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Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore Paperback – September 24, 2013
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The New York Times Bestseller
A Winner of the Alex Award, a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize for First Fiction, named a Best Book of the Year by NPR, Los Angeles Times, and San Francisco Chronicle
The Great Recession has shuffled Clay Jannon away from life as a San Francisco web-design drone and into the aisles of Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore. But after a few days on the job, Clay discovers that the store is more curious than either its name or its gnomic owner might suggest. The customers are few, and they never seem to buy anything―instead, they "check out" large, obscure volumes from strange corners of the store. Suspicious, Clay engineers an analysis of the clientele's behavior, seeking help from his variously talented friends. But when they bring their findings to Mr. Penumbra, they discover the bookstore's secrets extend far beyond its walls. Rendered with irresistible brio and dazzling intelligence, Robin Sloan's Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore is exactly what it sounds like: an establishment you have to enter and will never want to leave.
- Print length288 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherPicador Paper
- Publication dateSeptember 24, 2013
- Dimensions5.47 x 0.76 x 8.24 inches
- ISBN-101250037751
- ISBN-13978-1250037756
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Editorial Reviews
Review
“A real tour de force [and] a beautiful fable...The reader is swept along by Sloan's enthusiasm.” ―George Saunders, BLIP Magazine
“Part love letter to books, part technological meditation, part thrilling adventure, part requiem... Eminently enjoyable, full of warmth and intelligence.” ―The New York Times Book Review
“A book about passion--for books, for history, for the future...There is nothing about Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore that I didn't love.” ―Cory Doctorow
“Delightful.” ―Graham Joyce, The Washington Post
“An irresistible page-turning novel.” ―Newsweek
“One of the most thoughtful and fun reading experiences you're likely to have this year...There's so much largehearted magic in this book.” ―NPR
“A jaunty, surprisingly old-fashioned fantasy about the places where old and new ways of accessing knowledge meet...[Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore] cleverly uses the technological age in the service of its fantasy...Sloan's ultimate answer to the mystery of what keeps people solving Penumbra's puzzle is worth turning pages to find out.” ―Tess Taylor, San Francisco Chronicle
“[A] winning literary adventure...Sloan grounds his jigsawlike plot with Big Ideas about the quest for permanence in the digital age.” ―Thom Geier, Entertainment Weekly
“Fantastic...I loved diving into the world that Sloan created, both the high-tech fantasyland of Google and the ancient analog society. It's packed full of geeky allusions and wonderful characters, and is a celebration of books, whether they're made of dead trees or digits.” ―Jonathan H. Liu, Wired, GeekDad
“Sloan makes bits and bytes appear beautiful. ...The rebels' journey to crack the code--grappling with an ancient cult, using secret passwords and hidden doorways--will excite anyone's inner child.” ―The Economist
“Man, is this book fun--especially for any book nerd who isn't in denial about living in the modern age. If you love physical books (the smell! The feel!) but wouldn't give up your iPhone for any reason, if you like puzzles and geeky allusions and bookish cults and quests, then this book is for you. It also glows in the dark.” ―Emily Temple, Flavorpill
“What makes Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore so impressive is Sloan's great gift for storytelling and his cast of brilliant, eccentric characters. Think of this novel as part Haruki Murakami, part Dan Brown and part Joseph Cornell: a surreal adventure, an existential detective story and a cabinet of wonders at which to marvel.” ―Carmela Ciuraru, Newsday
“Beguiling...The plot is as tight as nesting boxes, or whatever their digital equivalent...Sly and infectious.” ―Karen R. Long, The Cleveland Plain Dealer
“Sloan isn't just exploring new ideas, but laying the groundwork for a new genre of literature. While the influence of Neal Stephenson and William Gibson is present, Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore is something all its own: a technocratic adventure where every riddle and puzzle is solved with very real gadgets, a humanizing reflection on technology that evokes the tone of a fairy tale, a brisk and brainy story imbued with such confidence that it will leave you with nothing but excitement about the things to come.” ―Kevin Nguyen, Grantland
“In a time when actual books are filling up tag-sale dollar boxes, along with VHS tapes and old beepers, Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore reminds us that there is an intimate, adventurous joy in the palpable papery things called novels, and in the warm little secret societies we used to call ‘bookstores.' Robin Sloan's novel is delightfully funny, provocative, deft, and even thrilling. And for reasons more than just nostalgia, I could not stop turning these actual pages.” ―John Hodgman
“The love child of Erin Morgenstern's The Night Circus and Neal Stephenson's Reamde, Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore is a hugely enjoyable story of friendship, living, and the lure of the mysterious. It's a good-hearted, optimistic book about the meeting of modern technology and medieval mystery, a tonal road map to a positive relationship between the old world and the new. It's a book that gets it. Plus, you know: cryptographic cults, vertical bookshops, hot geeks, theft, and the pursuit of immortality. I loved it. And yes, I too would freeze my head.” ―Nick Harkaway
“Robin Sloan is a skilled architect, and Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore is an ingeniously designed space, full of mysteries and codes. A clever, entertaining story that also manages to be a thought-provoking meditation on progress, information and technology. Full of intelligence and humor.” ―Charles Yu
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
HELP WANTED
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 if 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:
HELP WANTED
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 calledThe 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.
Copyright © 2012 by Robin Sloan
Product details
- Publisher : Picador Paper (September 24, 2013)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 288 pages
- ISBN-10 : 1250037751
- ISBN-13 : 978-1250037756
- Item Weight : 9.6 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.47 x 0.76 x 8.24 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #48,224 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #709 in Magical Realism
- #3,850 in Paranormal & Urban Fantasy (Books)
- #3,892 in Literary Fiction (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author

Robin Sloan is the author of the novels Sourdough and Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore, published by MCD in the United States, Tokyo Sogensha in Japan, and others around the world. He splits his time between the San Francisco Bay Area and the San Joaquin Valley. His next novel is forthcoming from MCD.
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Reviewed in the United States on November 7, 2017
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THESE ARE SPOILERS but maybe you can find the explanations, I couldn't:
The first code solved was the face hidden in the Wayback List, which was discovered by decoding the books in the correct order. How did they know the correct order? Leaving aside the questions of the need to individually decode each book and figure out which one to tackle next, how did the flock of crazy decoding readers ever envision the pattern created by the location of the books on the shelves when they were never allowed to go to the back shelves? And it is a great many books that would have been needed to map out an entire, recognizable face.
Edgar Deckle is a librarian. He would have known to look for the punches in the Accession Table.
Then the challenge of decoding the Manutius tome: The book is scanned by Google and the entire world of Google decrypters tries to solve the code it is written in. They fail.
But the book is written in a code based on numbering the font punches on a set introduced on page 240 of the paperback (which is sort of a deus ex machina.)
The number assigned to each punch is indicated by teeny-tiny notches on the edge of each letter. With the set containing both capitals and small letters, plus variations of some letters, and possibly numbers, punctuation and who knows what dingbats, there should be at very least 60+ punches. That would mean that some punches would have up to 60+ teeny-tiny notches carved in them and still they would not be visible without a magnifying glass. But they are big enough to be seen with a magnifying glass. And apparently no one has ever magnified them before or blown up the size of the type on their computer. (If they had been visible, someone would have said that the surfaces were damaged and fixed them. Of course, when new type is made from a mold, it is closely checked for imperfections -- but never mind.) No one has ever noticed these grooves in the most popular type face ever, and still in use. So a leap of faith is required here. Onward.
Jannon discovers that in the Manutius code "one number corresponds to one letter [or one punch]. It's a simple substitution." This would indicate that the Manutius book is a long series of numbers. This is very simple cryptology - code breaking. With the knowledge that the language is Latin and an analysis of letter frequency and patterns in Latin, any cryptologist would have this deciphered in short order. The Google super-computing brought to bear on it would have figured it out very fast.
A further leap of weirdness is introduced here: "When you lay the punches out in order--the same order they'd use in a case in a 15th century print shop--you get" Gerritszoon's secret message:
"Thank you, Teobaldo You are my greatest friend This has been the key to everything"
It is unlikely that the original set of punches, even with duplicates for caps and small letters, would have had the number of duplicates required by this statement. The punches are not sets of type. The punches are the original hand-crafted letters from which molds are made. If it had been in English, there would have been 10 small e's, for starters. Running it through Google Translate, there would have been 10 small a's and 8 small i's in the Latin version.
And these a's and i's in the Latin would not have been grouped together as they would have been in their original box. In other words, in the box they most likely would have read: A a B b C c D d ........or all caps first, then all small letters. In the box they would not have been arranged as: T-h-a-n-k y-o-u-, T-e-o-b-a-l-d-o etc. I don't accept that as the "same order they'd use in a case in the 15th century print shop." In addition, the message in Latin does not use all the letters in the alphabet, so some would be left over and be all out of order.
What I liked about this book is that Sloan seems to love the application of human intelligence to problem solving, and computer solutions are the application of the same intelligence. He loves the adventure of friends working together on a mission to solve problems. And in the end it is having a trusted friend that was all-important to Gerritszoon. He mentions the spirits that seem to reside in the books lining the book store shelves. He seems to love the books which are certainly one kind of immortality, as is any human creation that comes down to us through the ages. And he has a lively, intelligent sense of humor. This is a very clever book. I can't imagine why the cryptology is so out of whack. But keep writing, boy, keep writing.
It's also beautifully written. I don't read "literary fiction". I'm a genre snob. But if this is literary fiction, then I like it. The metaphors and turns of phrase are wonderful. "Feeding hours like dry twigs into the fire," the author writes. He's conscious of language. "Moffat's prose is fine: clear and steady, with just enough sweeping statements about destiny and dragons to keep things well inflated," he says, describing the fictional fantasy novels which play such an important role in the plot, and it could almost be a description of his own writing. He also has semicolons, and he knows how to use them.
There's humour that comes from an affectionate, almost loving, way of seeing the absurdity of the world, and from masterfully chosen, mostly technological juxtapositions. "The thinnest tendrils of dawn are creeping in from the east. People in New York are softly starting to tweet." Later, the protagonist's Googler girlfriend buys a New York Times "but couldn't figure out how to operate it".
I only spotted a single typo ("left" instead of "loft"), and that level of professionalism is vanishingly rare.
So: language, 5 stars. I wish every other book I've read recently was written more like this one.
Plot, then. The plot is beautifully woven. Not a Chekhov's gun is left unfired. There are about 20 named characters, and virtually all of them, even most of the minor ones, get to participate in the great wrap-up of the epilogue. It's missing one element of the classic happy ending, but that feels absolutely right, and it's better than a happy ending: it's a beautiful ending. It's a rich, wonderful ending. I've often been disappointed by weak endings to books I've otherwise enjoyed, but this is one of my favourite endings of any book I can think of. Five stars for plot, even if the protagonist's ultimate triumph is built on an unlikely mistake earlier in the book, and even if a couple of the events are also unlikely (like Google allowing a relatively minor project to take all their server time for three seconds).
And partway through it turns into a heist novel! I love heist novels.
Characters. I liked the main character almost immediately. He's having a somewhat difficult time, but he has perspective and wry humour about it, and he doesn't whine. He's capable of admiring and respecting other people greatly, including intelligent, strong women: "I am really into the kind of girl you can impress with a prototype," he says. His love for his eccentric, elderly mentor is an important part of what drives the plot.
The other characters are all quirky without being self-conscious about it, all (seen through the protagonist's eyes) people of skill and worth and, in general, goodwill. I loved every one of them. Five stars and at least three cheers for the characters.
Finally, setting. The book takes place in some wonderfully bizarre places: a tall, narrow bookstore full of mysterious volumes, an underground cavern of cultish scholarship, a textile museum, a storage unit for museum artifacts in the dryness of Nevada where motorized shelves move constantly in a stately dance. That last was totally unlikely. Wouldn't you want to keep valuable, rare items still? And yet it the feel of it was just right, much more so than a more realistic, static building would have been.
Even the protagonist's apartment gradually fills with his artist roommate's strange and wonderful miniature city.
You could say that the setting is the real world, but you'd be wrong. Aldus Manutius existed, but his friend Gerritszoon didn't, and Gerritszoon's font isn't on every electronic device, because it doesn't exist either. Nor, presumably, does the cult of scholars known as the Unbroken Spine. I have no idea whether Google really works the way it's described, but it wouldn't surprise me at all to hear that it doesn't. And there's one very minor mistake that I know is a mistake: what the main character calls "middleware" is not what middleware actually is.
No, this setting isn't the real world. It's better. Apart from anything else, it has the epic fantasy novels of Moffat in it.
Five stars for the setting as well, making it a perfect 20 for this book. Oh, there are things I've quibbled about, but none of them significantly diminished my enjoyment. I'll be looking for more of Robin Sloan's books. I hope they're like this one.
Top reviews from other countries

The story’s main character is Clay who, after losing his job, is at a loss as to what to do with himself. He is in his early 20’s and feels like everyone around him has got their life together, except him. Late one night, Clay spots a sign for a night clerk in a 24 bookstore and after a brief ‘interview’ with Mr Penumbra, Clay is offered the job for the night shifts. Clay’s job to serve the eclectic customers and write down every exact detail of the encounter. As time goes on we realise that there is a lot more going on in the store than in a traditional book shop and we follow Clay and his friends as we figure out what is going on.
This book seems to have everything that I should love; an international secret society, impossibly complex codes hidden inside a series of books, an ancient mystery, modern solutions, tech-savvy characters, villains and heroes. But this book fell short for me.
I could not shake the feeling that this story was Ready Player One all over again. The main character, sub-characters, storyline and rhythm are all the same (although the basis of the story is different). I loved Ready Player One and I found myself drawing comparisons and Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore was nowhere near as good.
The characters in Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore are really typical; a likable but annoying male lead, a millionnaire genius best friend, and intelligent young woman with good connections and who is also a love interest, an artist, a bad guy who looks mean and a doddery and mysterious old man. The story overall is really a YA story and is not a challenge to read and with the book being so short there is no real time to go into the backstory or gain any real insights into the characters and the ending seemed to approach really quickly. The book is very pro Kindles and Google, so much so that it feels a bit like advertising sometimes.
Overall, I think if you read this with an open mind and no real expectations, you’ll find a likeable, quick and very easy read but I think it's been done before and done better in Ready Player One.

I enjoyed the premise, but we don't spend a lot of time in the bookstore of the title. This book is a sort of mystery adventure about books, archives, and museums and I liked the time the book spent on these nerdy topics.
I found the characters to be very convenient for the plot...our man needs someone to do a very specific task that involves highly specialised skills, well he's in luck because his flatmate does intricate model building, his love interest is a manic pixie tech whizz, and his best friend from school is a millionaire! Everyone was a little 2D, and the tone felt a bit "laddish"/ "blokey" while also feeling hipster...lots of talk about kale smoothies and vegan oatmeal cookies and obsolete hobbies.
Overall, if you want a slightly nerdy-edged sci-fi mystery, I'd give this book a go. But it's not as good as I thought it would be.

So much going on, with wonderful characters and a great central mystery which is determined to uncover with the help of various talented friends who are well skilled in hi-tech BUT - isn't there always a but - could his delving be doing more harm than good?
There is so much more than the surface to be read in this tale which seems to be superficially new against old, youth against experience and it is fun every inch of the way.
A vastly entertaining and very clever read. Enjoy!

The story opens with newly unemployed Clay securing the night shift at Mr Penumbra’s 24 hr bookstore, and it’s not long before he realises that the dusty tomes it houses are written in code and attract a very strange group of readers. Before long, Clay, aided by a few friends, finds himself drawn into a world of secret society, a centuries old mystery, and a mission to save Mr Penumbra from the infamous ‘burning’.
Part mystery and part quest, the author has created perhaps the most unlikely bunch of adventurers ever to take-on such a challenge. Without exception, these are archetypal Mr and Ms Anoraks, but with a high-tech spin. Obsessed with Google, web creation, mobiles, and just about every other piece of communication technology, Clay and friends embark on a cloak-and-dagger mission to solve the code and save Mr Penumbra.
There’s really only one way to get the most out of this book, and that’s to let your inner teenager run riot! Just as the secret to decoding the books lies within plain sight, so does the humour in this book…it’s all just a matter of perspective. You just need to dial-back your ‘steady adult’ persona, and let your youthful optimist run free.
Overall: A brilliant blending of old and new in a highly entertaining romp. And, there’s a super-sweet ending too.

This is a very quirky little book, verging on the bizarrely odd. The 24 Hour Bookstore of the title is a bibliophiles dream but only the select few are allowed to look at the strange three storey collection of books, books that Clay can find no record for online. Even odder he is instructed to note down not just which book someone takes out but their demeanour, their dress but Clay needs the job after the bagel start-up he worked at folded so he goes along with it.
Unusually for a book based around a bookstore it doesn't decry the advent of the e-reader, it celebrates it, noting that it has its place amongst real bound books - most of us do still read both after all. In fact, it is all a bit of a celebration of technology and the things it can do for us, against the things we accede to it, showing that it can be used for "good". As Clay gets bored on the night shift (I know that feeling) he starts trying to map the store out in a 3D wireframe and thats when things start to get interesting as he plots the order books are taken out by this odd group of people who visit at all hours and sees something he never expected. Recruiting his tech savvy 6th grade schoolfriend Neel, his artist flatmate Mat(?) and a girl he met in the store, Kat they go on a good old fashioned quest to get to the bottom of what is happening when Mr Penumbra goes missing.
Told with whimsy and delight by the author it is a fun read, just not quite as captivating as it first appeared to be. After the first couple of chapters I actually dreamt about the Bookstore and thought I had it cracked as to what was going - I was wildly wrong, so maybe that disappointment coloured things for me a little. There's also a little too much felicitous good fortune for Clay and his band of adventurers so everything comes together for them rather too easily for comfort - I'm also left wondering why it was necessary to point out that Neel is African-American when the racial profile of the other characters is never really mentioned.
It is a a fun blend of old-school nerdiness (The Dragon-Song Chronicles books that first brought Neel and Clay together, Mat(?) with his tiny architectural models and the frequent references to role playing games in the disguise of Rockets and Warriors) and modern technology (Kat and her Google job, Clay and his Ruby programming, Mr Penumbra's vast collection of eReaders). A nice bit of derring-do and cryptography thrown in and it is an enjoyable ride, it just left me feeling a little "wanting" and I'm not sure why.