I was wrapping orders this morning when Eric came in from the garage waving a book.
“Look what I found in the bag of stuff I bought at Ravenna for the store. I can’t believe you missed it!”
I can't believe I missed it either, as it’s the best book I selected at Saturday’s accidental book sale. Actually I HAD thought there was a third book, but when I didn’t see it after we got home I surmised that perhaps I hadn’t taken it after all. I remember thinking that the spine was a little wonky, but that I could repair it as I had done earlier with a book about the clay products industry which I showed you some time back. But then I got distracted by the gorgeous Hardy novel I found in the literature section and never thought of it again until Eric handed it over. Amazing to forget a 1924 Boni and Liveright first edition of The Inheritance of Acquired Characteristics, a treatise on the Lamarckian theory which posits that organisms may pass characteristics they have acquired in their lifetime to their offspring. Check out the photo above and I think, like me, you’ll wonder why it was even available on the third and final day of the sale. It’s a mystery, but I’m glad the book gods sent it my way.
Actually, I’m also glad it turned up late to give me something positive with which to start this post because my mind has been on something else that occurred on the weekend that wasn’t nearly so pleasant. Interestingly enough, the Lamarkian book and the book that’s the source of my current angst have something in common. Both involved an uncharacteristic mental lapse on my part.
On Thursday when Eric and I made the weekly pilgrimage to the antiques mall to restock I noticed that the tea cart on which I am currently displaying special books seemed a little bare. I brought it to his attention, but he felt certain it was because we’d sold something from it. I allowed myself to be mollified and never thought of it again until Saturday night when I woke with a start knowing that my beloved copy of Alice Underground was missing. But of course books at the mall migrate around the booth like a pack of nomads, so I talked myself out of the trees and went back to sleep.
The next morning we went to the flea market where we had agreed to meet the antiques mall employee I told you about who wanted to trade several of his books for one of ours. As I feared, his were not even close to my cup of tea, but Eric felt he could use them at the store so we made the trade. As Eric was boxing them I mentioned that I may have had a theft of a $50 book. The employee told me that if it turned out to be true to be sure to bring it to the attention of either the manager or the assistant manager. He also said that he would monitor our booth more carefully in the future. Though well intentioned and probably true, it’s not much comfort, as the place is cavernous. You stand at the end of an aisle and it looks like no one is there when in fact a battalion of shoppers are hidden in the individual booths.
After the transaction was completed we looked around at the flea market and I bought a Walton’s game based on the old TV show from the 70’s after which we headed over to the mall to drop it off and conduct an extensive search for Alice. Book by book we looked, but I knew she was long gone and indeed she was. This marks our sixth, and most expensive, loss from theft since we opened last November. The first was a rare real photo postcard of an open air streetcar in Columbus, followed by three hand colored Japanese real photo WWII era postcards depicting geishas and the tea ceremony, two hand colored Italian WWI aviation postcards, a Victorian cabinet photograph of an adorable little girl in an exquisite dress taken in a garden, and a brochure with diagrams for building 20 boats. And that’s what we know about. Who knows what else may have drifted off.
I duly reported the loss and the response was both sympathetic and kind, but did nothing of course to bring back Alice. I got her at Case Western Reserve this past spring and she was my favorite book from a sale that was pretty lackluster overall. I’d planned to sell her on my favorite site as I knew she’d be a big hit, but in an impulsive moment took her to the mall instead thinking what a fun find she’d be for someone who loved Alice In Wonderland. If you’ve never seen Alice Underground it’s a facsimile reprint of Lewis Carroll’s original Alice manuscript replete with his hand-printed text. My edition was small and in a slipcase, which, like the boards and the interior art, were colored in pastel hues.
I’ve had plenty of time to mourn the loss and I guess I’m pretty much over it now. In the immortal words of Jimmy Buffet "it's my own damn fault" anyway.It was crazy to take such a small, desirable book over there when I don’t have a locked showcase and even crazier yet to put it out in plain sight practically begging someone to make off with it. You can bet I will never do THAT again.
But isn't it sad that I can't?
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