggernaut is doing independent bookstores or independent used book stores great harm against the argument that you simply just want the book without making a trek to the book shop, there are other aspects to consider.

Some of the problems with buying books online include the way it limits one’s ability to peruse, the decreased chances of a serendipitous encounter, and the troubling realization that “the Amazon community” is a poor substitute for a real one.

For those of us who want to do a lot of perusing in a short amount of time, the physical space of the bookstore works to our advantage. I can scan a bookshelf chocked full of books in a minute or two, which I can’t do electronically no matter how speedy my connection. If I happen to see a book that interests me, I can pull the book from the shelf and give the table of contents, the index (if nonfiction), and several  paragraphs the quick once over, taking special note of the author’s style, which is a major selling point for me. (Admittedly, I can get easily sucked in by flair or clarity.). This cannot be done for most books in Amazon’s catalog. Sure, a few of the more recent prominent titles offer a look at the table of contents or a chapter or two (the deep-pocketed publishers pay for these, no?),  but most of Amazon’s older offerings do not offer previews.

For me, randomly discovering a new book while physically browsing is not uncommon. One time when I was at a used bookstore picking up a copy of Barbara Kingsolver’s Poisonwood Bible for my niece, I stumbled across a mint-condition, first edition hardback copy of Maxine Hong Kingston’s The Fifth Book of Peace for twenty dollars. It’s more than I usually pay for a used book, but I rationalized the expense in several ways beyond whether I was going to read the book anytime soon. I had other Kingston books in hardback and The Fifth Book of Peace was something that would be a fine addition to my collection. Moreover, this particular bookstore was one of my favorites, and I wanted to support them whenever I could. Had I not been physically at the store, I would never have stumbled upon this Kingston gem (which by the way is a fascinating book about charting our way out of the abyss of war).

Amazon’s annoying marketing methods of acting like your book shopper buddy (shoving more titles at you based on what you’ve already purchased) are not nearly as disturbing to me as the trickier and more misleading aspects of Amazon—the book reviews. My initial complaint is that most of Amazon’s book reviewers get paid absolutely nothing for their time, thought, and effort. Also in the case of Amazon, the reviewer rarely even gets the book gratis; they have already paid for the book themselves. For this, Amazon now shares the rights to what they’ve written: “If you do post content or submit material, and unless we indicate otherwise, you grant Amazon a nonexclusive, royalty-free, perpetual, irrevocable, and fully sub licensable right to use, reproduce, modify, adapt, publish, translate, create derivative works from, distribute, and display such content throughout the world in any media.”
     
But these downsides have not impeded even me from being among the thousands of Amazon reviewers who submit their thoughts about certain books. After all, I do meet all the low standards to be a reviewer which are—in the words of Amazon: “Customers! Anyone who has purchased items from Amazon and is in good standing in the Amazon community can create reviews.” In other words, I have joined the throng of scholars, coffee baristas, parking lot attendants, personal friends, or lifelong enemies of the author and submitted my views about a book to Amazon. It doesn’t matter whether I read a book a year or a book a day as long as I am “in good standing in the Amazon community.”

I can understand that being the first reviewer gives an experienced voice to previously silent books and endows the submitter with a tiny bit of cachet. What I don’t get is the pleasure from being the 3,000th reviewer for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. What possible nuance could this reviewer add to what else has been written hundreds of times? I am also perplexed by those dedicated reviewers who have commented on the thousands of other books and movies. Admittedly, there is the lure of contributing something to the world of books and words, so I do not want to criticize them too harshly. But I see this need to contribute as a longing for a sense of community. My complaint is that the Amazon community is an impoverished one that offers little in return and may even prevent people from seeking out other, more nourishing opportunities.

For me—and this may be a generational thing—community is when  I can go to a bagel shop and the owner knows what I want, or I’m at the local mechanic and he knows the history of my car without looking at a printout. There are not many nondenominational places left that can give us this sense of belonging. Fortunately, used and independent bookstores are often those kinds of places where if you frequent them enough, the owner does eventually recognize you. They may not know your name, but they know your dust cover (i.e., face). I have noticed that this sense of community is even more pronounced at readings held at bookstores. After a reading it’s not unusual for several people to mill around and chat about books while they wait in line to have a book signed. Not only do they have a shared interest in books, but in the book signing setting they have an opportunity to share interests with another person.

Getting back to Amazon, though, I also wonder what all the customer online “participation” is contributing to the culture. As one who blogs regularly, I am not sure it makes any kind of impact. However, I am certain that free content from reviews, blogs, email messages, and postings do provide an opportunity for the placing of banners, popup ads, and personally-directed emails.

With all this in mind, it’s ironic that Amazon’s behemoth nature provides both a service and disservice to the reading community. On the one hand, hard-to-locate books can now be found and purchased with ease. These books remain in circulation instead of being discarded; that is a good thing. On the other hand, Amazon promotes the illusion of community and participation in the culture so that you spend more time in their online catalog. So before spending all your time and money at Amazon, you may want to rethink your actions. Ask yourself, what am I searching for today? Do I want a convenient way to buy a book, or do I need to connect to another book person? If it’s the latter, you might have a better book shopping experience if you pull yourself away from the keyboard and head out to your closest neighborhood bookstore.

This essay has been adapted from The Book Shopper: A Life in Review, by Murray Browne, published by Paul Dry Books. You can reach Murray at his blog The Book Shopper, at or This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .