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Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore: A Novel

Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore: A Novel

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Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore: A Novel

4/5 (856 ratings)
322 pages
5 hours
Oct 2, 2012

Editor's Note

Not quite what it seems...

The difference between Mr. Penumbra’s bookstore and a Barnes & Noble is, well, everything. Clay Jannon works the night shift, and soon realizes that, as with most things, he shouldn’t judge the contents of the bookstore by its cover. Follow Clay as he tries to unlock the mysteries of the 24-hour bookstore and the strange cast of characters who pay him a visit every night.


A gleeful and exhilarating tale of global conspiracy, complex code-breaking, high-tech data visualization, young love, rollicking adventure, and the secret to eternal life—mostly set in a hole-in-the-wall San Francisco bookstore

The Great Recession has shuffled Clay Jannon out of his life as a San Francisco Web-design drone—and serendipity, sheer curiosity, and the ability to climb a ladder like a monkey has landed him a new gig working the night shift at Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore. But after just a few days on the job, Clay begins to realize that this store is even more curious than the name suggests. There are only a few customers, but they come in repeatedly and never seem to actually buy anything, instead "checking out" impossibly obscure volumes from strange corners of the store, all according to some elaborate, long-standing arrangement with the gnomic Mr. Penumbra. The store must be a front for something larger, Clay concludes, and soon he's embarked on a complex analysis of the customers' behavior and roped his friends into helping to figure out just what's going on. But once they bring their findings to Mr. Penumbra, it turns out the secrets extend far outside the walls of the bookstore.

With irresistible brio and dazzling intelligence, Robin Sloan has crafted a literary adventure story for the twenty-first century, evoking both the fairy-tale charm of Haruki Murakami and the enthusiastic novel-of-ideas wizardry of Neal Stephenson or a young Umberto Eco, but with a unique and feisty sensibility that's rare to the world of literary fiction. Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore is exactly what it sounds like: an establishment you have to enter and will never want to leave, a modern-day cabinet of wonders ready to give a jolt of energy to every curious reader, no matter the time of day.

Oct 2, 2012

About the author

Robin Sloan grew up in Michigan and now splits his time between San Francisco and the Internet. He is the author of Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore and Sourdough.

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Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore - Robin Sloan



LOST IN THE SHADOWS of the shelves, I almost fall off the ladder. I am exactly halfway up. The floor of the bookstore is far below me, the surface of a planet I’ve left behind. The tops of the shelves loom high above, and it’s dark up there—the books are packed in close, and they don’t let any light through. The air might be thinner, too. I think I see a bat.

I am holding on for dear life, one hand on the ladder, the other on the lip of a shelf, fingers pressed white. My eyes trace a line above my knuckles, searching the spines—and there, I spot it. The book I’m looking for.

But let me back up.

*   *   *

My name is Clay Jannon and those were the days when I rarely touched paper.

I’d sit at my kitchen table and start scanning help-wanted ads on my laptop, but then a browser tab would blink and I’d get distracted and follow a link to a long magazine article about genetically modified wine grapes. Too long, actually, so I’d add it to my reading list. Then I’d follow another link to a book review. I’d add the review to my reading list, too, then download the first chapter of the book—third in a series about vampire police. Then, help-wanted ads forgotten, I’d retreat to the living room, put my laptop on my belly, and read all day. I had a lot of free time.

I was unemployed, a result of the great food-chain contraction that swept through America in the early twenty-first century, leaving bankrupt burger chains and shuttered sushi empires in its wake.

The job I lost was at the corporate headquarters of NewBagel, which was based not in New York or anywhere else with a tradition of bagel-making but instead here in San Francisco. The company was very small and very new. It was founded by a pair of ex-Googlers who wrote software to design and bake the platonic bagel: smooth crunchy skin, soft doughy interior, all in a perfect circle. It was my first job out of art school, and I started as a designer, making marketing materials to explain and promote this tasty toroid: menus, coupons, diagrams, posters for store windows, and, once, an entire booth experience for a baked-goods trade show.

There was lots to do. First, one of the ex-Googlers asked me to take a crack at redesigning the company’s logo. It had been big bouncy rainbow letters inside a pale brown circle; it looked pretty MS Paint. I redesigned it using a newish typeface with sharp black serifs that I thought sort of evoked the boxes and daggers of Hebrew letters. It gave NewBagel some gravitas and it won me an award from San Francisco’s AIGA chapter. Then, when I mentioned to the other ex-Googler that I knew how to code (sort of), she put me in charge of the website. So I redesigned that, too, and then managed a small marketing budget keyed to search terms like bagel and breakfast and topology. I was also the voice of @NewBagel on Twitter and attracted a few hundred followers with a mix of breakfast trivia and digital coupons.

None of this represented the glorious next stage of human evolution, but I was learning things. I was moving up. But then the economy took a dip, and it turns out that in a recession, people want good old-fashioned bubbly oblong bagels, not smooth alien-spaceship bagels, not even if they’re sprinkled with precision-milled rock salt.

The ex-Googlers were accustomed to success and they would not go quietly. They quickly rebranded to become the Old Jerusalem Bagel Company and abandoned the algorithm entirely so the bagels started coming out blackened and irregular. They instructed me to make the website look old-timey, a task that burdened my soul and earned me zero AIGA awards. The marketing budget dwindled, then disappeared. There was less and less to do. I wasn’t learning anything and I wasn’t moving anywhere.

Finally, the ex-Googlers threw in the towel and moved to Costa Rica. The ovens went cold and the website went dark. There was no money for severance, but I got to keep my company-issued MacBook and the Twitter account.

So then, after less than a year of employment, I was jobless. It turned out it was more than just the food chains that had contracted. People were living in motels and tent cities. The whole economy suddenly felt like a game of musical chairs, and I was convinced I needed to grab a seat, any seat, as fast as I could.

That was a depressing scenario when I considered the competition. I had friends who were designers like me, but they had already designed world-famous websites or advanced touch-screen interfaces, not just the logo for an upstart bagel shop. I had friends who worked at Apple. My best friend, Neel, ran his own company. Another year at NewBagel and I would have been in good shape, but I hadn’t lasted long enough to build my portfolio, or even get particularly good at anything. I had an art-school thesis on Swiss typography (1957–1983) and I had a three-page website.

But I kept at it with the help-wanted ads. My standards were sliding swiftly. At first I had insisted I would only work at a company with a mission I believed in. Then I thought maybe it would be fine as long as I was learning something new. After that I decided it just couldn’t be evil. Now I was carefully delineating my personal definition of evil.

It was paper that saved me. It turned out that I could stay focused on job hunting if I got myself away from the internet, so I would print out a ream of help-wanted ads, drop my phone in a drawer, and go for a walk. I’d crumple up the ads that required too much experience and deposit them in dented green trash cans along the way, and so by the time I’d exhausted myself and hopped on a bus back home, I’d have two or three promising prospectuses folded in my back pocket, ready for follow-up.

This routine did lead me to a job, though not in the way I’d expected.

San Francisco is a good place for walks if your legs are strong. The city is a tiny square punctuated by steep hills and bounded on three sides by water, and as a result, there are surprise vistas everywhere. You’ll be walking along, minding your own business with a fistful of printouts, and suddenly the ground will fall away and you’ll see straight down to the bay, with the buildings lit up orange and pink along the way. San Francisco’s architectural style didn’t really make inroads anywhere else in the country, and even when you live here and you’re used to it, it lends the vistas a strangeness: all the tall narrow houses, the windows like eyes and teeth, the wedding-cake filigree. And looming behind it all, if you’re facing the right direction, you’ll see the rusty ghost of the Golden Gate Bridge.

I had followed one strange vista down a line of steep stairstepped sidewalks, then walked along the water, taking the very long way home. I had followed the line of old piers—carefully skirting the raucous chowder of Fisherman’s Wharf—and watched seafood restaurants fade into nautical engineering firms and then social media startups. Finally, when my stomach rumbled, signaling its readiness for lunch, I had turned back in toward the city.

Whenever I walked the streets of San Francisco, I’d watch for HELP WANTED signs in windows—which is not something you really do, right? I should probably be more suspicious of those. Legitimate employers use Craigslist.

Sure enough, the 24-hour bookstore did not have the look of a legitimate employer:


Late Shift

Specific Requirements

Good Benefits

Now: I was pretty sure 24-hour bookstore was a euphemism for something. It was on Broadway, in a euphemistic part of town. My help-wanted hike had taken me far from home; the place next door was called Booty’s and it had a sign with neon legs that crossed and uncrossed.

I pushed the bookstore’s glass door. It made a bell tinkle brightly up above, and I stepped slowly through. I did not realize at the time what an important threshold I had just crossed.

Inside: imagine the shape and volume of a normal bookstore turned up on its side. This place was absurdly narrow and dizzyingly tall, and the shelves went all the way up—three stories of books, maybe more. I craned my neck back (why do bookstores always make you do uncomfortable things with your neck?) and the shelves faded smoothly into the shadows in a way that suggested they might just go on forever.

The shelves were packed close together, and it felt like I was standing at the border of a forest—not a friendly California forest, either, but an old Transylvanian forest, a forest full of wolves and witches and dagger-wielding bandits all waiting just beyond moonlight’s reach. There were ladders that clung to the shelves and rolled side to side. Usually those seem charming, but here, stretching up into the gloom, they were ominous. They whispered rumors of accidents in the dark.

So I stuck to the front half of the store, where bright midday light pressed in and presumably kept the wolves at bay. The wall around and above the door was glass, thick square panes set into a grid of black iron, and arched across them, in tall golden letters, it said (in reverse):

Below that, set in the hollow of the arch, there was a symbol—two hands, perfectly flat, rising out of an open book.

So who was Mr. Penumbra?

Hello, there, a quiet voice called from the stacks. A figure emerged—a man, tall and skinny like one of the ladders, draped in a light gray button-down and a blue cardigan. He tottered as he walked, running a long hand along the shelves for support. When he came out of the shadows, I saw that his sweater matched his eyes, which were also blue, riding low in nests of wrinkles. He was very old.

He nodded at me and gave a weak wave. What do you seek in these shelves?

That was a good line, and for some reason, it made me feel comfortable. I asked, Am I speaking to Mr. Penumbra?

I am Penumbra—he nodded—and I am the custodian of this place.

I didn’t quite realize I was going to say it until I did: I’m looking for a job.

Penumbra blinked once, then nodded and tottered over to the desk set beside the front door. It was a massive block of dark-whorled wood, a solid fortress on the forest’s edge. You could probably defend it for days in the event of a siege from the shelves.

Employment. Penumbra nodded again. He slid up onto the chair behind the desk and regarded me across its bulk. Have you ever worked at a bookstore before?

Well, I said, when I was in school I waited tables at a seafood restaurant, and the owner sold his own cookbook. It was called The Secret Cod and it detailed thirty-one different ways to— You get it. That probably doesn’t count.

No, it does not, but no matter, Penumbra said. Prior experience in the book trade is of little use to you here.

Wait—maybe this place really was all erotica. I glanced down and around, but glimpsed no bodices, ripped or otherwise. In fact, just next to me there was a stack of dusty Dashiell Hammetts on a low table. That was a good sign.

Tell me, Penumbra said, about a book you love.

I knew my answer immediately. No competition. I told him, Mr. Penumbra, it’s not one book, but a series. It’s not the best writing and it’s probably too long and the ending is terrible, but I’ve read it three times, and I met my best friend because we were both obsessed with it back in sixth grade. I took a breath. "I love The Dragon-Song Chronicles."

Penumbra cocked an eyebrow, then smiled. That is good, very good, he said, and his smile grew, showing jostling white teeth. Then he squinted at me, and his gaze went up and down. But can you climb a ladder?

*   *   *

And that is how I find myself on this ladder, up on the third floor, minus the floor, of Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore. The book I’ve been sent up to retrieve is called AL-ASMARI and it’s about 150 percent of one arm-length to my left. Obviously, I need to return to the floor and scoot the ladder over. But down below, Penumbra is shouting, Lean, my boy! Lean!

And wow, do I ever want this job.


SO THAT WAS A MONTH AGO. Now I’m the night clerk at Penumbra’s, and I go up and down that ladder like a monkey. There’s a real technique to it. You roll the ladder into place, lock its wheels, then bend your knees and leap directly to the third or fourth rung. You pull with your arms to keep your momentum going, and in a moment you’re already five feet in the air. As you’re climbing, you look straight ahead, not up or down; you keep your eyes focused about a foot in front of your face and you let the books zoom by in a blur of colorful spines. You count the rungs in your head, and finally, when you’re at the right level, reaching for the book you’ve come up to retrieve … why, of course, you lean.

As a professional capability, this might not be as marketable as web design, but it’s probably more fun, and at this point I’ll take anything I can get.

I only wish I had to use my new skill more often. Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore does not operate around the clock due to an overwhelming number of customers. In fact, there are hardly any, and sometimes I feel more like a night watchman than a clerk.

Penumbra sells used books, and they are in such uniformly excellent condition that they might as well be new. He buys them during the day—you can only sell to the man with his name on the windows—and he must be a tough customer. He doesn’t seem to pay much attention to the bestseller lists. His inventory is eclectic; there’s no evidence of pattern or purpose other than, I suppose, his own personal taste. So, no teenage wizards or vampire police here. That’s a shame, because this is exactly the kind of store that makes you want to buy a book about a teenage wizard. This is the kind of store that makes you want to be a teenage wizard.

I’ve told my friends about Penumbra’s, and a few of them have stopped in to ogle the shelves and watch me climb into the dusty heights. I’ll usually cajole them into buying something: a Steinbeck novel, some Borges stories, a thick Tolkien tome—all of those authors evidently of interest to Penumbra, because he stocks the complete works of each. At the minimum, I’ll send my friends packing with a postcard. There’s a pile of them on the front desk. They show the front of the store in pen and ink—a fine-lined design so old and uncool that it’s become cool again—and Penumbra sells them for a dollar each.

But a buck every few hours doesn’t pay my salary. I can’t figure out what does pay my salary. I can’t figure out what keeps this bookstore in business at all.

There’s a customer I’ve seen twice now, a woman who I am fairly certain works next door at Booty’s. I am fairly certain about this because both times her eyes were ringed raccoon-like with mascara and she smelled like smoke. She has a bright smile and dusty blond-brown hair. I can’t tell how old she is—she could be a tough twenty-three or a remarkable thirty-one—and I don’t know her name, but I do know she likes biographies.

On her first visit, she browsed the front shelves in a slow circle, scuffing her feet and doing absentminded stretches, then came up to the front desk. D’you have the one about Steve Jobs? she asked. She was wearing a puffy North Face jacket over a pink tank top and jeans, and her voice had a little twang in it.

I frowned and said, Probably not. But let’s check.

Penumbra has a database that runs on a decrepit beige Mac Plus. I pecked its creator’s name into the keyboard and the Mac made a low chime—the sound of success. She was in luck.

We tilted our heads to scan the BIOGRAPHY section and there it was: a single copy, shiny like new. Maybe it had been a Christmas present to a tech-executive dad who didn’t actually read books. Or maybe Tech Dad wanted to read it on his Kindle instead. In any case, somebody sold it here, and it passed Penumbra’s muster. Miraculous.

He was so handsome, North Face said, holding the book at arm’s length. Steve Jobs peered out of the white cover, hand on his chin, wearing round glasses that looked a bit like Penumbra’s.

A week later, she came hopping through the front door, grinning and silently clapping her hands—it made her seem more twenty-three than thirty-one—and said, Oh, it was just great! Now listen—here she got serious—he wrote another one, about Einstein. She held out her phone, which showed an Amazon product page for Walter Isaacson’s biography of Einstein. I saw it on the internet but I thought maybe I could buy it here?

Let’s be clear: This was incredible. This was a bookseller’s dream. This was a stripper standing athwart history, yelling, Stop!—and then we discovered, heads tilted hopefully, that Penumbra’s BIOGRAPHY section did not contain Einstein: His Life and Universe. There were five different books about Richard Feynman, but nothing at all about Albert Einstein. Thus spoke Penumbra.

Really? North Face pouted. Shoot. Well, I guess I’ll buy it online. Thanks. She wandered back out into the night, and so far she hasn’t returned.

Let me be candid. If I had to rank book-acquisition experiences in order of comfort, ease, and satisfaction, the list would go like this:

1. The perfect independent bookstore, like Pygmalion in Berkeley.

2. A big, bright Barnes & Noble. I know they’re corporate, but let’s face it—those stores are nice. Especially the ones with big couches.

3. The book aisle at Walmart. (It’s next to the potting soil.)

4. The lending library aboard the U.S.S. West Virginia, a nuclear submarine deep beneath the surface of the Pacific.

5. Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore.

So I set myself to righting the ship. No, I do not know anything about bookstore management. No, I do not have my finger on the pulse of the post-strip-club shopping crowd. No, I have never really righted any ships, unless you count the time I saved the Rhode Island School of Design fencing club from bankruptcy by organizing a twenty-four-hour Errol Flynn movie marathon. But I do know there are things that Penumbra is obviously doing wrong—things he isn’t doing at all.

Like marketing.

I have a plan: First I’ll prove myself with some small successes, then ask for a budget to place some print ads, put a few signs in the window, maybe even go big with a banner on the bus shelter just up the street: WAITING FOR YOUR BUS? COME WAIT WITH US! Then I’ll keep the bus schedule open on my laptop so I can give customers a five-minute warning when the next one is coming. It will be brilliant.

But I have to start small, and with no customers to distract me, I work hard. First, I connect to the unprotected Wi-Fi network next door called bootynet. Then I go one by one through the local review sites, writing glowing reports of this hidden gem. I send friendly emails with winking emoticons to local blogs. I create a Facebook group with one member. I sign up for Google’s hyper-targeted local advertising program—the same one we used at NewBagel—which allows you to identify your quarry with absurd precision. I choose characteristics from Google’s long form:

• lives in San Francisco

• likes books

• night owl

• carries cash

• not allergic to dust

• enjoys Wes Anderson movies

• recent GPS ping within five blocks of here

I only have ten dollars to spend on this, so I have to be specific.

That’s all the demand side. There’s also supply to think about, and Penumbra’s supply is capricious to say the least—but that’s only part of the story. Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore is, I have learned, really two stores in one.

There’s the more-or-less normal bookstore, which is up front, packed in tight around the desk. There are short shelves marked HISTORY and BIOGRAPHY and POETRY. There’s Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics and Trevanian’s Shibumi. This more-or-less normal bookstore is spotty and frustrating, but at least it’s stocked with titles that you could find in a library or on the internet.

The other bookstore is stacked behind and above all that, on the tall laddered shelves, and it is comprised of volumes that, as far as Google knows, don’t exist. Trust me, I’ve searched. Many of these have the look of antiquity—cracked leather, gold-leaf titles—but others are freshly bound with bright crisp covers. So they’re not all ancient. They’re just all … unique.

I think of this as the Waybacklist.

When I started working here, I assumed they were just all from tiny presses. Tiny Amish presses with no taste for digital record-keeping. Or I thought maybe it was all self-published work—a whole collection of hand-bound one-offs that never made it to the Library of Congress or anywhere else. Maybe Penumbra’s was a kind of orphanage.

But now, a month into my clerkship, I’m starting to think it’s more complicated than that. You see, to go with the second store, there’s a second set of customers—a small community of people who orbit the store like strange moons. They are nothing like North Face. They are older. They arrive with algorithmic regularity. They never browse. They come wide awake, completely sober, and vibrating with need. For example:

The bell above the door will tinkle, and before it’s done, Mr. Tyndall will be shouting, breathless, Kingslake! I need Kingslake! He’ll take his hands off his head (has he really been running down the street with his hands on his head?) and clamp them down on the front desk. He will repeat it, as if he’s already told me once that my shirt is on fire, and why am I not taking swift action:

Kingslake! Quickly!

The database on the Mac Plus encompasses the regular books and the Waybacklist alike. The latter aren’t shelved according to title or subject (do they even have subjects?), so the computer assist is crucial. Now I will type K-I-N-G-S-L-A-K-E and the Mac will churn slowly—Tyndall bouncing on his heels—and then chime and show its cryptic response. Not BIOGRAPHY or HISTORY or SCIENCE FICTION AND FANTASY, but: 3-13. That’s the Waybacklist, aisle 3, shelf 13, which is only about ten feet

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What people think about Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore

856 ratings / 397 Reviews
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Reader reviews

  • (4/5)
    I listened to the audiobook, read by Ari Fliakos, who did the most wonderful audio recording I've ever heard. I don't usually pick audiobooks based on who's reading them, but now I will be on the look out for Ari Fliakos' readings.As for the book itself, I was completely engrossed at first. And then less so. It was all good, but not as good as the set up led me to expect.
  • (4/5)
    Fun easy read (except for the details about coding, skimmed!). Great airplane or beach book!Happy endings for everyone!
  • (5/5)
    This was a thoroughly enjoyable book. I put it on my "fantasy" shelf although the fantasy element is not as strong as it might seem at first. Clay, the protagonist, is a young San Franciscan enjoying his steady climb as a website designer at an upstart bagel company. Then, 2008 happens and Clay finds himself looking for a job. He wanders into Mr.Penumbra's 24 Hour Bookstore and is hired on the spot. But Mr. Penumbra's is not exactly an ordinary used bookstore. Along with a quirky collection of high quality recent and classic used books, Mr. Penumbra's store features towering murky shelves of books in code which can only be accessed by members of a shadowy group of special customers. These customers come in late at night, show their ID card and check out these coded books for "research." Encouraged by his set designer roommate and his friend Cat, who works at Google,Clay begins to explore the code, looking for a way in to the mysteries of the coded volumes. What he finds may endanger the books themselves, the bookstore, and possibly the life's work of Mr. Penumbra and his "special" customers. The narrative weaves cutting edge tech strategies with a true reverence for books and engaging characters. The writing finds just the right combination of rounded but understandable characters, the impetuosity of youth and the gentle patience of age. No new lessons hear, just a great story well-told. Lovely.
  • (4/5)
    A fun story of mystery, intrigue and conspiracy and more importantly the importance of friends.
  • (5/5)
    An epic tale of mystery, technology, secret societies, musty bookstores, Google, and pretty much everything else I love. Fun, funny, inspired and well worth your time.
  • (4/5)
    Clay, the hero, lives in modern San Francisco saturated by the internet, computers and Google, but when he needs a job finds one in a bookstore. The clientele of the store, aside from a random browser, are a group of initiates solving a great puzzle, put in place by a publisher from 15th century Venice. The book is comic, not dark or threatening, and has interesting connections to typography and museums, and an ironic description of Google culture.
  • (5/5)
    This might be the most fun I've ever had reading a book. Ever. And also the most fun I've had picturing myself in a book. I just couldn't help it with all the books leading to puzzles and answers and wonderful characters who were all great in their own wonderful way. There was a fantastic bookstore and an awesome quest and a fabulous meeting of books and computers. One of my favorite parts was when they were playing Maximum Happy Imagination where they imagine a happy future and go as far as they can - there was a point where they couldn't keep going. I was fascinated by that and some of the other ideas in this book. Seriously this was one awesome book and I almost wish I could unread it and read it again for the first time.
  • (5/5)
    Adore books? Have a techie soul? Left your heart in San Francisco? This is *THE* book for you! Witty and suspenseful - a great read.
  • (4/5)
    Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore is full of intrigue and mystery told in good humor and I enjoyed it immensely. For you see, Mr. Penumbra's bookstore isn't really a bookstore at all, but a . . . well, what exactly IS it? Our protagonist Clay is hired on as a night clerk and his curiosity sets him upon a quest to find out.

    I use the word "quest" advisedly for while Clay's journey may take him to the streets of Manhattan and the sunny green campus of Google instead of the byways of Middle Earth, he is guided by a "sacred" text, meets his share of interesting characters along the way, must solve puzzle after puzzle, and finally is rewarded by wisdom.

    And as the author would contend, all quests for wisdom--whether carrying the imprimatur of a Gandolf or a Mr. Penumbra--end up essentially at the same Truth.

    Great fun.
  • (4/5)
    A most endearing tale about a bookstore, a mysterious code to crack, the power of computers, the power of friendship and loyalty and perseverence.
  • (4/5)
    Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore was quite an entertaining read. The hero of the tale is Clay, a young techie out of a job who winds up accepting a job as a night clerk at an odd little bookstore, Mr. Penumbra's. Tall multi-storied bookcases rise into the air and the job is his when he mounts the ladder and retrieves the book asked for.There's a secret society of mysterious people that arrive at odd hours asking for special books and returning the ones they had borrowed. His job includes keeping a log of who, time, what they look like and what they are asking for in a log book. The only technology (aside from what he carries with him) is an old Apple computer that holds the database for the towers of shelves.Enter Clay's friends, who begin by convincing him to look at these mysterious books (which he was forbidden from doing when he took the job). The books are as mysterious as the readers. Including the entrance of technology and Google's mind brain and book reader. Its a fascinating tradition meet technology. A view into the mind of many of those in the tech field, some of which was quite fascinating to me. The idea that everything is just as good digitized and will eventually replace all the older forms like printed materials, the seeming lack of appreciation for individuality and willingness to be sucked into the Borg kind of floored me.I think one of the things I like the most about it was expressed by another review I read about this book. Its a love story to books. Its technology versus tradition and in the battle to find the truth, I believe the greatest truth they find is that each has an equally important place.Oh, and the book jacket glows in the dark. I found that out when I took it to bed to read and turned out the light! This was a charming read that I would recommend to anyone that loves books, mysteries and dusty old bookstores.
  • (3/5)
    I think this one reads a bit more like YA fiction than adult fiction. I like the idea of mixing a secret book society with the power of today's technology. However, I worry that the book is going to prematurely age due to its heavy reliance on that technology. The plot revolves around things like Google searches, Twitter, iphones, and Kindles and while some of that sounds cool now, in a few years (considering the speed at which technology develops) those things might be old hat and won't be able to help carry the plot for the reader.I think this had a good amount of mystery and adventures, but perhaps needed to be fleshed out a bit more. Again, maybe better suited to the YA genre. Additionally, I found the main female character to be extremely grating. I couldn't really figure out the narrator's infatuation with her and I found myself speeding through sections where she was featured prominently. That said, parts of this book really struck a chord with me. This was clearly written with an immense amount of respect for books, bookstores, and book-lovers, which I in turn loved (in fact, I found the last three sentences of the book so incredibly lovely that it enriched my overall reading experience). It also brings up issues of finding significance in our lives and our resistance to change, both of which personally hit home with me. I loved the optimist tone of the book as well. Overall I found it to be a nice, if somewhat flawed, lightweight read.
  • (4/5)
    I will not venture into a summary of this story. Its a really weird plot - it centers around a bookshop where something very mystical is going on - a “riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma” - a code puzzle with the potential of solving the secret of life itself. It’s old technology (the book) vs. or combining new technology (the internet). Its very funny and clever - I have to admit that near the end I found myself dizzy with the puzzle - but there’s so many surprising plot-twists that you just can’t put it down. You have to find out whats going on. Plus some nerdy characters. If you’re a bookgeek or a computernerd you will love this even more.
  • (4/5)
    I thoroughly enjoyed reading about Mr. Penumbra and his book store. I expected more intrigue, and was actually glad that it wasn't the DaVinci-code style mystery I had feared. I felt like I KNEW the bookstore after reading about it, and the characters really came to life for me, quirks and all. Particularly because of their quirks, actually. The pacing of the novel was good, moving along fairly quickly, with the reader rarely left hanging too long to find out what the next step in solving the mystery was. There were pieces that reminded me of both "The Circle" by Dave Eggers, as well as flashes of "Ready Player One," but this was very much its own book. Highly recommend for all book lovers -- paper or electronic :)
  • (5/5)
    Did I just make up a new genre to describe this book? Maybe. No terms I can think of right now are enough to describe the style of Sloan's novel. Clay is a fusion of love for the past and the future, a happy medium between Corvina's determined Ludditery and Kat's voracious appetite for the future, and his voice and adventures kept me turning pages frantically. (Also, there's an expert on "boob physics." C'mon. That's literary gold.)
  • (4/5)
    "There is no immortality that is not built on friendship and work done with care. All secrets worth knowing are hiding in plain sight. It's not easy to imagine the year 3012, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try."

    Thanks to my son taking a nice long afternoon nap, I was able to finish this book in almost one sitting. It wasn't a difficult read by any means, but I was thoroughly entertained. If Harry Potter, The Da Vinci Code, and Google had a book baby, this would be it. I really can't say much about the plot line without giving the book away. It was a wonderful mix of past, present, and future.

    What a nice, refreshing afternoon! Now back to toddler play time, and reality. :)
  • (4/5)
    A quick and fun read that delves into a ton of topics: antique books, book digitization, code-breaking, weird cults, crowd-sourcing, and typography/font history to name a few. The characters are likeable and the action moves right along, even if the stakes in the story are never actually very high.

  • (4/5)
    This is a very comfortable read - relaxed and gentle. There is no violence, no "action" as the term seems to be commonly used. The plot was hard to follow but very engaging. The book is primarily about a mystery - a puzzle being solved - or is it ? The book is also about friendship, loyalty, and relationships. The author writes n optimistic tale of search and discovery - full of humor and whimsy,
  • (5/5)
    A really enjoyable read.
  • (5/5)
    Holy crap that was a good ending. This book was littered with amazing reality in the world of books and digital media along with reflections of our generations struggle to satisfy both needs and desires in both of these worlds. A great read that I will remember for a long time.
  • (4/5)
    Light and amusing, fun world and characters; delightfully geeky. Annoying that the main character keeps talking about how beautiful girls are, but otherwise very entertaining.
  • (5/5)
    One of the best books I've read in a long time. The book has a number of points where you think it has hit a plateau and will continue on that path, but then the plot kicks in another gear! I would love to read a whole book about Consolidated Universal --actually I think I've seen the show; it's called Warehouse 13!
  • (5/5)
    First fiction book I've read (or listened to) in a long time that I really liked. The title itself grabbed me. How cool would it to have a 24-hour bookstore nearby? And what a name!! The suggestion of a shadow, hinting at a subterranean cult that becomes stronger and until the sun is self-consumed. Gads! I'm beginning to freak out like Clay!Ari Fliacos was a superb narrator.
  • (4/5)
    Mr Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore is a book that contains lots of things I love: a second hand book shop; a bunch of geeks excited by model making, computer coding and fantasy novels; a mysterious secret society; a quest to break a secret code; the history of printing and typography; and museums. Robin Sloan has created a parallel universe with enough that's the same as our here and now to make it believable, mixed up with flights of fancy that made me laugh at the same time as I wished they were real. I work in a museum and, as far fetched and unattainable as it is, I wish there was a global database where we all document our collections and can check what's out there already. Sloan's naivety made me laugh on that one! I loved the sense of urgency in the quest, and I loved its conclusion. Most of all, I loved the characters. I want Clay Jannon's life.
  • (5/5)
    Mr Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore is a geek love story, of sorts. A detective story, of sorts. An adventure story, of sorts. It is a love story about geeks and for geeks. It is for those who love reading on an ereader and for those who love the smell of freshly printed paper. It is about high tech wizardry and ancient knowledge. It is fantastical and stoically rooted in our world. It is amazing. Who knew typography could be so much fun?Mr Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore is just one of those place you wish really existed.
  • (4/5)
    The story begins with an unemployed young techie with an art school degree who spends his days browsing the web for want-ads, among other things, and reading--mostly the latter. He is Clay Jannon and his life is changed when he starts walking around his home base of San Francisco and happens upon a strange-looking bookstore with a sign in the window:"HELP WANTED: Late Shift, Specific Requirements, Good Benefits"The name of the bookstore is "Mr. Penumbra's 24-hour Bookstore".The adventure Clay begins when he decides to take that job is initially beyond his imagination. It combines elements of fantasy, mystery, friendship and adventure as a way of looking at the modern conflict and transition between new technology (electronic) and old (print books). It requires him to cooperate and sometimes scheme with new friends in pursuing elusive clues. At the heart of the novel is the collision of that old-world handwork and the automated digital age.The new technology is very Google-oriented as Clay, soon after becoming comfortable in his new job, meets a Google employee named Kat who impresses him with her programming ability. Clay is forbidden to open the books yet required to describe the borrowers in great detail to the owner, Alex Penumbra. Late-night boredom catalyzes his curiosity, and soon Clay discovers that the books are part of a vast code. And it is not long before they are investigating the secrets of the strange bookstore. For it is strange in that it sells very few books and seems to exist for a mysterious society of book lovers who form a club that has access to private stacks in the back of the store. The secrets hidden in the books stretch back to the initial revolution in printing started by Gutenberg. It is this and other mysteries that create the suspense that sustains this lightweight but definitely interesting first novel.Intertwined among the mysteries is Clay's love for an obscure fantasy novel by Clark Moffat called The Dragon-Song Chronicles. There is no way to say much more about the complicated plot without giving away too much of the enjoyment of discovering along with Clay the secrets behind the 24-Hour Bookstore.This is an entertaining book that will appeal to both fantasy lovers and those who like mysteries. With its focus on the latest internet technology the story presents an interesting analogy between the printing revolution begun by Gutenberg and the digital revolution in books as it is being promoted by Google and other internet behemoths.
  • (4/5)
    In a recession, when you can't find a job and get desperate what do you do? If you are Clay you search the want ads of the newspaper for a job, getting less picky as time passes. In his search he finds a book store called Mr. Penumbra's 24- Hour Bookstore (of course)and he applies for the job of clerk. This novel is Clay's account of the odd happenings and customer's of Mr. Penumbra's store and his hunt to figure out their mystery.

    This book is a quick fun read filled with unique and vivid descriptions of people and places. Your imagination will go wild. It is a story of friendship through the ages and the development of new friends, how people over complicate life, and how important the present is.
  • (5/5)
    Out of a job during the recession, Clay Jannon happens upon a 24-hour book store that needs a clerk on the night shift. Clay really knows coding and the internet a lot better than books, but he can climb a ladder and help the few people who frequent the store. The regular customers turn out to be eccentrics who borrow obscure tomes from what Clay terms the "Waybacklist," and he soon becomes convinced that the bookstore is merely a front for something else...I tried to think of what I might compare this to, and the best I can come up with is it's like [Ready Player One] for book lovers. There's a mystery surrounding books, a delightful bookstore that is open all day (who wouldn't love that?), and a wisecracking clerk all wrapped up in an homage to the delights of reading. As much as I can try to describe it, however, there's really nothing that I can say to describe the pleasure I felt every time I opened up the pages. I had a smile on my face to the very last sentence.
  • (2/5)
    Oh how this book made me sad.

    Having worked for years in bookstores, one glorious bookstore in San Francisco (what's up Dog Eared!) in particular, I approached MR. PENUMBRA'S 24-HOUR BOOKSTORE with hopes for a good time. Like the narrator, I've worked in the web industrial complex (in the first boom in NY), I spent a portion of my childhood playing D&D, I read a lot of fantasy as a kid, and I think smart girls are hot. Seems like I'm a ready-made fan, right?

    Unlike the narrator, though, I'm not interested in a book-length ad for Google Inc, I don't think of books as containing codes to be cracked, I don't think an awesome career path is to leave bookstore clerking in order to OPEN A CONSULTANCY, and I don't applaud the ingenuity of someone taking a used bookstore and TURNING IT INTO A CLIMBING GYM!!!!

    I don't want to be a hater, because I can see the author's very real affection for books and bookstores coming through. I would bet he's a really nice guy who I would like if I met him. And don't misunderstand: I heart the web, really I do, and I don't think the web is the end of print books or novels or whatever. But I do think the web is affecting how people read and write, and I think MR. PENUMBRA'S 24-HOUR BOOKSTORE might be some evidence that this effect is not always so great.

    For me, the very best thing about this book, which I wanted so much to love but really just couldn't, was its truly clever and magical dust jacket. I love the dust jacket so much I won't even spoil it.
  • (4/5)
    I just finished this book and am trying to come up with something coherent to say besides "OMG so cool nifty nifty nifty wow!" Strange and fascinating characters, companies and places and things that feel like they should be real.... This is literary fiction that gives me what I read science fiction and fantasy for -- intriguing ideas and sensawunda, and capturing the spirit of a time and place.