I thought I was going to report back on the estate sale, and I will because it was interesting on several levels, but there’s something else that begs to be addressed immediately. After writing my post about the two collections we were offered and my little-kid-at-Christmas excitement whenever I get to buy new books, I have thought quite a lot about books and money. For me it’s a complex relationship because I don’t view books as commodities and yet of course I must choose the most profitable ones if I want to stay in business. It’s a push-pull thing that at times stops me in my glad tracks and forces a bit of ruminating.
When I first began in the business in 1997 I never expected to get rich selling books. I did it because to me and Jorge Luis Borges "... Paradise is a sort of library.” More than an expense account, bonuses, and 401K plans, I wanted to spend my life surrounded by what I love most. But our eldest daughter was in college and we had another waiting in the wings to go, so there was no room for romanticizing the venture. If I were to sell books I had to make money -- period. Initially, I wrote and sold books simultaneously to keep the cash flow going, but very soon bookseller trumped writer on my resume. And so, here I am, still contemplating the financial aspect of books thirteen years later
It’s not that I feel there’s anything intrinsically wrong with making money from books. It’s just that I have a hard time mustering respect for those who sell them, but don't love them, whether these sellers are at the top of the food chain or the bottom. I wouldn’t sell jewelry, even though I do delight in a nice pair of vintage Hattie Carnegie earrings, because I don’t have a real passion for jewelry. I like it, but I don’t care enough to put in the time learning about it, seeking it out, identifying it, dating it, and repairing and cleaning it. Jewelry is not my thing, so it's best for me to get out of the way and let the people whose hearts do a back flip when they find a Hattie trembler pin do what they do best. When I make a deliciously wonderful find, especially in an off-the-wall location, I’m thrilled —yes, for the money it can bring -- but also because I love the book and love the idea of rescuing it and putting it in the hands of someone who will cherish it. As corny as this may sound, I walk through my cases of books in the early morning when I’m prowling around the house at five a.m. and actually say out loud, “I love my books!", a sort of prayer of gratitude.
When I find a book that deserves saving I am happy to clean it, repair what can be repaired and protect its jacket in mylar, if it has one. I don’t calculate the time any of this takes – I just do it because it pleases me. The same with wrapping books – I spend a lot of time and money on each package because it gratifies my desire to please the customer and respect the book. What’s sad about it is that because of the glut of books on the internet a seller can no longer get a fair price for wonderful, if less rare, titles as we could years ago.
Just yesterday, I found a lovely copy of Hitty, Her First Hundred Years. But it was only a reprint from the 1960’s, so it had no value. But Hitty DOES have value. Hitty is a classic whether you are a doll lover or not. (I’m not). The read-aloud story was a 1930 Newbery award winner which follows the history of a little doll who was carved from wood by a peddler and travels from Boston to India. Later she’s found hidden away in an attic and gets a second chance to resume her adventures. Not only does Hitty meet Abraham Lincoln, but she even lives with a snake charmer for awhile. I LOVE Hitty even though sellers value her at a dollar in hardback with a jacket. Once upon a time I could have sold her for a reasonable price, but today I’ll never make a dime from Hitty. I bought her anyway though, because she’s charming and so is the book.
So there it is – the conundrum. We love our books, but they are sold today like pork bellies in a capricious market -- value rises, value falls due to an overstocked marketplace and seller indifference and lack of knowledge. But the books themselves are eternal. The delight they bring is no less, or no more, whether a computer program, or an opportunistic seller, (neither of which can recognize the importance of variables), deems them worthy of a penny or a hundred dollars.
For this, at least, we can be glad.
NOTE -- The photo is not meant to indicate that Hitty was ever in this edition worth the amount shown.
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