Why This Book
6 weeks ago I started the Kyra Davis bookclub that I’m hosting on my Facebook Group page. the first book I choose was Fake Like Me by Barbara Bourland.
I’ve been asked why I specifically selected this book, a novel that is available as an ebook and audiobook but is getting harder and harder to find in print despite it being published only a few years ago and getting fantastic reviews.
Honestly, I chose it in part because it’s getting harder and harder to find in print despite being published only a few years ago and getting fantastic reviews.
One of my biggest frustrations with publishing is how quickly books go out of print. Of course I understand why books aren’t reprinted in bulk every year but surely there must be a way to have some kind of print-on-demand system like Amazon’s self-publishing platform KDP supports. I recognize there’s a lot about the business model for publishing houses that I don’t understand. Maybe there are logistical and economic reasons that such a revamp of industry standards and practices would be completely impractical and economically damaging. But I can’t help but think there’s got to be a way to make the system work better than it does.
Anyway, that’s just a long way of saying I wanted to alert readers to Bourland’s book and give them the opportunity to physically get it into their hands while it’s still possible to do that.
But of course Bourland isn’t the only author with this particular why-no-reprint? issue. So why did I single her title out as the inaugural pick for this book club?
The following passage in which Bourland’s protagonist describes a crowd at a 1990s über hip New York art opening has a lot to do with it:
Spidery people poured out of the massive double doors. My first impression was the scent of fading chlorine mixed with Chanel No. 19 and du Maurier cigarettes, and my second was of secrets being exchanged, of whispers floating from lipstick mouths to earlobes encrusted with diamond-bedecked safety pins. Somebody passed me a cold beer out of a trash can filled with ice, but before I could even say thank you, they were gone, another body in their place: a thin man in a gray flannel three-piece suit. He wiped his nose with his folded handkerchief and it came away with a blossoming red stain. He caught me staring and winked. I looked away, uncomfortable, then watched a wasplike woman—her shoulder blades sharp, like wings—pull up in a cab. She threw a twenty at the driver, the crumpled bill sailing through the divide, then crossed the sidewalk confidently in a low-cut lavender dress before compressing herself into the packed gallery and disappearing.
I lived in New York for a brief time in the 90s. I’ve essentially been to that party. And when I read that passage I’m at that party again, except I’m experiencing it with a new sense of clarity. I’m immersed in the poetry and the savagery of that scene. I’m sensing the allure as well as and despite of the slime and unique pretension of it all. With Bourland you are never an observer. She brings you into her stories with language that is so rich and decadent you almost worry you’ve put on a few pounds after consuming it.
As a reader I can say Bourland’s books leave me feeling entertained, satisfied and enamored.
As a writer her books leave me smarter. They make me want to up my game.
That’s why I chose Fake Like Me.
If you would like to join me in further discussion of this book join me over at my Facebook group Friday, March 1st at 4pm PT. There’s a lot to dish about.