{"product_id":"christmas-by-the-book-isbn-9780593331248","title":"Christmas by the Book","description":"\u003cb\u003e“A heartfelt and lovely Christmas tale for book lovers everywhere!”—Jenny Colgan, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Bookshop on the Shore\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn small-town England, two booksellers facing tough times decide to spread some Christmas cheer through the magic of anonymous book deliveries in this uplifting holiday tale for book lovers everywhere.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNora and her husband, Simon, have run the beautiful oak-beamed book shop in their small British village for thirty years. But times are tough and the shop is under threat of closure—this Christmas season will really decide their fate. When an elderly man visits the store and buys the one book they've never been able to sell, saying it's the perfect gift for his sick grandson, it gives Nora an idea. She and Simon will send out books to those feeling down this Christmas. Maybe they can't save their bookstore, but at least they'll have one final chance to lift people's spirits through the power of reading.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAfter gathering nominations online, Nora and Simon quietly deliver books to six residents of the village in need of some festive cheer, including a single dad of twins who is working hard to make ends meet, a teenage boy grieving for his big sister, a local Member of Parliament who is battling depression, and a teacher who's newly retired and living on her own. As the town prepares for a white Christmas, the books begin to give the recipients hope, one by one. But with the future of the bookshop still up in the air, Nora and Simon will need a Christmas miracle—or perhaps a little help from the people whose lives they've touched—to find a happy ending of their own....“Snuggle in for the holidays with this heartwarming story about the power of Christmas, books, and friendship. Ryan does an excellent job of building a sense of place and exploring the community relationships, and handles tough topics (depression, loss, financial uncertainty) with a light, deft hand. Whether readers love stories about quaint English bookshops, Christmas, or small towns full of quirky characters, this book will surely warm the cockles of their hearts. Perfect for fans of Jenny Colgan and Elin Hilderbrand.”—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e“A heartfelt and lovely Christmas tale for book lovers everywhere!”—Jenny Colgan, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Bookshop on the Corner \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\"Christmas by the Book\u003c\/i\u003e sparkles with love and generosity—this book will make you believe in Christmas miracles.\"—Nancy Thayer, author of \u003ci\u003eLet It Snow\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Reading \u003ci\u003eChristmas by the Book\u003c\/i\u003e is like eavesdropping in your favorite bookstore. The novel not only reminds us of the role such a bookstore plays in our communities but how random acts of kindness can heal us all. Ultimately, the novel is a testament to what happens when the perfect book finds us at the moment we need it most. Delightful and hopeful, this novel is the perfect Christmas treat.\"—Amy Meyerson, author of\u003ci\u003e The Bookshop of Yesterdays\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Like all of our most beloved Christmas stories, Anne Marie Ryan’s big-hearted \u003ci\u003eChristmas by the Book\u003c\/i\u003e weaves together a tale of hope, community, friendship and love. It is warm reminder that real miracles happen when everyday people show up for each other. Best of all, it is a celebration of books, the way they can bring us together, make us stronger, and remind us that we are not alone. I know reading \u003ci\u003eChristmas by the Book\u003c\/i\u003e will become a part of my own holiday tradition, and I bet it will become a part of your, too.”—Louise Miller, author of \u003ci\u003eThe City Baker’s Guide to Country Living \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eThe Late Bloomers’ Club\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A gift for booklovers everywhere. This is a sweet love letter penned by a talented writer who understands the magic and power of books to bring comfort and joy to readers. You'll want to buy two copies of this lovely novel—one to keep, and one to share.\"—Susan Wiggs, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Lost and Found Bookshop\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\"A proper feel-good Christmassy read, with a charmingly cosy setting, plenty of nicely-drawn characters and a real sense of community, plus an inspirational message that all booklovers can get behind.\"—Jackie Fraser, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Bookshop of Second Chances\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eAnne Marie Ryan \u003c\/b\u003eis a book editor at Hachette Children's Books in the UK, and has written and published children's books under several pseudonyms. She lives in London with her husband, two daughters, and an indifferent cat. \u003ci\u003eChristmas by the Book\u003c\/i\u003e is her first novel for adults.\u003cb\u003e1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e Nora\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nora Walden's eyes drifted from the spreadsheet in front of her to the stacks of stocking fillers on the counter-a spotter's guide to local birds, a little gift book of the world's ugliest Christmas sweaters and a reindeer-shaped board book with a squashy red nose. Any of them was more appealing than her current reading material. Despite their deceptively Christmassy color, the columns and rows of red figures on the spreadsheet were making her feel anything but festive.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Frustrated, Nora jabbed the reindeer's nose and it let out a loud squeak. A bearded man in a wool cap nearly dropped the guidebook he'd been perusing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Sorry!\" Nora raised her hand apologetically. \"Didn't mean to startle you.\" Tilting her head to the side, she read the guidebook's cover. \"Ah, Sri Lanka. The beaches are meant to be beautiful.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sri Lanka was on her daughter Charlotte's gap year bucket list. The travel section had always been Charlotte's favorite section of the bookshop. Apart from a few trips to Simon's parents' house in France, the Waldens' family holidays had mostly been in the UK-hiring a canal boat or a little cottage by the beach. Booksellers didn't earn enough for luxury holidays abroad, not that Nora had ever minded. She'd been lucky enough to travel the world through books, touring South America through the works of Gabriel García Márquez and Isabel Allende, visiting India through Salman Rushdie and Vikram Seth's novels. Nora had never been to the United States, but she'd camped out on Wyoming's rugged plains through Annie Proulx's short stories and soaked up the sounds and smells of Gothic New Orleans vicariously through Anne Rice's vampires. She'd climbed the hills of San Francisco with the characters from Armistead Maupin's \u003ci\u003eTales of the City\u003c\/i\u003e books. She felt like she knew these places as if a native through visiting them in fiction.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But Charlotte had always wanted to see the world for herself. She'd spent hours sitting cross-legged in the travel section, charting future journeys like a tiny Phileas Fogg. Nora wondered idly if Charlotte was in Sri Lanka now, sunbathing on a beach. Or perhaps she was in Mumbai. If only she would ring . . . Charlotte usually phoned or FaceTimed on Saturday afternoons, but they hadn't heard from her today-or the previous week.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The man in the wool cap put the guidebook back on the shelf.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Can I help you find a different travel book?\" Nora offered. \"I can also recommend some novels set in Sri Lanka. \u003ci\u003eAnil's Ghost\u003c\/i\u003e by Michael Ondaatje is-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No, thanks,\" he said, cutting her off. \"I'll just use TripAdvisor.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nora sighed and looked down again at the Spreadsheet of Doom. No wonder the numbers looked so terrible.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The bookshop door opened with a cheerful jingle, ushering in a blast of cold air and carols from the Christmas market taking place in the square outside. Nora smiled at the woman with a dark curly bob who'd just come in. Like most of her regular customers, she knew her name. \"Hi, Kath.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It's like the North Pole out there.\" Kath shivered and rubbed her hands together. \"I think I've lost all feeling in my fingers.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"At least the rain's holding off,\" Nora said, glancing out the window behind her. The Stowford Bookshop was famous for its Christmas displays, and Nora thought they'd outdone themselves this year. Bestsellers, cookbooks and local interest titles were arranged in the shape of a Christmas tree, with presents wrapped in shiny paper underneath it. But beyond the window display, ominous gray clouds hung over the bustling market.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nora had lived in Stowford her entire life, apart from the two years she'd been away at university, so she'd seen more than her fair share of wet West Country winters. This had been the rainiest December she could remember, however. The River Coln, which meandered lazily through the village center, was so high its waters were nearly lapping over the banks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I'm so over this weather,\" Kath said, as she raked a hand through her bob. \"My hair goes crazy the second I step outdoors.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nora nodded sympathetically. \"I know the feeling.\" Simon had always compared her wavy auburn hair to a Rossetti painting, but in this weather it tended more toward middle-aged frizz than tumbling Pre-Raphaelite waves. Even though her copper locks were now shot through with silver, Nora couldn't bring herself to chop them off into a sensible bob. She'd decided to embrace her \"hair tinsel\"—and in any case, it was cheaper to maintain.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But the rain wasn't just giving Nora a permanent Bad Hair Day, it was keeping customers away at what should have been one of their busiest times of the year, and making it harder and harder to ignore their leaking roof. If the weather didn't improve soon, the bookshop would finish the year in the red.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Ooh! This is lovely,\" Kath cooed, warming her hands by the fireplace at the back of the shop, the flames leaping and dancing like the cast of \u003ci\u003eHamilton\u003c\/i\u003e behind an iron fireguard. A squashy red velvet sofa and two old leather armchairs were arranged in a semicircle around a coffee table with a plate of homemade ginger biscuits-the recipe passed down from Nora's mum, Penelope. A West Highland terrier was snoozing in her basket in front of the fire.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A little boy whose parents were browsing in the children's book section toddled over to the dog. \"Doggie!\" he cried, crouching down next to the basket.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Careful, Joshie!\" the boy's mum warned.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"That's Merry,\" Nora said, going over to the little boy. \"Don't worry-she loves being petted.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Merry thumped her tail and licked the little boy's hand. She'd been christened Merida, after the Scottish Disney character, when they'd adopted her as a puppy eight years ago. But she'd soon been nicknamed Merry, which perfectly suited her friendly personality. Apart from the fact that her snow-white hair shed everywhere and never stayed clean for long, Merry was the ideal family dog and the bookshop's unofficial mascot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I see you like dinosaurs,\" Nora said, pointing to the T. rex on the little boy's T-shirt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He nodded as he gave Merry a cuddle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Then I've got the perfect book for you,\" Nora said. She went over to the shelves, found a copy of \u003ci\u003eTen Little Dinosaurs\u003c\/i\u003e and handed it to the boy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Helping himself to a biscuit, Joshie climbed up into one of the slippery armchairs with the determination of a mountain climber tackling Everest. As Nora returned behind the counter, he curled up in the chair and pored over the dinosaur picture book, the biscuit going soggy in his chubby fist.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nora had spent hours in that very same armchair with her best friends-Anne of Green Gables, Pippi Longstocking and Mary Lennox-the heroines of her favorite children's books. As the shy only child of a single mum, Nora had learned from a young age that as long as you had a good book for company, you never needed to feel lonely. Which was for the best, as she had often had to entertain herself while her mother was working in the shop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Penelope had come to Somerset for the first-ever Glastonbury Festival in 1970 and had had a fling with a drummer named Neil. The romance had ended before the headline act had even made it onstage, but Penelope had fallen in love with the area and stayed to raise the daughter she'd given birth to nine months later. The bookshop-the only one for miles around-had been a success, even though Penelope's bohemian ways had often raised eyebrows with the locals.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nora glanced back down at her spreadsheet, anxiety gnawing at her belly. What would Penelope say if she knew how badly the bookshop was doing?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What's wrong, Nora?\" A small woman with a neat white bob approached the counter, her kind blue eyes filled with concern behind her glasses. \"You look worried.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was Olwyn Powell, a regular at the bookshop's monthly book club. Nora had known her for years, since she'd taught Charlotte in primary school.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Oh, it's nothing, Olwyn,\" Nora said, hiding the shameful spreadsheet under a pile of wool-the start of a sweater she was knitting Simon for Christmas. \"I was miles away. Can I help you find anything? I've just read a thriller you might like-there's a wonderful twist at the end.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Despite being one of the sweetest people Nora had ever met, Olwyn was hooked on crime fiction-the more gruesome the better.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Oh, I'm just browsing,\" Olwyn said. \"Now that I'm on a pension I'm trying to use the library more.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It never bothered Nora when people came into the shop to browse. Like her mother before her, Nora firmly believed that a bookshop was more than just a place to buy books. It was the very heart of a community. But these days, browsing didn't lead to as many purchases as it once had...\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"How are you finding retirement? Enjoying the life of leisure?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I'm finding the days a bit hard to fill, to be honest,\" Olwyn said. \"I miss the children.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It must be quite an adjustment,\" Nora replied. She couldn't imagine what her life would be like if she didn't have the bookshop to run.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I do have more time for reading,\" Olwyn added, with forced cheerfulness. \"So that's one good thing about retirement.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Although Olwyn was putting a brave face on it, there was no mistaking her sadness. Nora hated to think that this wonderful woman, who had touched so many lives, was feeling lonely.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Well, you're welcome to pop in here any time for a chat,\" Nora said.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Kath approached the counter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You're busy,\" Olwyn whispered, patting Nora's hand. \"I'll let you get back to work.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Can I help you find some poetry?\" Nora asked the younger woman. \"Have you read Carol Ann Duffy's new anthology of Sylvia Plath poems?\" A fellow poetry enthusiast, Kath had been popping into the shop for years and Nora had introduced her to the work of Audre Lorde, Jackie Kay and Adrienne Rich.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e If she'd stayed on at university instead of coming back home when Penelope got ill, Nora would have written her dissertation on Sylvia Plath. \"It's a wonderful collection,\" she said to Kath. \"I felt like I was discovering Plath for the first time.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"It sounds great,\" Kath replied. \"But I was wondering if you could help me find some books on . . . \"-she lowered her voice-\"depression.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Of course.\" Nora slipped out from behind the counter and headed toward the self-help section. Nonfiction was her husband's domain. From architecture to angling, there was almost no subject Simon hadn't read a book-or five-about. Every Thursday night he ran a pub quiz at the George across the road. It was notoriously tough, with teams from as far away as Cirencester turning up every week to test their wits against him. But Simon was upstairs in the flat above the shop, dealing with the leaking ceiling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Although fiction and poetry were her main areas of expertise, Nora knew the whole shop like the back of her hand. She showed Kath the books on depression-weighty scientific studies, inspirational \"I overcame depression-so can you\" books, and practical guides to boosting your mood-and Kath helped herself to several.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Matt Haig writes beautifully on mental health as well,\" Nora said, and Kath added \u003ci\u003eReasons to Stay Alive \u003c\/i\u003eto her pile.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nora didn't know the young woman very well, and she didn't want to pry, but she couldn't help feeling concerned for her. \"Is everything OK, Kath?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"They're not for me,\" Kath said quickly. \"They're for my dad.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nora had no idea if that was the truth, or if Kath was just too embarrassed to talk about her mental health. \"Well, I'm here,\" she said, \"if you ever need to talk.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Thanks,\" Kath said, flushing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They headed over to the counter and Kath paid for her purchases quickly, glancing over her shoulder as if worried someone would see what she was buying.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nora shook her head as she watched Kath hurry out of the shop. It was so sad that people still felt that mental illness was something to be ashamed about. Or maybe Kath just didn't want to talk about something so personal with someone she didn't know very well. As an introvert, Nora could definitely understand that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A howl of protest came from across the shop. \"No!\" Joshie wailed, as his parents clipped him into his buggy. His dad wheeled the stroller over to the till, and his mum placed a guide to potty training on the counter, along with \u003ci\u003eTen Little Dinosaurs\u003c\/i\u003e. \"He didn't want to let go of this,\" she said, laughing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nora rang up the picture book, then reached down to hand it back to the little boy in the stroller, who hugged it to his chest. \u003ci\u003eI love my job\u003c\/i\u003e, she thought happily. And the very best thing about it was finding the perfect book for someone-no matter what their age.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As she held the door open for the family, Nora said, \"We do a toddler story time here every Monday morning. We're reading \u003ci\u003eThe Grinch\u003c\/i\u003e this week-you should come.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Sounds fun.\" The dad tousled his son's hair affectionately as he pulled the rain cover down over the stroller.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nora shut the door behind them just as a tall man with a thick mane of wavy salt-and-pepper hair came down the stairs from the flat above the shop. \"I've mopped up the drips,\" Simon announced, heading across the bookshop toward Nora, \"and put down buckets to catch the leaks, but-\" He smacked his head against one of the low oak beams running across the ceiling and shouted, \"Goddamnit!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Oh, honey,\" Nora said, shaking her head affectionately. \"Still?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Twenty-five years ago, the very first time Simon strode into the bookshop, he'd immediately bumped his head on that same beam. Clad in a leather jacket and boots, he'd looked more like an indie rock star than an advertising executive. But then at twenty-three, wearing Doc Martens and ripped Levi's, Nora didn't resemble a typical bookshop owner, either.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nora had fetched Simon an ice pack, and he'd explained that he was in the village scouting locations for a television advertisement. They'd talked so long-about their favorite books and authors-that Simon had missed the last train and ended up checking in to the George. They'd spent nearly every moment of that weekend together, with Simon helping out at the shop on Saturday and taking her for a long walk along the river on Sunday, followed by a roast dinner at the pub. Apart from Penelope, Nora had never met anyone who loved books as much as she did. Before reluctantly boarding a train back to London, Simon had kissed her-and promised to return.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe biscuit advert ended up being filmed in Stowford  and the bookshop was in some of the shots, as actors in ye olde peasant costumes filled the market square. Simon spent every spare moment of the shoot with Nora. It wasn’t until they’d been dating for weeks that Nora had learned Simon was the son of the agency’s founder, Charles Walden, and was expected to take over the business one day. But Simon had given it all up to marry her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The biscuit brand – Golden Oaties – never caught on,  but Simon and Nora were still going strong.\u003cbr\u003e Nora went over to her husband. Going up on her tiptoes, she planted a kiss on his forehead. ‘Do you sometimes regret that you didn’t run a mile after that first time?’ she asked him, running her fingers over the angry red mark from the beam. If he had, he’d be running a successful advertising agency now, instead of a failing rural bookshop.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Are you kidding?’ he said. ‘It was love at first sight.\" Then he rubbed his forehead and grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. \"Either that or a mild concussion.\"","brand":"G.P. Putnam's Sons","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301510041829,"sku":"NP9780593331248","price":17.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593331248.jpg?v=1767723702","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/christmas-by-the-book-isbn-9780593331248","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}