A report from the first bookstore in the world to sell Intermezzo.

Read Rebecca K Reilly’s review of Intermezzo here.

On the 10-minute walk from my house to Time Out bookstore I wondered – no, dreaded – that there would be no story to write. The road was deserted, as it tends to be at 11.47 on a Monday night. I kept my eyes peeled for other walkers or even a car heading in the direction of the late-night bookstore but saw none. As I rounded the corner to Mount Eden Village, the road lay empty ahead of me, the night silent except for a drunk couple who had emerged from a side street, the man burping so loud that for a while it echoed.

I felt immediately bad, no stranger to poorly attended book events myself, and practiced some lines to say to the booksellers to make them feel better for nobody going to the midnight launch of Sally Rooney’s fourth novel. It wasn’t until I was nearly at the door that I heard the sound of people, quite a few people. At the last moment, a middle-aged couple turned the corner and walked in right in front of me. We became intimately acquainted seconds later as I realised the bookshop was packed and I couldn’t get through the door.

Inside the admittedly rather cosy bookshop, we eagerly awaited the clock striking midnight and Intermezzo going on sale. The first people in the world to buy the book in person. The event appeared to be an experiment. While Time Out is known for being open later than other bookstores, it is not typically hosting events after 10pm.

But if anyone was going to draw a crowd outside of business hours, it was Sally Rooney in the suburb of Mt Eden.

Rooney has proven a once-in-a-generation literary fiction talent, with a fan base and discourse more commonly seen surrounding fantasy series or crime thrillers. It’s particularly unique given the state of the rest of the industry.

The books sector has had its fair share of turmoil in recent years, a gradual decline exacerbated by Covid restrictions and cost increases. There seems to be no substitute for physical books, yet sales have steadily declined in New Zealand and major publishing houses have drastically reduced their local head counts. Simply being the place that sells books is not enough in the current environment. Tellingly, the incredible sales recorded at this year’s Auckland Writers Festival suggests consumers need something else (a show, a social outing, anything) to nudge them into buying books.

Enter: Sally Rooney at midnight. Time Out has set itself apart by being open late and is known for its particularly knowledgeable sellers. The small store regularly hosts local book launches and is a beloved pillar of the local literary scene. But even so, it was no guarantee that even the biggest fiction release of the year would prompt people out of their beds and into the street for a midnight party.

By the time I got there shortly before midnight, thinking I could waltz on in and be one of the first 30 buyers receiving an exclusive gift bag, the cheese and crackers were long gone and there were two measly chocolate fingers left. With the number of people crammed into the space, I couldn’t even move to eat them if I wanted to. Almost like a parody, the accent of the young woman in front of me was Irish, and somehow found a mutual connection with the stranger standing next to her.

There were spot prizes and minute-by-minute updates of the time as it crept closer to tomorrow. With 10 minutes to go, a recording was played on a phone of Rooney herself reading the opening pages of the book. It was good for three minutes then cut off mid-sentence. “I think that’s my phone,” one of the booksellers said. “Oh no, that’s just it.” Everyone mmmed in appreciation.

Seven minutes left, the bookseller announced, and a sea of gasps rang out. They used up one minute to take a photo, which had to be a panoramic one and will surely look horrible, but “I didn’t think this many people would come”. Then it was three minutes, and two minutes. Everyone was instructed to line up in numerical order according to the numbers on the cards they had been given upon arrival. I sighed, realising I was going to pay the price for refusing to come early. I had no card, and wondered if I would sneak in under the number 30, even being last in line. But no, there were more than that many people there, at midnight, on a Monday, to buy a book.

At midnight exactly, the small crowd counted down from 10 and cheered, with someone yelling “happy new year” perhaps on instinct. Sophie was number one, the first person in the world to buy Intermezzo at a bookshop. She handed over her card and her money and in turn received a hardcover copy and a special edition tote bag.

Before I could ask her a question, she was gone. Presumably straight home to read it, picking up where Rooney left off mid-sentence on page two. The line moved slowly and early adopters inspected their goodies bags. A man pulled out a small cheese grater, stoked. “This is amazing,” said his companion, holding a branded cookie. I desperately hoped there was no mention of a cheese grater in the book and it was just a random item in the bag.

As the line moved, a few grumbles could be heard from people with sore feet from standing for two hours and sore eyes from being awake past their bedtime. Despite the aches, the excitement for a new novel was palpable. Will the novel live up to the hype? I won’t know for a while. I walked home at 12.07am and planned to return when there wasn’t a line.