The Mad Hatter's Book Party

I’m still pretty croaky, but at least I have a voice, so last night I decided to sally forth at the last minute to a book sale which goes on record as the strangest one to date. This was the preview, which of course means that the crowd should have been as thick as locusts, but was not. There were exactly three people there – me, Eric, and another guy who came in after we’d been perusing the offerings for at least  half an hour. The minute we walked in I felt like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole and landing smack in front of the Mad Hatter. He was very nice, this Mad Hatter, and probably is a genius, but his explanations of everything looped around and around the needle of comprehension like thread for a French knot. I apologize for the embroidery analogy, but every time he talked multi-colored strands of crewel embroidery wool went in and out, up and down, in my head. And every time he stopped I was left with a new psychedelic abstraction.

My favorite by far was the one about the membership. This one was shaped like a huge woolly pinwheel spinning dizzily in flashes of silver, orange, red and purple first clockwise, then without warning – zing! -- counterclockwise. Words cannot adequately describe it even though words created it. All I know is it had something to do with benefits, books nobody could see, an accordian book, a rare book of which he has three copies, 200 titles, validated parking, swarms of collectors, a neurosurgeon, Thor Heyerdahl, email notices, sellers making money, and eight thousand books. We bought said membership – that is, ERIC bought said membership – but God alone knows what it will actually provide. At least it should be interesting, if less than rewarding in any tangible way.

I know, I know – oh, she of little faith. But I’m telling you, you had to have been there. I'd swear on a stack of reference books that one of his colorful abstractions indicated that special volumes were priced so that dealers could make a profit -- or at least that’s what it seemed to be saying once I parted the complex curlicues and shed a beam of light on it. So imagine my shock when we trooped behind the Hatter into a small area where books were piled three-deep in low shelves and many-deep in boxes on top of the shelves. Very soon I found an antiquarian title about Venetian gardens that tempted me sorely, but at $200, I needed to find something I recognized in order to get a feel for his pricing structure. Everything in me screamed “Danger! Danger!” at deafening decibels, but I loved the book and wanted desperately for the price to be right.

It wasn’t long before I found several books to serve as benchmarks. WOWZA! Here was a very nice first edition Marguerite de Angeli’s Petite Suzanne from 1937 with its dustjacket. I’d sold one for $30 awhile back and figured, as I always do, that the price had dropped since then. And indeed it had – to $15 in like condition. His price? Forty dollars. And over there was a two volume annotated Sherlock Holmes in less than desirable condition ($75 his price, $25 internet price for a nicer set). And a copy of Johnny Gruelle, Creator of Raggedy Ann and Andy fine in first edition SIGNED by author, Patricia Hall ($40 his price, $30-35 internet price). When I say that the latter came as close to reality as I was able to find, believe it.

“Didn’t like any, huh?” he asked as we returned to the main room carrying nothing.

“Well, we liked some of them but …” How to put it delicately? I swallowed hard and squeaked, “Um, the thing is, there isn’t much room for profit there.” (Am I the queen of understatement, or what?)

“No, not back there!” he agreed cheerfully. In fact, this seemed to tickle him so much he actually chuckled. “The collectors come for those. They’re all over them!”

And where exactly would these collectors be tonight, I wondered. But all I said was, “I guess I was under the impression that there was a bit of a margin.”

Was he offended? Nope, not a whit. In fact, he was downright merry. The needle flashed, the yarn spun, and the colors swirled yet again. But this time he created a canvas upon which I  completely, totally, vividily understood one very important thing. Another dealer who belongs to NOBS and is respected in the bookselling community gives him grief about prices on an ongoing basis.

“Oh, she’s ruthless!” he said, grinning widely. “But I always tell her I can’t do it.”

Equal parts vindication and exhilaration bubbled up inside me at this news, but I said nothing, only nodded, which was fine by him, as he was happily slashing the prices of the two sleepers I’d found in the regular stacks and the eight Eric had found there for the store. While he was at it he tossed in the membership, validated the parking, and pronounced the final total $27. What a deal! And it didn’t even  count the free idea for this blog, or  the phantasmagoria -- which itself was pretty priceless.