Patience & Fortitude

As I write this it’s pouring rain and we are under a flood watch – again. The last one, a few days ago, proved uneventful for us, but not for everyone. Having experienced flooding up close and personal a couple years ago the very word fills me with anxiety. But instead of wringing my hands and gnashing my teeth – my usual modus operandi for anything upsetting – I am choosing to shift my focus to Nicholas Basbanes’ amazing book Patience and Fortitude; Wherein a Colorful Cast of Determined Book Collectors, Dealers and Lbriarians Go About the Quixotic Task of Preserving a Legacy which I bought in hardcover in 2001 when it debuted, but never read because it was so beautiful I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not long ago though I found a reasonably broken-in paperback copy, so ten years later I’m finally lost in its pages.


I got up at five this morning to read it, peaked outside at the rain, and immediately locked eyeballs with an enormous deer who kept sentinel duty while his two companions made breakfast of our English ivy. We see deer in the backyard a lot – we even see them strolling down the sidewalk in the middle of the day – but this one startled me. I observed him for awhile and then settled in with Basbanes and his stories of booksellers past and present. As I read about one who at age nineteen borrowed $40,000 from his parents to buy a fabulous collection which immediately launched him as a major player I got to thinking about how books are a lot like deer. They used to be much rarer than they are now. Of course rare books still surface – it’s just that rarity is rarer these days thanks to the internet.

Yesterday though a guy called the store and asked Eric if he would be interested in a first edition of The House of the Seven Gables. The first printing was limited to slightly more than 1600 copies and yet a relatively significant number are available on Advanced Book Exchange alone with prices beginning at $3000-plus and working their way downward to $1500. Eric called me around noon wondering what he should look for in ascertaining its validity as a first edition. I wish I could say I knew, but having never seen one, I had to drag out the reference books and explore the internet. Once I had the date, the particulars about its appearance, and its points of issue I phoned back and gave him the details. This stuff fascinates me no end. I love doing sit so much that the outcome is almost immaterial to me -- just learning about it is a trip. In fact, I was so caught up in the scholarship of it that I never called to find out what happened and didn’t hear the verdict until he came home last night – carrying the book.

Together Eric and I cover all the bases of bookselling, but we are not the same kind of seller. We both love books and love selling them, but Eric is not a stickler for condition and doesn’t really care all that much about editions. What excites him is putting books into the hands of people who want to read them. I like that too, but I care very much about condition and I love old books and paper far more than I do their slick, shiny counterparts. Last year, on a hunch, I bought an early Mark Twain not knowing the points of issue for the first edition. All I knew for sure is that it was possibly right and that the condition was excellent, both of which made me feel reasonably sure that I would make a profit even at the fairly steep asking price and even if I ended up being wrong. Turns out it WAS a first and I sold it handily at the antiquarian book fair in Akron the following week.

The House of the Seven Gables, however, would win no awards for beauty even if it were the first printing, which it was NOT. The spine leaned like a skateboard ramp, there was evidence of previous insect damage, and the corners were frayed to the boards. But the REAL problem was that even though the previous seller had written first edition on the front pastedown it failed the test on EVERY point of issue. There were no ads bound in, the endpapers were the wrong color and the broken type on the last words of the first two lines of page 149 was not broken at all, but rather misaligned as per the later printings. Unlike Eric, I wouldn't have bought that book at ANY price. In fact, the only thing that kept me from passing out cold in the kitchen was the fact that  I knew without even asking that he'd gotten it for a song, which he did – pocket change and the owner even took it out in trade.

In Patience & Fortitude, however, even in the early days of their bookselling careers, dealers skipped right over purchasing a significant book every now and again and went straight to buying enormous collections of very fine books for sums of money that would make your hair curl tighter than a New Year’s Eve noisemaker. In every case they had to go into grievous debt to do it, but the gamble invariably propelled them into the antiquarian game like cannonballs. Of course all of that was a long time ago, all of it occurred in or near major cities, and for every one who succeeded so easily there were probably a dozen wannabes who either washed out altogether or found themselves forever mired in the second or third tier of sellers. Even in my wildest fantasies I don’t anticipate ever routinely handling four-figure books. But tomorrow we ARE off to see a collection which I hope will be reasonably good.

It seems to me that over the years I've demonstrated a tremendous amount of both  patience and fortitude. My expectations do not exceed my grasp, and my knowledge, while not stunning, is likewise reasonable. So to ask for a reasonable collection at a reasonable price seems  reasonable to me. Now if only the book gods agree I'll at least be in ivy tomorrow, if not in clover.