The Bookstore, by Deborah Meyler

As an avid reader, whenever I see a book title encompassing one of those magical literary terms, such as novel, manuscript, journal, or bookstore, it automatically scores an initial star in my rating.  It wouldn't matter if the pages within those covers were about thermoplastic polyurethane or indigenous Pygmy groups in the Congo - my inner geek is still doing a little dance of joy.  Couple that with a cover photo of a stack of fat, juicy books, and SQUEEE...this little piggy is going to market.  Such is the story with The Bookstore, by Deborah Meyler.

True to my previous statement, I knew I wanted to read this book before I even had an inkling what it was about.  If it has a bookstore in it, it's for me!  Well, it turns out that the bookstore in question here is The Owl, a fictional imitation of those cramped, yet invaluable, little pieces of real estate that make New York City what it is.  It's here that we meet owner George, employees Luke and Bruce, and a colorful cast of extras, including the homeless, the famous, and the just plain nuts.  (a la the real NYC!). The central character, however, is prim and proper Esme, a British import visiting the United States to study art history at Columbia University.    
Somehow or other, Esme finds herself romantically involved with (externally) handsome Mitchell van Leuven.  With a name like Van Looooooooo-ven, I'm sure you can already guess that he hails from a hoity-toity moneyed family, complete with a home in the Hamptons and judgmental airs.  (To put it in highfalutin literary terminology...yucky snooty-snoots.)  While still scratching my head over how the author could present such a mismatched couple, I read on to discover that Esme is pregnant.  And, just as she's about to share the news with Mr. Wonderful, he dumps her.  So begins her journey toward independence and self-sufficiency, resulting in her job at the aforementioned Owl bookstore.  Or that's the way it SHOULD have gone.

Ms. Meyler had a golden opportunity to present her readers with a wicked strong heroine you could root for.  Instead, however, she went down that all-too-common road of wimpy females who will put up with anything to keep a man (the aforementioned moronic Mitchell).  I lost any sympathy I may have previously held for poor little Esme, as she traded in her morals, beliefs, and self respect for that loser over and over, and over again.  It was immensely frustrating.  For God's sake, my 9 year old niece would know enough to cut her losses and walk away already.

I enjoyed some of the quirky peripheral characters, and the moments spent in The Owl were charming.  But, ultimately, I got more frustration than enjoyment from this one.  This was a middle of the road effort, at best.  After all, a book title can only compensate for so much.  I may have to temper my expectations before tackling A Novel Bookstore, by Laurence Cosse.