Survival!

I was going to post yesterday, as Friday night we attended book sale number three, but the sheer number of books from it all threatened to turn my office into its former disreputable self. After the Magical Makeover there is no way I’m about to be surrounded by leaning towers of tomes again. So I sorted it all, packed the store stock and moved it to the garage, took the mall books to the basement for processing and the rest (the smallest number) up to the office where I began listing them. I wish I could tell you that they’re all dazzling (some aren’t bad), but the Jalna novels pictured in my last post remain my favorites. Guess what though? Yesterday they sold to a blog reader – all sixteen of them which turned out to be the full set. I couldn’t be more tickled because I LOVE them and know they’ve found the world’s best home.

Friday’s night’s sale is usually one I like, but this time it fell as flat as champagne left uncorked overnight. The weather was cold with a strong wind which precluded our usual walk around the lake across the street from the library. But we did repair to a coffee shop with Paul and had a rollicking time sharing growing-up-Catholic stories. We both lived in Akron then so a lot of the landmarks matched, despite the fact that I’m five years older than he. Little did we know that while we were laughing in blissful ignorance over our mutual fall from grace, back at the library foment brewed. As several libraries have done around here, this one adopted the number system to control the line. It should have worked fine, but apparently didn’t. The three of us were numbers two, three and four, but the number one spot apparently became a bone of contention. Two of the crazies, only one of whom actually was acting crazy this time, got into a verbal sparring match which almost landed the aggressor on the curb when the sale's overseer had to break it up. Drama does add spice, but I’m delighted to have missed it.

Oddly enough, the crowd was way down, perhaps because everyone was spent, both financially and physically, from the previous two days. You would think this would be good, but it actually made little difference, as Paul, Eric and I, and one dealer from Columbus were the only non-scanners in the place. Plastic tubs are banned in the sale rooms, but the new volunteers didn’t seem to know how to .enforce it which meant the aisles resembled obstacle courses. As usual, I headed to the specials room and stayed there until the tension eased off. Always we have been able to buy at this sale with confidence no matter what the price on the book, but  our long-standing comfort zone collapsed like a tower of alphabet blocks. I realized it immediately when I picked up a book about the early days of the Shaker Heights rapid transit system and spotted its $35 price tag. I’ve had this book twice and the second time sold it for exactly that amount. From then on I bought carefully, but, even so, paid $20 too much for an art book I’ve had in the past. Fortunately, I more than made up for it on the R.E. Lee set featured in the main photo above.

When we finally got over to the main room the crowd (such as it was) had thinned and it was possible to walk around without stepping over tubs, or in my clase, slipping in behind them. I found two signed first edition children’s books, one a winner of the Kate Greenaway Prize, and a nice copy of Tasha’s Tudor’s Becky’s Christmas which is not often seen unless it’s an ex-lib. But, even with all of that, the evening seemed painted in shades of grey and muddied ochre. A woman I had never seen before lugged three enormous bags of books to the check-out only to ask where she might sort them.

“Sort them? Why would you need to do that?” the volunteer asked.

“So I can decide if I want them.”

“Why would you pick them if you’re not sure you want them?” (Great question!)

 “Because I have to scan them.”

The volunteer, thoroughly baffled, reluctantly consented and off went the woman and her bulging bags of books to the narrow hallway leading to the exit where she promptly plopped down on the floor, whipped out her scanner, and created a whole new obstacle course. Over an hour into the sale and a mountain of books that others might have actually purchased wound up discarded in a heap on the floor. The sight of them filled me with an overwhelming sense of desolation.

But now on this Sunday morning I feel better. As always, once I gained perspective and realized that I did better than I felt I had,  hope  blossomed again. In addition to the children’s books mentioned above, I got the gorgeous four volume set of Freeman’s R.E. Lee in the Pultizer Prize Edition from 1936 and a six volume boxed set of Andre Norton’s Witch World series published by Ace in the 60’s replete with its scarce Witch World map. So, in the end, I am ready to face another round of book sales 21st century style.

Which is fortunate because several dot the calendar this week.

Book Battle Warriors!

Well, here I am again – battleworn and weary from an incredible 12 hour day of book sales which began at 6:30 a.m. when we left our house to 6:30 p.m. when we returned to it. To give you an idea of my exhaustion I was asleep on the couch by eight, woke up at midnight, and staggered upstairs not be heard from again until 6:30 this morning. That’s an hour and a half past my usual wake-up time, so I had to hustle like a used car salesman to get the orders wrapped – two day’s worth because we had no time to ship yesterday.

The first sale, made tolerable only due to breakfast with our seller friends Paul, Carol, and Ed, was akin to sharing a pile of glowing embers in book sale hell with the people who drive you the craziest. Had it not been for the pre-sale conviviality I think I would have so thoroughly self-destructed I wouldn’t have left behind a speck of dust. Crowds, hordes, and mobs, scanners blazing like six-guns, ran around like a pack of frantic ants after somebody kicked the anthill, each lugging at least two plastic bins or Rubbermaid tubs, used of course to thoroughly block the aisles. The volunteers worked hard to get them to take their books to the holding station, but it was about as effective as trying to get feral cats to eat out of the palm of your hand. Whaaaat??? Stop the scanfest for two seconds??? Not a chance!

The funny part was the books which, despite their number, consisted of three-quarters well-used ex-library copies and the rest titles as ubiquitous as the common cold. Eric bought some military and fishing stuff for store stock and I bought exactly one thing, though I do believe it was the best thing in the whole place – 16 volumes of Mazo de la Roche’s Jalna Novels in the Whiteoak edition from the 40’s replete with their hard-to-find dustjackets (see photo of sampling). I had had a smaller set of six, also published by Little Brown in the 40’s, but with different dustjackets and sold them for $65 on April 9th of this year. So, not a bad buy! While Eric checked us out I chatted with an elderly man who commented that he has seen us at sales quite a lot and was amazed at how calm we are.

“This is very undignified,” he said, nodding at the swarm. “But I notice you never participate. Are you a book dealer?”

At that moment I think an angel got its wings. Oh, listen to THIS! Now I’m reduced to quoting from the most treacly Christmas movie of all times.

On to the next sale then! Last spring we had a lovely time there, but this was about as lovely as a tar pit. The same gang from the morning, plus many more, prompted the volunteers to make the same old stern speech about fighting. But the crowd didn’t bother me here, as we headed straight to the specials room and stayed there until after the natives had calmed down. The problem was that all the beautiful books from last time were replaced by the wonkiest bunch of stuff I ever saw and priced to the heavens. Here are a few examples – a ratty copy of the Holland volume from the My Travel Ship set priced at $24, Cherry Ames reprints with ratty jackets (not the tweed bindings) at $8 each; and a well-used set of first edition Little Golden alphabet books at $35. But the real shocker was the railroad titles. Brace yourself – this makes your roller coaster nightmares look like carousel rides. They had maybe eight or ten train titles that were good except that in every instance their price exceeded $100. Profit margin? Forgetabout  it! Not a single dealer bought one and that included at least three who, like me, have spent that much in the past for a single book. I did get some stuff from this room, but I have to dig it out of the bags to tell you what it was. If there’s anything good I’ll show you later, but I rather doubt it.

All told, I suspect the day was better than it feels because we got lots of store and mall stuff too. But what a way to do this. Call me old, but give me the good old days.

Roe, Roe, Roe Your Boat ... From Server to Server

 

Okay, so what’s going on with Biblio? Is everybody getting orders, or am I suddenly the popular girl? Seriously, this site only throws me a bone on the fourth Wednesday of the first month of every third year and then only when it rains. But in the past couple days I’ve received the following orders:

Forty Years of Pioneer Life; Memoir of John Mason Peck -- $75 (an antiqurian title from 1864)

The Tombs of the Doges of Venice -- $80 (just got that one. It was pictured a few days ago.)

Best Guns -----$45 (bought from the online customer I told you about)

Fleur En Fiole -- $85 (the erotic novel written in ancient China and produced in a two volume set in French. Got it this summer and had a photo of it here)

Dillie Delights --- $20 (a book about tatting I somehow acquired 13 years ago. I knew I had it though because for some reason I have a mysterious neurotic hatred of it.)

Anyway, I thought I’d mention this little blip on the biblio radar as it ties into something I read in the Auction Bytes newsletter the other morning. A few posts back I remember mentioning the controversy over whether or not sites have multiple servers which make visible only part of your inventory at any given time. The discussion in the newsletter was focused on ebay and their nefarious behaviors which caused me and many, many other sellers to take a hike. I’ve been gone over a year now, but apparently the games not only continue, but have taken on new shades of ugly. The point, however, is that the server issue came during the conversation and an IT person chimed in on it. Of course being an IT person the responder got into gates and portals and other such esoteric stuff, so I’ll spare you the long version.

The bottom line is, yes, there are indeed multiple servers at large sites due to the staggering volume of listings. One server is active and one is passive --a euphemism for invisible inventory -- and they alternate which explains why you look up one of your own books and don’t see it listed and then three weeks later you do. It also explains why you might receive a cluster of orders from the same geographic area. Back when I sold on Amazon – this would be years ago when they had z-shops – we always puzzled over why every order originated from west of the Mississippi one day and then were all from New England the next.

I would surmise that this may also be why for a period of time all of your orders are for old stock. Whenever this happens to me I’m as nervous as a piano protege trying out for Julliard since some of this stuff dates back to the 90’s. In those days sites (there were only a few then – ABE, alibris and bibliofind) kept their noses out of your business, so if you mistakenly forgot to remove a sold book the world didn’t fly off it’s axis and hit you in the head. Whenever I don’t have a book the odds are good that it traces back to those days. In fact, whenever I actually locate some arcane old title I feel like I’ve made it to the peak of Everest – breathless, panting, and relieved to have survived. For years I’ve been talking about needing to do a physical inventory, but when you’re a one-woman show time doesn’t exactly pour over you like scented shampoo.

While we’re on the subject of old stock, it occurs to me that I haven’t played my old game of forcing a sale on a book that’s overstayed its welcome. I keep trying to get you guys to join in – it’s very fun, really, but nobody has so far. To refresh your memory, the idea is to choose a book that should have sold but didn’t, most likely because the devotees of the you-don’t-gotta-know-nothin’-to-sell-books school of pricing undercut your copy so many times the book’s in a coma. But sometimes you don’t even have to cut the price. All it takes to make magic is focus. The book gods reward you for picking it up and looking through it, changing something in the listing, adding a photo, or sometimes even RAISING the price. I’ve sold every one I tried to do here which I think is maybe four. It doesn’t always happen fast – it has taken me as long as two months and several changes – but I always did it. I guess you could argue that if it takes two months it would have sold anyway. But I would counter that it had been listed for YEARS and hadn’t.

Okay then, I’m going to make this hard. I have 17 volumes of what should be 19 of the novels of Edward Payson Roe, a Civil War veteran and minister who was actually a popular author in his day. I have not listed these yet, but I think given their limited appeal and the fact that they’ve been stashed in the closet for too long they’re fair game. I know you’re thinking I’m three sandwiches short of a picnic for having bought them in the first place, but wait! I had the full set of 19 previously and sold them on January 1, 2007 for $175. So when I saw them at an estate sale for $15 for the lot I figured I’d take a second shot at it. The condition is great, so that helps, and I have considerable latitude on price to make up for the missing volumes which makes it even more worth giving it a go.

Anybody else want to try moving a mountain? It’s fun. REALLY. And, who knows --you might even sell it on biblio!

Enlightened

The lush, leafy umbrella of our enormous tree is gone and suddenly our formerly dark except-in the-winter family room fills with a lovely light. It’s a northern exposure, so it’s not blinding, but with  two skylights, one window, and eight feet of patio doors the world just got much brighter. What is not so bright is the reason we came to bask in this light at this particular moment. We had had two removal quotes previously in the $1600 range neither of which  included disposal of the wood. Each time we hemmed and hawed, but ended up not doing it. Then last week the owner of a tree company who was doing a small job in our neighborhood knocked on the door and inquired if we would like the tree taken out. He was desperate for work, he said, and would remove it, cut up the wood, haul it to the store for the fireplace, and prune the trees in the front yard, all for $1100. The only thing was he’d lost a lot of his equipment due to the economic downturn and no longer had a saw with a circumference great enough to wrestle the giant all the way to the ground, which meant there would still be about four feet of trunk left standing. I wasn’t there when he said this, but Eric told me his humiliation was acute and complete.

It was. I saw it this morning in the stark outline of what remains of the tree.

What’s left is unsightly of course, but we will deal with that. My husband will dust off his forestry degree and hack away at it. He already has a plan to split it in two and take it out in parts. So aesthetics are not the issue. The issue is the four men who worked from nine a.m. to seven p.m, two of whom then came back the next day and worked another four or five hours loading up the many logs and dragging them down Rte 42 the ten miles to the store. Including the owner, all have been reduced to piecework – a day here, a day there. The youngest, the father of a newborn, had to move in with his in-laws because the cost of keeping an apartment had proven unsustainable. The oldest, a man in his 50’s, has a bad back, but in spite of his boss’s admonitions to be careful, cleared away a mountain of limbs by himself

As we stood in the backyard Wednesday night ankle-deep in tree debris Eric said, “Those guys -- they’re the faces of the recession, you know.”

I  know.

I thought of them  this morning as I stood at the back door in the early gray light with my coffee looking out at the butchered corpse of our once vital tree. Its shape, even minus arms, brought to mind a trip to Arizona and the outline of a lone saguaro cactus standing sentinel on the mesa. The silhouette of both the tree and the cactus is defined by abrupt lines, too much space, and a harsh scarceness of symmetry. Of course the dead tree lacks the saguaro’s needle-like spines, or seems to at least.  But it isn't true. Appearances to the contrary,  the tree is fairly abloom with spines.

Just ask the four men who rubbed up against it this week.

A Bookseller's Christmas

We got it! We got it! The antiquarian collection we bid on I mean. I was beginning to think the answer was no, as we bid on the weekend and only just found out late yesterday that the offer had been accepted. It definitely perked me up, as we had gone to see another “collection” so bad it was fairly stunning. You know you’re in trouble when the owner opens the basement door and the smell of must not only rises up to greet you, but nearly slams you against the wall. But even that hardly mattered as the books looked like they’d been run over by a tractor and buried in a peat bog. And even THAT didn’t matter because they weren’t any good to begin with. As I’ve mentioned many times, it’s endlessly frustrating the way people present their books over the phone even when you practically give them the third degree. This owner announced that his were all “antique”, part of an estate, and greatly loved by their former owner (his mother), which of course implied they’d been well preserved. Like so many others who’ve called, he couldn’t remember exactly what the collection consisted of, but was sure it was history for the most part. Turns out, the only history it ever brushed up against was its own. Novels. What he had were novels. By minor authors. Authors so minor I didn’t recognize a single one.

After declining them (in the nicest possible way) we stopped by the antiques mall with some new stuff for the weekend. It seemed pretty draggy over there, but the nightly report did show a couple sales. I think I’ve become a tad paranoid though after the shoplifting of Alice Underground because almost right away I spun into a panic when I couldn’t find a valuable Ohio title – Cherry’s The Portage Path. Eric formed a one man search and rescue party and -- voila! – ferreted it out of the children’s section. While that was a great relief, I was still fairly wired and had to do the grocery shopping yet. We ran around the store like trainees for the Boston marathon and got most of it done pretty effortlessly until I picked up a carton of eggs and wound up with egg white all over my hands. Words cannot convey the grossness of the moment. So the news about the collection when we got home was like winning t he lottery.

As it turns out, we even HAVE the books already. Eric got them this morning and dropped off my two big boxes on his way to the store. He wasn’t even out the door when I began rummaging for two specific books. Years ago we bought a collection of railroadiana from an elderly man who was moving from Medina to California. With it came a sole odd 18th century volume entitled Miscellania Curiosa, one volume of a set of three from the 1720’s. For years I’ve kept an eye out for the others, but never encountered any until we viewed this collection. Not only was there one of the missing books in it, but possibly TWO of them. It had been a long time since I’d looked at ours, so I wasn’t sure which one we had. They’re fairly pricey even at a single volume, so the whole set would be cause for dancing in the street. But do I HAVE a whole set? No, I do not. I ended up with a volume two and two copies of volume three. (See photos of books above). For one split-second I thought had them all because they were marked volumes one, two and three. The problem came when I looked at the title pages simultaneously and realized that one volume was a from different edition and the sequence of the volumes in it had changed.

Of course it was a long shot anyway, so I’m not really too disappointed. The collection as it stands is quite good and I’m pleased with it. I haven’t been through it all yet, but I’ve already pulled out some cool stuff, some of which I remembered and some I didn’t. That’s the fun part of buying a lot of books at once though. You can’t possibly remember everything, so it’s always a bookseller’s Christmas.

Thoughts At Lakeside

As I write this the sound of chainsaws fills the air with a music I both appreciate and rue. The reason they’re singing is because an enormous tree which has needed to depart our company for at least 20 of the 24 years we’ve lived here is about to be felled. Four tree surgeons arrived at nine to perform the operation made delicate due to the tree’s proximity to power lines, the garage, and our neighbor’s screened porch. I know it needs to go – it’s too close to the house – but what a lovely thing it is overarching the brick patio. I can’t bear to watch, so every blind is closed and I am hidden away in my office as though it were a windowless cubicle and I a corporate worker bee (oh, perish the thought!). The good part is I can finally write the blog I promised you about the Lakeside Press books I bought last week at the FOL sale. If you’ve never seen these be sure to read on, as this is something you definitely want to file away in your memory for future reference.

Until I saw these in two cardboards boxes priced at $40 for all I had never seen a Lakeside Classic with the word Christmas on the title page. But I HAD read about them, so all it took was one glance to send a thousand neurons firing – zing! zing! zing! zing! – until my brain practically exploded with Roman candles. I got all but one of the 1940’s annuals, all of the 50’s and 60’s, and the first six from the 70’s. And every last one says CHRISTMAS on the title page. I know this practice stopped at some point – Chistmas being replaced by December -- but I cannot seem to find out when this was. All I can tell you is that at least through 1975 the word Christmas is spelled out in block letters.

But before we talk about the salient points of these pretty little volumes (all are in fine conditon) a bit of history is in order. The Lakeside Classics are the imprint of the R.R. Donnelly Company, a venerable publishing house created by a Canadian immigrant named Richard Robert Donnelly who hung his first publisher’s shingle in 1864. The business incorporated and reincorporated many times over the years, but was already successful with its Lakeside imprint when the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 destroyed the Lakeside building and its contents. It’s said that Donnelly traveled to New York in a borrowed coat with a free train ticket to seek a loan to regroup. Not only was his integrity and reputation rewarded, but he bounced back with a brand new product that proved to be a big hit with readers. Donnelley published hardback fiction in soft cover, added woodcut illustrations and sold his Lakeside Library novels at a dime apiece, launching the second revival of the paperback novel which had first been introduced in the 1840’s (yeah, surprising, isn’t it?), but had faded away.

Now fast forward to the early 20th century – 1903 to be exact. Donnelly senior is dead, but his son, Thomas, snaps the reins and launches the Lakeside Classics which would be finely bound, small books (16mo) issued one per year and always an uncommon title generally on American western history that’s long been out-of print and known primarily to historians. But here’s the kicker – these books were purposely NEVER sold. They were published and distributed as annual gifts to employees, stockholders, vendors and associates, which means that the first time a reader or collector ever bought one was on the secondary market! The book that launched the whole shebang in 1903 was The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. It’s estimated that a thousand copies came off the press but, even so, it’s pretty hard to find one and VERY expensive if you do. Only a few complete sets of Lakeside Classics are known to exist and their volumes are multi-colored because Lakeside has made it a practice to change the color of the binding every 25 years.

Here’s the breakdown by year:

1903-1927 – dark green

1928-1952 – red

1953-1977 – navy blue

1978-2002 – dark brown

2003 – turquoise

 Not surprisingly, a few sellers on ABE, clearly of the “you don’t gotta know nothin’ to sell books” school of pricing,  have listed these ridiculously low, but research shows that experienced sellers are listing in the $30-50 range. I will be doing likewise, but probably not until after the Akron Antiquarian Show in April.

Until then back into the box they go. And me back to work with the chainsaws still whirring away outside the window killing my beautiful tree that sits, ironically -- near the lakeside.

P.S. To see early examples of specific Lakeside titles get thee to this impressive website http://www.lakesideclassicbooks.com/ and have a look. It clarified my recollection of what I'd previously read and also provided dates for the various colors for which I am most grateful.

Degrees of Gratification

Finally, my cold is pretty much gone, so the weekend proved to be both fun and gratifying. Eric was supposed to have been in Maryland, but due to weather reports from the area decided not to spend the entire last week selling books in a tent. As it turns out, Saturday brought in local customers to the store who had gone to the show and returned with horror stories about cars stuck in the mud and people not being able to get to Merchant’s Row. I had been totally bummed because it was also the weekend of the first Cleveland Antiquarian Book & Paper Fair sponsored by NOBS. But as “luck” would have it it turned out to be a blessing in disguise that I didn’t take a booth after all. I would have been hard-pressed to fill it, as I don’t even have most of what I took to Akron in April, much less enough that’s new and noteworthy. However, that may be about to change.

Over the weekend we saw a collection that I would very much like to have. It’s going to be expensive if we get it, but it’s entirely antiquarian with a range of titles, primarily history and fishing. We submitted a bid this morning and now must wait and see what happens. I’m not sure if other dealers are looking at it too, but I got the impression we were the only ones – at least at this point. Again though, I will only be buying a section of it with Eric taking the majority for the store. I bid $500 for two boxes, though Eric said there are two additional boxes that had not been offered initially and we could maybe get them too. But of course there are no guarantees of anything yet..

Meanwhile I did buy some books at an estate sale in Akron Saturday morning. The rain poured so steadily that everyone, even the most loquacious, huddled in their cars until they passed out numbers. We took ours and repaired to Panera for coffee ( it was FREEZING) and returned about fifteen minutes before show time. The house, a massive Tudor (usually my favorite, but this one had a weird floor plan), had been owned by an antiques dealer, so was filled with all kinds of goodies for his former competition. The books were more of an after-thought, but I did get a few very minor titles (see representative photo above), so all was not lost. I just wonder when, or if, I am ever going to go to a sale where we actually get a decent pay-off. I’d say we’re due, so if the book gods are listening here’s the deal. While I’m very, very grateful for what we get, however less than dazzling it may be, I do think, if I maybe so bold, that we deserve a smidgen better – especially after what happened when we left the sale.

Steady rain had given way to high winds and the forty-day flood. Here’s the visual. Eric lopes down the street, books protected by his jacket while I fly past him hanging onto an enormous pile of tissue paper (think gift wrap and gift baskets) all of which was still encased in its original plastic. Down the street and around the corner I run like a banshee in the watery gloom, packages slip-sliding around like an armload of eels. By the time I get to the car a tissue paper trail worthy of Hansel and Gretel lies in my wake. Four packages hit the drink and somehow got soaked even with the plastic. But I picked them up, took them home and festooned the floor with the soggy sheets until they dried to a crinkly texture that’s great for collage. So I ended up with four packages of art paper and a dozen for gift wrap.

Saturday night Nancy and I drowned any sorrows we had at Santosusso’s, a nice Italian place right up the main road from my house. We had a glass of wine, a great dinner, lots of laughs and a fashion parade. It turned out to be Homecoming night so we saw it all – the good, the bad, the ugly, and the OMG-honey- what-were-you-THINKING-when-you –bought-that dress?! This led to hilarious tales of our own dances of the past – the dresses we loved and the boys we did not. We also noted that girls seem to go in dateless packs to formal events these days. A dozen such young women shared a huge table, all dressed beautifully and clearly having a blast. The interesting thing was that most of them were more attractive than the ones hanging off the arms of the boys!

And now for the best part of the whole weekend.  Late Saturday afternoon I got an email from the buyer of the Chinese autograph book. Just when I thought it was perfect, it gets even BETTER. He had told me initially that he had in his collection a carte-de-visite of a young Chinese boy who, though unnamed, was clearly part of the Chinese Educational Mission. The clue was the photographer’s name and location which matched one of the participating towns. Well, he opens the book I sent and there inside is a cheaper identical photo identified in the boy’s own hand, not only with his name and the date, but his home city in China. He also discovered that this young fellow was the book’s owner! The reason the mysterious album started out in America and wound up in China only to wind up back in America is that its owner left the U.S. in 1881 with the rest of the kids, but then snuck back into the U.S. in 1884 where, with the help of a Protestant minister, he went to college and became an engineer. After graduation he married a young American girl he’d met in high school and they moved to New Jersey where he worked as an engineer and fathered two sons. The sad part is he died in 1909 at around age 43 assuming he was eighteen when he began college.

My buyer also told me that he’d called his friend, Dr. Eric J. M. Rhoads, a professor who is the leading authority on the Chinese Educational Mission and has written a book about it. Of course nothing will do but for me to buy the book, Stepping Forth Into the World: The Chinese Educational Mission to the United States, 1872-81, published this year by Hong Kong University Press. I cannot express how honored I am to have played a small part in the  documentation of this event, or how truly gratified I am to have noticed value in what appeared to be nothing more than a teenage kid's friendship book.

This –THIS -- is why I do this work. And why I wish I could do it forever.

The Very Booky Week!

I thought I’d be back sooner than this, but we had the big book sale on Tuesday, followed by another big book sale on Wednesday and I had a cold throughout the whole thing. I also absolutely HAD to upload some new books to keep Abe from going as dormant as a tulip bulb in the dead of winter. For me ABE is crucial, as a good seventy-five per cent of our sales derive from there. I know people argue that other sites are better for them, but I think it’s a matter of what you have. When I had my once-a-year picker and his 28 boxes of brand new books alibris and affiliates snapped up the majority, but when I choose books myself the golden goose is ABE – hands down.

I’m happy to report that the sales were fun. In fact, the five-hour-wait -sale Tuesday was as peaceful as the Dali Lama’s bedroom. Only one of the crazies showed up and I think he was on meds given the lack of theatrics. The books were so-so, but I did get a lot for the antiques mall and maybe a half dozen nice things for online, including a 1905 A Child’s Garden of Verses with Jessie Wilcox Smith illustrations and 38 – count ‘em!  -- Lakeside Press annual Christmas issue books from the 40’s through the 60’s. I want to do a blog post about these separately very soon, but I thought I’d mention them because they were a great buy at $40 for the lot.

The next morning, sniffling and sneezing all the way, I showed up at the Wayne County Fairgrounds at seven a.m. for the Wooster AAUW sale.The crowd was down, but word had leaked (ha-ha) that a day of torrential rain had damaged 300 boxes of their donations. There were still a LOT of books, but no specials table which means the best of what they took in in donations got an unwelcome bath. But, even so, I found a lot of books for the antiques mall and some great stuff for online too. The award for most expensive book goes to Eric who unearthed The Tombs of the Doges of Venice by Debra Pincus for a paltry $2. My favorite finds include a 1920's book in superb condition about the Phillipines with a fold-out map (see picture below)and LOTS of  magazines. At fifty cents a copy I got 13 complete years, four issues per year of Antiquity, A Quarterly Review of Archaeology spanning the 50’s and 60’s, plus two stand-alone fat issues with fold-outs from the 1920’s and 13 miscellaneous other issues. I also bought at $1 each a box of Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians so heavy if would make a sumo wrestler tipsy. I know there are many full year runs there – I’m just not sure yet HOW many. Okay, I can hear it already -- she’s nuts! I AM nuts -- about magazines. Love ‘em and they know it so they always go happily off to their new homes for me. Add to all of the above breakfast with our friend Paul from Archer’s Books and the sale was great fun.

This morning I finally got over to the mall loaded up with 15 new books. When I buy mall books I never take everything at once, as it’s better to have something new every weekend. It also took me all of yesterday morning to clean, ticket, and mylar the ones I did take which is another reason I’ve been MIA here. From there we headed to the local library where we met with the new volunteers for the FOL sale. No, no – it’s NOT what you’re thinking. I am NOT going to pre-pick sales. My role was only to advise.They had quite a number of old books that had been around since Noah built the Ark but, sadly, all it took was one glance to understand why. Except for a 1937 University of Akron yearbook and two of those cute art instruction books for kids with the killer color art published by Prang at the turn-of-the-century (their's were mint) the rest was literally landfill.

But the fun part was the stash hidden in a cupboard. They actually had five really nice volumes which is a lot considering that this is not a book town  One I recognized immediately as a $50 book because I sold it twice this year. The others I had never had but I knew they were good, so I showed them how to look things up on bookfinder comparing “apples to apples” and, sure enough, they hit the jackpot every time. I know they would have sold them to me on the spot, and I must say it was tempting, but I have ranted about that like a fishwife here for the past year so it would be hypocritical to even THINK it. So, sadly, I refrained and am glad I did because it truly is a conflict of interest. This library has had a bad rep with dealers and now things are rockin’ and rollin’ under new management so they need those books to lure back the former faithful.

Anyway, it’s been a booky week and there’s an estate sale tomorrow morning which promises “antique books.” Given the fact that we will have to be there at 6:30 in the morning I’m trusting the book gods to smile on us one more time.

Sale-ing Along ...

Michigan was fun, but it’s nice to be back at work. Today we are off to a book sale and I am looking forward to breaking in that new L.L. Bean bag. It’s even a library sale which, as you know, I place in the same category as a root canal. Oh, the crazies will be there swarming like gnats, but I’m still jazzed (though that could change when I see them). But even the downside has an upside today because I also have a meeting with the publicist hired by NOBS (Northern Ohio Bibliophilic Society) to plan strategy for the 2012 antiquarian book and paper show. Yes, this year the 30th anniversary fair has been expanded to include paper which is very exciting because I’m crazy for paper and have sold it for years.

The bad/good part of the book sale is the way it’s handled. It starts at five, but due to the behavior of the aforementioned crazies, the Friends of the Library have found it infinitely more peaceful to hand out numbers at two. While this is great in theory, and actually IS great in a way, because you can leave, have a late lunch or early dinner and come back shortly before the doors open, it also means you need to be there initially at NOON. Yes, noon – and even then you will not be at the front of the line. So we’ll stand around for two hours, grab a number, go off to meet the publicist, and come back around 4:30. The pre-sale publicity doesn’t exactly have me buzzing like a lightning rod, as it seems much too hyped over cookbooks, but I’m counting on liking something they didn’t deem worthy of mention. At any rate, we need books so we will go and hope for the best.

But enough of that. I had the coolest thing happen Friday and haven’t had time to tell you about it. A man called from New England saying that he had stumbled across my blog post from last year about the Chinese autograph book from the 1870’s which contained photos and entries by both American and Chinese teenagers (see Monday, June 14, 2010 &Thursday, July 8, 2010) in the archive. With the help of my oldest daughter we had determined that very likely the book was a relic from the Chinese American educational mission which took place in New England. It’s very difficult to set a price for something like this and I was not entirely hot to sell it anyway, so I tucked it away with our private collection and decided we’d keep it. The caller indicated straight up that he wanted it and I responded immediately with tepid interest. My fear with one-of- a-kind items such as this is that the buyer has only a passing interest and will ultimately not take care of it. In a world increasingly dependent on technological storage (often solely on technological storage) I hang on to items like this with both hands. I guess you might be thinking I’m out of my mind, but I actually can, and have, turned down sales for such reasons. At last year’s antiquarian show we talked a woman out of buying a set of children’s books only to break it up and disperse it amongst her grandchildren across the country!

So, with that in mind, I listened to what he had to say, though doubted greatly that the little black book was about to depart my company. But guess what? If ever a book belonged to someone this one belongs to him. Not only was he a smart guy who knows his way around a bookstore, but also a collector who is incredibly well versed on this little known aspect of American history. He told me so much about it that I actually sat down (and I NEVER sit down to talk on the phone) and listened raptly. Though I knew that the Chinese boys boarded with American families (which is truly incredible) I did not know that many boarded with unmarried Christian women! I also didn’t know that when they returned to China with their shiny new American educations they were not honored at all and ,in fact, paid for it for a time with lessened career opportunities. Ultimately this changed and they became superstars, but first they had to pay their dues for swimming against the tide.

By then I knew I’d found my made-to-order most perfect buyer ever, I told him outright that I’d harbored concerns, but he’d talked his way past them. I also said that Eric and I would think over the weekend about selling it and I’d call him back Monday. I did, he did, and I shipped it this morning priority mail insured.

How cool is THAT?

Reading The Irish Rain

The world outside my office window is tinted green and gray today. At least the rain has stopped, but it’s small comfort according to the weather report and the fact that we are leaving tomorrow at 6:30 in the morning for Michigan, so we can stand around in the mud and watch our seven year-old grandson play soccer. There’s something very diabolical about kids’ soccer and rain. We so rarely get to attend a game, but every single time we do it’s conducted in Irish weather. You’d think they’d cancel, but they do not, because Michiganders are nothing if not an exceedingly hardy lot. There could be a monsoon with little players blowing in the wind like scraps of paper and they’d still be out there with their lawn chairs and golf umbrellas screaming “Defense! Defense!”. To Eric and me it’s unnecessary torture, but what do we know? When it comes to sports together we’re not a whole person. In fact, I may actually have the edge, as I was a huge fan of the diminutive NBA player Earl Boykins back when he tore up the court at Eastern Michigan in the early ‘90’s.

One good thing about the weather though is it melds perfectly with the book I’m reading at the moment, Eric Newby’s Round Ireland in Low Gear, recommended by my bookseller friend Paul Bauer of Archer’s Books. A million years ago (in the 70’s) when Eric and I were young and unencumbered we spent a raucous month in Ireland visting both of my clans of relatives, the Chambers in County Mayo and the Carrolls in Cork, but mostly banging around the gorgeous coastline by ourselves. We got there in mid-June and returned home in mid-July, so never experienced Ireland when the Furies were unleashed. Newby and his wife were no spring chickens back in the mid-80’s when they braved gale force winds and days of pounding rain pedaling bicylcles over a steep, desolate, and in winter, virtually uninhabited, terrain. Every night proved a challenge to find a B&B open in the winter and every day an equal challenge to scrounge up lunch and dinner. You would think from the menu that the Irish wouldn’t recognize a vegetable if one walked up and introduced itself in Gaelic.

Of course the romantic view of Ireland is that the rain is “soft” and indeed it can be. For the first two weeks we were there we spotted nary a drop, which must be some kind of record. But the last two weeks more than made up for it with endless days of cold sodden grayness broken only by hours of sudden intense light. I ended up with the mother of all sore throats despite frequent breaks to snug pubs where we sat by open peat fires sipping Irish coffee or an endless hot “cuppa.” By the time I was certain I’d die of strep we were in Killarney at a lovely hotel where the proprietor’s son whisked us away at break-neck speed (at that point I was certain it was the TRIP that would kill me) to a place called St. Clare’s (or was it St. Ann’s?) Lying-In Hospital presided over by a tiny nun who was most distraught to see a Yank in such distress at her establishment. Every time I think of the place I picture Ernest Hemingway tucked up in an iron bed on a ward in a Spanish hospital during the revolution.

As it turned out, it was not strep “a’tall” just a “bit of a nuisance” which could be handled easily, according to the doctor, with “orange” and a spot of medicine I was to buy at the chemist. This “spot of medicine” did not require a prescription, but probably would have in the U.S. as it was most effective. As for “the orange”, the hotel provided Eric with a large pitcher free of charge because they felt so sorry for the “the poor garel” (that would be ME). In the throes of such effusive sympathy, however, they neglected to mention it was to be mixed with water. Over the course of a day and a night I drank the whole thing straight which may very well have expedited my recovery.

Thinking of all of this makes me long to get back to the Irish Furies blowing from the cold Atlantic and pounding the west coast of the auld sod as our poor intrepid cyclists forge on. I think today I will spend the morning readying books for the pilgrimage to the mall tonight (nothing small, I promise!) and then repair to the gloom of the family room this afternoon and settle in, with the book and a pot of tea for comfort, oblivious to the call of the internet.

Besides, it's raining again.

A Tale of Two Lapses

 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?

In Plain Sight

After last week’s auction debacle with the nonexistent books I was determined, as you know, to find a replacement – and, believe it or not, I did. It was in Geauga County which is about an hour and a half from where we live. The trip was lovely though, as the land is green and rolling and the atmosphere pastoral, with none of those sad used-up small towns that never fail to plummet me into a funk. It didn’t take long to realize, however, that we were heading deeper and deeper into Amish country. Whenever I think of Ohio Amish communities I think immediately of Holmes County which is the Amish version of Niagara Falls – not because of cascading water, but cascading tourists. They rush out of busses and cars filled with holiday exuberance and leave in their wake a healthy flow of cash spent on buggy rides, quilts, antiques, inns, Amish cooking, bulk spices, and Amish-made furniture.

Buggies abounded on the road to the auction, as did the sight of farm equipment, horses, cows, and large plain white houses and barns. Nearing our destination though we turned onto a road dotted primarily with modern ranch houses and pulled to a stop in front of the one working farm on it. From the passenger seat I gazed across Eric and out the window at a yard filled with STUFF of all kinds presided over by a small army of Amish men and women scurrying about to bring yet more things from the house and prepare the food for the auction-goers to buy. Many times I have been to auctions with Amish bidders, but this was the first one ever held at an Amish farm. Aside from about four other people, we were the only “English” in attendance which was quite interesting, though Eric does have Amish customers at the store sometimes and when I was editor of a weekly newspaper (first journalism job a million years ago) the Amish drove into town to place classified ads at the newspaper office. But even so, the novelty of it gave the day a welcome little zip.

For about ten minutes we walked around gazing at furniture, dishes, linens, and tools with no books in sight. Normally this would be enough to send my internal alarm into shriek mode, but I was too busy watching a young Amish man to notice. The rest of the men and boys wore long-sleeved blue work shirts topped with black vests, but not this guy. Never mind that it was cold enough to practically see your breath -- he strutted around like a banty rooster in a short-sleeved, very fitted shirt showing off his considerable physique. The pants, while of the Amish button-front style, were also fitted -- think rumble scene in West Side Story. I was quite bemused until Eric spotted the books and beckoned me over

I should have spotted them myself given the crowd hovering around the many boxes, but I don;' recall ever seeing  an Amish guy who not only was a hunk, but KNEW it. Hmmm –  that’s not what we’re here to talk about though, is it? No, it’s not. So then ….

It’s been our experience that the Amish LOVE books and will pay astonishing – make that, staggering -- amounts of money for them. The only time I ever won a bidding war against an Amish man was for an over-sized two volume set of 19th century books about “modern” machinery and it ended up costing me a hundred dollars when I’d expected to pay $50. Ah, but not to worry. After going through a dozen boxes the handwriting was on the wall. Unless you wanted Amish romances, children’s books of the Laura Ingalls Wilder variety, quilting books, cookbooks, German bibles, and cowboy coloring books from the 50’s all colored in, this was not your auction. Sadly. we departed without even registering.

As we turned back onto the main road though Eric spotted a garage sale. Yes, I know I don’t love garage sales, but by then I was desperate. The house was a modern ranch and the very nice lady running the sale a Mennonite. She had had many books, she informed me, but she’d advertised on Craig’s List and all the “good ones” were gone. Fortunately, those consisted of 36 Janet Oke romances, so the pain was more than tolerable, especially after we discovered three surprisingly good books in the garage – The Amish In America; Failed Settlements (it had dates, but I don’t remember and the book is already at the mall), plus Mennonites in Europe and Amish Mennonites in Germany; The Estates Where They Lived, and Their Families.

At that point we were downright giddy with success, so we threw caution to the wind and took a detour through the town of Ravenna. As luck would have it a charity run in town blocked off the main drag and forced us to turn onto a side street which brought us smack in front of the library and a large sign that said BOOK SALE. I knew very well that Saturday was the last day of the picked-over sale, but when the book gods send you a scrap of anything you’re wise to shut up and be grateful. So in we go and within five seconds I am holding a brand new Easton Press leatherbound copy of Together We Cannot Fail; FDR and The American Presidency in the Years of Crisis replete with its CD. A few minutes more and I find an extremely handsome British edition of Thomas Hardy’s A Pair of Blue Eyes from the 1960’s in a very nice dustjacket. That, too, is already at the mall. Admittedly, it wasn’t a lot to get excited about, but here’s the thing -- the bill was a dollar. A DOLLAR!

I know, I know, it could still be argued that the excursion was a failure considering how far we traveled. But I beg to differ. Five good books for a song, a great time, and a Thai salad at Panera upon return to civilization is not to be sneezed at. AND, let us not forget, that doesn’t even count the banty rooster and his fitted shirt!

Tomorrow! Tomorrow!

Hi everybody,

Just wanted to let you know I'm still on the planet. I have been crazy busy, but will be back tomorrow, the 20th, with a new post. PROMISE!

Tess

Searching for Book Sales

Well, it looks like I’m still a bookseller in search of a book sale. My Michgian back-up plan crashed and burned because I remembered the dates wrong. I saw the ad a couple weeks ago, but of course then it was far in the future so I didn’t make notes. When I went back to check this morning my heart sank to my feet. It’s TOMORROW, the day Eric returns from the wilds of Indiana. We can’t even go on the first day which is Thursday (tomorrow night’s the preview) because it’s at nine a.m. which means we’d have to be in line hours earlier and it’s a three hour drive from here. If we could go up the night before it would be great because we could also do the preview, but there’s no way Eric will be up for that after a five hour trip home in a huge truck.

The interesting thing about this sale is it comes equipped with a wrinkle I’ve never seen before. On preview night all books are priced fifty per cent more than they will be the following morning. At first glance you fly back in horror, but here’s the thing. The ad said that on the regular day prices would range from a dollar to ten dollars. So, okay, a $10 book on opening day is a $15 book at the preview. If it’s the right book, who cares? Around here the FOL sales are so inflated they should pass out complimentary vials of smelling salts for when you fall to the floor in a dead faint which is practically guaranteed to happen. It’s nothing to see books priced at $50-$100. Sometimes I even buy them, which probably just encourages them, but I’ve done okay with it and am not complaining about the good stuff. It’s when they get full of themselves over books that are not worth it, or are in deplorable condition, that I get a little cranky.

Condition means nothing to FOL pricers. They “look it up” (oh, how I hate that phrase) compare apples to breadfruit, and then cheerfully pencil in the biggest price they can find. A lot of them then run a print-out which used to be a joke because all you had to do was look at the number of the listing to calculate how many above it were cheaper and also the date at the top which gave away the fact that they’d looked it up LAST YEAR. Ah, but now they are smarter – all numbers and dates are – you guessed it – gone! So it’s still a joke, just a smarter one.

Of course the reason FOLs exist is not to make booksellers wealthy (THERE’S an oxymoron, huh?), but to raise money for the library. I’m definitely all for that and really don’t even get too worked up over the mile-high prices (unless I fall for a bogus one and get burned!). If they get their asking price God bless ‘em. My big complaint centers on allowing the sales to be pre-picked by “volunteers” who are actually dealers whose motives have about as much to do with philanthropy as roller skates have to do with chickens. But it’s a beautiful sunny day and I’m in no mood for a rant of that ilk, so enough said about the whole thing.

Oh! Here’s something fun. Yesterday I sold the BEST dictionary at the antiques mall. If you have not seen the Webster’s from the 30’s that’s a foot thick you haven’t seen a dictionary. This is truly the mother of all dictionaries. It’s been there since November and has been looked at a lot. I know this because nobody seems able to put it back on the shelf, so it usually remains on the floor in front of the shelf. I don’t know what the going price is online these days and don’t much care. I got $70 for it and that was fine by me. I also have a very fine two volume replacement dictionary from the 40’s with gorgeous green marbled edges and color plates I’ll be dragging over Thursday.

Speaking of the mall, a potentially interesting deal got tossed in the works. One of the mall employees wants to get rid of a lot of his own books and would very much like a firearms book we have on display. He was hoping we could swap all of his for the one of ours. The book he wants is $65 though, so it’s not as peachy as it sounds at first glance. Still, you never know. He called yesterday to say he’d left a partial list of what he has in the cabinet under one of the bookcases where I keep extra tickets and my cleaning supplies (one of the responsibilities of selling at the mall is cleaning your own booth), so I will check it out when we’re there. The good news is we’ll be going to an FOL sale near where he lives in a week, so if we can connect it won’t even be an extra trip.

I’m actually anxious to get to the mall because I spent the morning readying some very nice books. In addition to the two volume dictionary, I have a three volume Palfrey’s History of New England (1859); Siebert’s seminal The Underground Railroad; From Slavery to Freedom, first edition, 1899; and the ten volume set of Stoddard's Lectures plus four supplements. I'm telling you, if you can't afford a vacation just book an armchair trip with old Stoddard and you'll not only see the world, but  have a blast doing it. Fabulous pictures and readable prose -- when it comes to vintage travel Stoddard's THE MAN.  Last, but not least, I have a  charming 1883 guide to raising canaries and cage birds illustrated with bright, colorful chromolithographs. The fun part is it’s so earnestly written that the author actually provides the music and lyrics for songs to teach your bird! Anybody up for a rousing Fatinitza March and Chorus? No? Well, anyway and I’ve got a bunch of other stuff too, but those are the goodies.

So on that note (ha-ha) I’m off to accomplish something which probably means snapping endless pictures. The good news is if I do it enough I may gain a back-up skill in case the books go belly-up. But let's not talk about that. EVER.

The Strange Case of the Bookless Auction

Here’s an odd thing to start the day. Last week I saw an ad for an auction that contained these magic words “books, books, and more books …” The location was a bit far, however, to commit, so I decided this morning to email the auctioneer and see if he could be a bit more specific. I told him that I buy vintage and antiquarian books and paper in good or better condition and wondered if he could offer a broad topic range and a general overall assessment of their condition. Immediately he zapped back a reply saying that he doesn’t remember SEEING any books in that particular auction! I copied and pasted the above portion of the ad and of course expressed mild surprise. His reply? There was none!!!!

The upside of course is that we won’t gallivant all over hell’s half-acre for nothing, but how incredibly strange is THAT? Most auctioneers aren’t book guys, often don’t even like books, but if they have them they at least snap a couple lousy pictures and mention a few titles or categories. Never have I seen an auctioneer state that he had many books only to realize that he probably didn't have ANY. A few years ago we went to an auction in Galena, Ohio which centered strictly on one man’s Native American book collection. Nothing was very old and we knew that going in, but there were nonetheless enough known prizes to make it worth the trip. Sure enough, collectors and dealers immediately got the ball rolling so briskly that at the half-way point the auctioneer did a complete one-eighty.

“I don’t usually like books, but this could make a believer out of me!” he announced with a grin.

No kidding! He did very well, but so did we. The book I most wanted and actually got was False Faces of the Iroquois, which though exciting, was surpassed by a sleeper hidden in a lot we bought for the store. I immediately laid claim to it and researched it exhaustively to find out why such an ordinary-looking university press book should price in three figures. Unfortunately, I can’t remember its title because it never made it to my database. I sold it on ebay almost instantly for $500. It wasn’t old, but it WAS collectible, primarily due to a controversy that sprang up around it causing most copies to be destroyed.

Anyway, getting back to this auction, I’m very disappointed to say the least, as it was supposed to launch the new season. We haven’t been to a sale in at least three weeks, and maybe even four. I am so itchy to buy books I’m practically jumping out of my skin. We MUST do it this weekend. We MUST, though so far it’s not looking real promising. I do, however, have a little back-up plan that might work in the middle of next week. It would require a trip to Michigan, but that’s okay because we could see the “grands” (love my babies!) and stay at our daughter’s house overnight. Hmmmm … this could work. Okay, I’m happier now.

So on that note I’ll end with something I read this morning from the book pictured above, A Passion for Books by Lawrence Clark Powell, 1958. I’ve had it for a long time, but could never seem to make a decision about it. Every time I get it out of the closet to list it I waffle. No, no can’t sell it. I want it. But then I take it down to the family room bookcases which hold my collection of books about books and waffle yet AGAIN. It’s not a book about bookselling or collecting – it’s a book about librarianship. Of course I love both libraries and librarians -- that goes without saying -- but the Dewey decimal system, is one of those things I'm grateful for, but doesn’t light a fire under me. So, why then you ask, have I not thought to OPEN the book and read past the table of contents to help accelerate the never ending decision-making process? Good question. I thought of it today in fact, whereupon, in the grand tradition of bibliomancy (which we earlier discussed), I opened it at random and read this:

“Suspect he who lives a bookish life from eight to five, then shuts the door to heaven-on-earth and turns to cards, or golf, or worse. Give me the man whose life is encircled with books, who lives and plays, wakes and dreams, sells or lends, and everlastingly reads books, who practices what he preaches, the true gospel that next to a mother’s milk, books are the best food. Thus I view with alarm the invasion of the book world by barbarians who neither believe in books for their totality of being, their fusion of form and content, nor have any sentimental feelings for the book as a thing in itself.”

Decision made! Rock on Lawrence Clark Powell. Rock on.

(NOTE: Lawrence Clark Powell died in 2001 at the age of 95.)

Of Books, Bookbags and the Post Office Blues

I wish I could say I didn’t post yesterday because I was burning the place up with industriousness, but that would be about fifty miles west of the truth. I ran around with Nancy in the morning and spent the afternoon reading and working a full week’s worth of New York Times crossword puzzles. Eric called at six and after I talked to him I made some pasta and spinach salad and tortured myself with one of those 9-11 retrospective shows on TV. Sales stayed strong online – one more gun-related book and then zap! the weapon streak snapped like a crisp carrot. After that it was on to genealogy. I am not kidding. I sold two genealogy books within two hours last night – The Butler Family of Lebanon, Connecticut and Certain Topics on the Ingraham, Waterhouse and Allied Families which joined the earlier Stonington Graveyards and Planters of the Commonwealth. I have no idea if there’s any truth to this, but I have substantial anecdotal evidence to show that every time that genealogical TV show, Who Do You Think You Are? sponsored by Ancestry.com airs genealogy books fly off the shelf like poltergeists. I noticed last night when I was flipping channels that the segment featuring Lionel Ritchie was on again.

To be honest I also spent a certain portion of yesterday grousing about the post office. When Eric is here he takes the orders to the store with him every morning and ships from there using electronic postage and the small, friendly post office in nearby Lodi. I love the Lodi post office, but it’s ten miles away from here, so when he’s gone I revert to the one in town. I very much like the branch which is located in the grocery store, but if I have overseas orders I can’t use it. Ever since 9-11 all overseas mail must be taken to the main post office. I won’t enumerate all the reasons why I heartily dislike that place, but I most emphatically do. Yesterday they decided I could not insure an overseas package to Great Britain, so rather than make a fuss, Nancy and I took our toys and went to Lodi in a mini-snit. It turned out to be fun though. I am rarely at our store, so the sight of customers inside and out did my heart good, as did watching Nancy’s reaction to the museum.

Over the years Eric, the perpetual historian, has added to his father’s collection of antique Ohio rifles and created a museum – a really, truly honest-to-goodness museum with well researched signage and displays all around the walls of a large room off the main showroom. An enormous fireplace flanks one wall and in the winter it blazes perpetually so people sit around on Saturdays in rocking chairs whiling away the afternon talking and reading. While the rifles are the centerpiece, there are also collections of antique powder horns, Indian relics, Indian beaded items such as moccasins and belts, local history, antique tools and an especially poignant showcase doiminated by a Civil War Union uniform worn by a guy from nearby Lodi. Along with the navy blue jacket is a portrait of him and his discharge papers. I didn’t realize when I was there that I was going to blog about this, so of course it never occurred to me to stop at the house and grab my camera. But I promise I will get Eric to take some pictures this week when he gets back and I will upload them then.

After we checked out the museum, we headed for the “cozy room” upstairs under the eaves of the original old barn structure (the store’s been added onto several times). Every time I’m there I yearn to take over this space with MY books, but Eric has so many up there I couldn’t cram in one more. The books steal the show, but there are also art prints on the walls and even a wooden rocking horse. Maybe the reason it feels so homey to me is that it’s furnished with an old couch that was once  in our family room and the round oak pedestal table that used to grace our kitchen until we put in the island. I’ll get pictures of this too.

Anyway, the books and the museum mellowed my miffed mood, as did The Mill’s breakfast special which Nancy and I enjoyed immediately upon return to Medina. By the time I got home I didn’t even hate the post office anymore because there waiting on the porch was the brand new L.L. Bean deluxe book bag I’d ordered to launch the fall book buying season. We have lots of ratty old canvas bags, but nothing on the order of this beauty which cost an arm and two legs, but is so worth it for it capaciousness, it’s zippered closure, and most especially, it’s rigidity.

One look at it and a feeling of expansiveness poured over me. I think subconsciously I’ve always associated these bags with “real dealers.” I don’t what I’ve been these past 14 years if not a “real dealer”, but the U.S. post office brought me an outward symbol.

So I guess I can’t really harbor a grudge.

New Homes For Book Orphans

My youngest daughter Caitie firmly believes that when something good is happening, but is not definitively resolved, you are wise to shut up and not jinx it with endless blather. Her mother sort of believes it too, but apparently not enough to actually do it. Based on this past week I am here to tentatively suggest that fall may have officially rode in on a speedy horse rounding up people in the mood to buy books. Both online sales and antiques mall sales have been quite robust which is partly why I failed to keep my blogging streak going yesterday.

When I look back at a week’s sales I always like to see what people bought as much as what they spent. As a bookseller I am as in love with the “product” as I am with the jingling of the cash register. I don’t sell widgets and I am not in the business of shipping rectangular objects from hither to yon, so it endlessly fascinates me to look at the list. Hopelessly corny as it probably is, I sometimes think of my inventory as an orphanage of small souls in need of homes, so when one gets adopted it’s always cause for rejoicing, however insignificant the price. Yes I know -- I do complain when all the sales come off the “bad” server and consist of only low-end old stuff that’s been kicking around for more than a decade, but even as I whine I’m sort of tickled anyway.

I haven’t really talked about the weekly sold list, but I woke up this morning thinking it was Saturday and my friend Nancy and I were off to the library to sign the petition to repeal the Ohio governor’s legislation that compromises voting rights for a large segment of the population. I knew there were no sales to go to because I’d checked the paper, but I still thought it was Saturday which is odd because Eric just left yesterday for Indiana. Sometimes if he’s gone and I spend too much time holed up in my office working (I’ve been known to go twelve hours at a stretch) I get a little hermitlike and lose track of the day. Fortunately, I logged onto the computer before I made the coffee, saw the date, and snapped back to reality.

But thinking about Nancy reminded me of two years ago when I tore my rotator cuff by climbing up the basement stairs the day before the Case Western Reserve book sale and somehow entangling my foot in the leg of my capri-length pajamas. Eric had to leave for a trip within a week of this debilitating injury, so I was planning to shut down until Nancy offered to wrap and ship for me. Now get this – Nancy works a 40 hour week and still offered to do this every other night for two weeks. Am I lucky, or what? I truly think, and not just because of this, that Nancy is the finest human being I have ever met. Like clockwork she showed up, cheerful and diligent, and turned out packages as meticulous as those I wrap myself. But the thing I loved most was her delight in what people bought and her amazement at some of the titles awaiting her ministrations. I remember especially a stack of twelve Chemical Abstracts journals published in the 1920’s by the American Chemical Association. Her amazement still makes me laugh – maybe because I’m still pretty amazed myself.

Well, that was a lot of words to get to the point, wasn’t it? Anyway, I thought maybe, book lovers that you are, you would find it fun to sneak a peak at my weekly list. Actually there are two lists – one for online and one for the mall. I won’t enumerate everything, but instead just share some highlights from each.

Online the mood was rather “weaponish” this week with sales for Firearms Investigation Identification and Evidence; Illustrated British Firearms Patents; Remington Autoloading & Pump-Action Rifles: A History of the Centerfire Models 760, 740, 742, 7400 & 7600; Fur Trade Cutlery; The Knife In Homespun America; and A.H. Fox, The Finest Gun in the World. The latter was my first sale from the books I bought from my online customer. Other topics included thatching roofs, building model planes, political buttons, collecting medicine bottles, the history of the United States Navy in two volumes, Border Settlers of Northern Virginia, narrow gauge railroads, the splashy 1926 United States Steel 25th Anniversary retrospective I mentioned earlier that I'd quoted to a customer; and a very cool booklet on short selling from 1931 by Richard Whitney the disgraced and jailed president of the New York Stock Exchange. It even included his card laid-in.  

The antiques mall proved much more eclectic as is often the case. Amongst the claimed books there were a signed first edition by Alistair Cook (best known at our house as Alistair Cookie a la Sesame Street); The Globe Illustrated Shakespeare (Shakespeare rocks at the antiques mall); a book on crowd psychology; an ENORMOUS Currier & Ives calendar from 1968 (think elephant folio); Whitman’s Leaves of Grass; several issues of Ohio Practical Farmer from 1888; a book about Ohio interurbans; a book about Cleveland churches; and Alan Nevins’ eight volume series on the Civil War.

What any of this means in terms of trends is anybody's guess. In fact, I doubt it means a darn thing except that we sell what we have. Other than Leaves of Grass, none of the above are books I would read myself. And yet I love every last one of them and hope they all found good homes where they will be appreciated for a very long time.