Call Me Nikko is beautifully written with great detail and authentic dialogue–heartbreaking but plausible–a world that is palpable. For me, the test of a good novel is if I feel I am in that world when I’m not reading it. And I was. Kudos!! Katie C.
It’s a wonderful story with delicate, unsentimental nostalgia. Alan B.
I absolutely love the idea of Nikko the curmudgeon cobbler blended with the stories of his customers. Very unusual and thought provoking! You’ve struck gold! Melora L.
Nikko is a first-generation cobbler from Greece who at ninety struggles with the dizzying pace of contemporary America. He’s dedicated his life to bringing humanitarian aid, via “proper shoe repair,” to the colorful residents of New Orleans, but his old-world shop is in ruins, and like his health, his valued traditions are fading.
With nothing to lose, Nikko hires an apprentice, a university student, whose flashy ideas are unsettling, but useful—that is, until the night Best Shoes becomes a grisly crime scene. Nikko’s choice: give up on life and his purpose in it or follow through with the new business paradigm.
Nikko languishes, nearly gives up, but an ensemble cast of family-like customers won’t let him fail.
Call Me Nikko toggles between the cobbler’s chapters and chapters about his customers & their broken shoes—by novel’s end, the two are one. Readers who enjoy a good cross-country road trip with cool stops along the way will love getting lost in Nikko’s compelling world.
A Note from the Author:
I wrote Call Me Nikko in honor of Nicko Panousopoulus. I met Nicko after the seams split on my favorite work boots. When I stepped into his Old World cobbling shop, he approached from the back, meeting me at the front counter where I placed my boots. He picked them up, ran his hands over the issue and told me about the strong thread he liked to use. He showed me the grades and colors and fibers. Each with a story. And he enriched me with story bits of his life, making it clear his fixing my boots was going to fix me in some way. Wanting more, I found all kinds of broken shoes at home, brought them in. Bought Nicko’s polishes, his finest European shoelaces–worth the high price, he’d said. I brought him hot lunch. Coffee. I’d met a cobbler and made a friend.
It pleases me to share Nicko’s story and the stories of his marginalized customers–college students, women running businesses, a tarot card reader, the elderly, store clerks, homeless vets, drag queens, social workers, foster children, police officers, and coffee baristas–people whose lives became part of his as Nikko repaired their shoes.
