Jonathan Shipley

Jonathan Shipley is a freelance writer living in Seattle. He’s written for the Los Angeles Times, Gather Journal, Uppercase, and many other publications.

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Book collectors can be obsessive types. I'm reminded of the movie "The Conspiracy Theory," in which Julia Roberts' character, upon entering the apartment of Mel Gibson's character, finds a multitude of copies of J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye and is a bit taken aback by his obsessiveness.

Walk into the home of Bill Ewald and you'll see an obsession he's developed all on his own. He has upwards of 700 copies of Two Years Before the Mast, written by Richard Henry Dana Jr. and first published in 1840. The Auburn Journal profiles Ewald, here.

It begs the question then - what's the one book you keep collecting? For me, I once was smitten by this book.



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Would a printed poster of Thoreau's Concord look nice in your library? Is a Thoreau stamp with first day of issue cancellation more your style? Or Don Henley's drumsticks? Today begins the Thoreau Society's annual online auction fundraiser. Various Concord-related books, collectibles, tours, and gift certificates have been donated to the society to be auctioned off between now and March 17. (Fine Books is offering a year's subscription to our new print quarterly to one lucky bidder.) Saunter over and take a look. 
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The news this week that the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris had acquired the manuscript memoirs of the great eighteenth-century Venetian lothario known to one and all as Casanova--Tiger Woods can only dream of walking in this guy's remarkable footsteps--brought to mind a very nice book published a decade ago by Louisiana State University Press, Casanova Was a Book Lover: And Other Naked Truths and Provocative Curiosities about the Writing, Selling, and Reading of Books. This smart collection of bibliophilic essays was written by John Maxwell Hamilton, an occasional commentator on NPR and dean of LSU's School of Mass Communications; you have to love a book that is dedicated to "all reviewers," and includes the explanation that "only ungrateful asses would pan a book after having it dedicated to them."  

Hamilton's title piece took irreverent note of the fact that Giacomo Girolamo Casanova de Seingalt (1725-1798) spent the final years of his eventful life as a librarian in the household of Count Joseph Karl von Waldstein of Bohemia, and it was in that dreary castle that he took pen to paper and wrote Histoire de ma vie, the racy memoirs for which he became famous, and which an anonymous benefactor acquired on behalf of the French National Library (BNF). Though the actual purchase price was not disclosed, the figure was widely reported to be five million euros, about $9 million, which, if correct, would qualify it as the costliest manuscript transaction on record. The papers--comprising 3,700 pages of yellowing sheets--were transfered Monday to the BNF in thirteen boxes, and represent the complete, uncensored account of Casanova's amorous adventures. The material had been owned since 1821 by the Brauckhuas publishing company in Germany, and was once thought to have been destroyed in World War II; it was later found safely stored in a bank vault.

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For those truly interested in the role of librarians, especially those coping with so many seismic changes brought on by the twenty-first century, I heartily recommend a new release from HarperCollins, This Book Is Overdue: How Librarians and Cybrarians Can Save Us All, $24.99, by Marilyn Johnson. A staff writer for Life magazine. Johnson says that she first became interested in the subject while doing research for her first book, a well received examination of obituaries wryly titled The Dead Beat: Lost Souls, Lucky Stiffs, and the Perverse Pleasures of Obituaries. "With the exception of a few showy eccentrics, like the former solder in Hitler's army who had a sex change and took up professional whistling, the most engaging obit subjects were librarians."

Before long she was fully involved in the world of these wonderful professionals whose sole goal in life, it seems, is to provide knowledge and information to others. Johnson's coinage of the word "cybarian" takes note of the changing nature of the business, and of the many ways the people she proceeded to spend so much time with have adapted to the new technologies. She describes the modern librarian as a person whose job is to "create order out of the confusion of the past, even as she enables us to blast into the future."

The result is a most enthusiastic book that is great fun to read (and one which, I feel bound to disclose, makes generous mention of several books that I have written.) Its greatest contribution, I think, is that it pays tribute to an essential public service that so many government officials blithely feel can be cut at will during budgetary crises, reductions made especially easy for them to impose since these temples of wisdom have no well-heeled lobbyists throwing corporate money around to champion their cause. The epigraph to one of Johnson's chapters says it best: "In tough times, a librarian is a terrible thing to waste."
In the past few days, two rather large donations to rare book repositories were announced. On Friday, the University of Pennsylvania's Rare Book & Manuscript Library (home to 250,000 rare books, as well as the Michael Zinman collection and the Gotham Book Mart collection) announced a $4.25 million donation toward the renovation of the library. According to Penn's press release, "The gift will support the first phase of a $15 million expansion project whereby the collection, study, and curatorial facilities on the sixth floor of the Van Pelt-Dietrich Library Center will be transformed into a new Special Collections Center. The redesigned Center will play to the strengths of the rare book library's teaching and digitization program. The Center will encourage the use of special collections in both research and in the curriculum; a fully equipped and staffed conservation suite will ensure continued effective stewardship of Penn's rare book and manuscript collection."

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And just in time to celebrate Washington's birthday, Mount Vernon announced a tremendous gift. The Donald W. Reynolds Foundation, a regular supporter of the historic site, has pledged $38 million to construct a George Washington Library at Mount Vernon. From the press release: "Construction of the 45,000 square foot facility, which will be named the Fred. W. Smith National Library for the Study of George Washington, is expected to begin in early 2011, with a completion date in 2012." Currently Mount Vernon holds 45 books from Washington's original library, as well as 450 letters and manuscripts in his hand, and about 1,500 additional eighteenth-century books and documents. Seems like they have a bit of buying to do -- book dealers, take note.

 

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Q) Who invented the construction hat?

1) Gertrude Stein
2) Franz Kafka
3) Donald Trump

A) Franz Kafka. Although this story is considered by some to be a wee bit apocryphal, Kafka did work at the Worker's Accident Insurance Institute in Bohemia in 1912. It is a little doubtful that he actually invented it, but it is generally considered to be true that Kafka insisted upon its use since Kafka would have been professionally interested in lowering accidents. It was management guru Peter Drucker who first spread this story. However, there are no records to prove Drucker's theory true.

There is absolutely no truth to the rumor that Kafka was one of the founding partners in Terminix.

If you're just joining the saga of the 2010 San Francisco Antiquarian Book Fair, please read Part 1 and Part 2 of this post first.


And now, the conclusion of the 2010 San Francisco Antiquarian Book Fair . . .


When Tom -- who worked very hard and never complained -- had finished helping me unpack the Bookmobile and put some books on shelves, Thoughtful Husband, Huck, and our neighbor, who, in keeping with the Tom Sawyer theme, we'll call Joe Harper (close friend of Tom Sawyer), came to pick up Tom and go the aquarium in the City. I finished setting up the booth and set out to find the book of my dreams, the sleeper no other booksellers noticed, the book on which I could make some money.


As I set out to make a circuit of the large exhibition hall, I took along a few Dante catalogues to distribute to the other booksellers. Due to the delay in receiving the print catalogue from the printer, I had mailed the catalogue to customers and other booksellers only a few days before the fair. I decided to mail catalogues to local booksellers who would receive it before the fair and to personally give a catalogue to out-of-town booksellers at the fair. If I had mailed it to them, they wouldn't have received it in time for the fair.


Before I got very far, I saw a bookseller I know walking my way. This is the same bookseller who at a bookseller holiday party had scoffed (and rightly so) at the idea of the Dante catalogue ever making its way into print after nearly three years. I made sure to mail him a copy of the catalogue as soon as I received it. I wanted him to know I had finished it at last.


I worried what he'd say to me. Here was a bookseller who (justifiably) thought that because of an almost comical amount delays I perhaps wouldn't be able to finish my catalogue. Here was a bookseller who quite likely wondered if, when I did finish the catalogue, the books offered by this newcomer would be worthwhile. Would the catalogue prove that it was worth the wait? I wanted to hide behind the trophy case in my booth or dive beneath the tables. Perhaps the only thing worse than not completing the catalogue would be to have completed it and have people think it was no good.


Well, even worse than that, really, would be to sell no books from the catalogue. I know I shouldn't be too wrapped up in what other people think of it. But still . . .


I looked around and saw nowhere to hide. I briefly hoped that maybe he hadn't had time to look at the catalogue before the book fair. "Chris!" he called out to me, striding towards me. No hiding now. He shook my hand warmly and said, "Your catalogue is beautiful. I hope you won't mind, but I've forwarded it to a customer who I think will be quite interested in it."


Would I mind? Of course not. Heartened, I thanked him for his kind words and set out to find some books and give out the rest of the catalogues. I found a few nice books while making the rounds of the other bookseller's booths. Three beautifully bound books about Italy, some original photographs by an American woman photographer, and a few other little gems written by American women. The fair was indeed getting off to a good start, though there was not one "amazing" find in particular. All of my finds were good solid books priced at a point where I could still make a profit.


When I returned to my booth, one of my favorite bookselling friends was waiting for me. She's a mom to two boys, too, and she completely understands why things like Cub Scouts and homework projects might make me take me so long to complete the Dante catalogue. Showing her solidarity as a fellow bookselling mom, she asked me to sign her copy of the catalogue. A couple of other people asked me to do the same thing. I was bemused and surprised but flattered.


Two other booksellers whose long experience I respect and admire told me they were going to keep the catalogue on their shelves as a reference. I nearly fell over. The catalogue, along with the hard work and research that went into writing it, was being taken seriously. Though I generally try to be a modest person, I have to say that I was pleased with the positive reception given to the catalogue by others in the trade. It helped make all of the struggles of completing the catalogue worthwhile.


When it opened to the public on Saturday, the fair was a busy one. I sold books of all kinds to book lovers, book collectors, and booksellers. Sunday was a bit slower, with less sales, but I sold a few expensive books that day, so it was a good day for me. It was a great fair, this time as much about my catalogue's coming out as it was about selling books. I had a great time.


At the end of the weekend, I had ten invoices to book lovers and collectors, nine invoices to booksellers, and one invoice to a library. Some of the invoices were for multiple items. There was no one type of book sold. I sold all kinds of books, ranging in price from $25 to $1,000. This fair was the first in a while where booksellers in particular seemed to have a little bit of cash to buy books again. That wasn't the case this past year at the Santa Monica or Sacramento fairs. That, or maybe I didn't have the books people were seeking at that fair. That's the fun part of the book business. You never know what will sell, and sometimes you are pleasantly surprised by what does.


I realized that the 2010 San Francisco Antiquarian Book Fair was three days I will always remember when I look back at my progress as a bookseller. After three years, I had reached a goal I had set for myself a long time ago. I had written back in 2007 that the two of the hallmarks of a "real" antiquarian bookseller are selling books at book fairs and issuing print catalogues. I've since learned that there are other equally important qualities (like buying books at a good price; forming relationships with colleagues, customers, and librarians; and learning how much you still don't know), but it's fun to go back and think about what it took to get here.


See you in the stacks!

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I'm going to say it: I've had just about enough of the Google Book Settlement. At yesterday's hearing, Judge Denny Chin of the Federal District Court for the Southern District of New York said there was "just too much to digest." He's right -- it's mind-boggling. (For those of you who would like to attempt it, though, here's a report from the New York Times, and another from Publishers Weekly.)

When I spoke to Harvard University Library Director Robert Darnton about it in late October, he said he encourages large-scale book scanning but worried about Google's commercial power over the information. About the GBS, he said, "The settlement, in my view, has the makings of something that could be of great benefit to the country, but it requires safeguards." Darnton envisions a universal library, funded by the government, if necessary.

Sparring with the Authors Guild in the February 25th issue of the New York Review of Books, Darnton reiterates his points:

Yet the settlement could be modified to promote the public good. As things now stand, most twentieth-century literature--the great majority of books published since 1923--cannot be made freely accessible in digital form, owing to the excessive restrictions of our copyright laws. This problem could be resolved by legislation concerning orphan works or a revised version of the ASA, which would adapt one of its current provisions for the public good--that is, rightsholders of out-of-print works would be deemed to have accepted the settlement unless they opted out.

Better yet, the federal government could finance a national digital library by working with Google and the Library of Congress. The Authors Guild accuses me of utopianism by arguing for this solution, and I plead guilty. There was a utopian element in the Enlightenment and in the thought of the Founding Fathers. I think we should draw on it. We have the means; we merely lack the will. President Nicolas Sarkozy of France recently announced that the French state would devote O750 million to the digitization of France's "patrimony." Why doesn't the Obama administration make a similar commitment? For a smaller sum it could digitize the entire Library of Congress and remedy a great deal of unemployment at the same time.


Hear, hear!




You can read Part 1 of this post here.


Eleven-year-old Tom, my assistant for set-up day at the book fair, and I clambered over bookcases and boxes and into the Bookmobile. I sped down the highway toward the City, watching the sun poking through the grey rain clouds. The Bay Bridge and the Transamerica Pyramid rose in the distance against a backdrop of choppy Bay waters, and we blasted Tom Petty's song "Runnin' Down a Dream" on the radio, singing along as loud as we could. As we got closer to the City, I left behind the exhaustion of mailing out 300 + catalogues and the stress of what was going to be a heavy schedule for the next ten days. I'm always excited to go to book fairs. There's just something about the moments before a fair when all is possibility -- the possibility of many books sold and of a few good book finds -- that makes me extremely happy.


Often, I hear booksellers say that book fairs aren't worth it. In order to sell at a book fair, booksellers take time away from the business (in some cases an open shop), lug a bunch of heavy books and bookcases a long distance, and spend money to travel and stay in a hotel. And sometimes no one buys any of your books, or at least not enough of them for you to make back your costs. These are valid complaints and they can affect decisions whether or not to do future fairs.


For example, The Santa Monica Book Fair was a break-even event for me this past September. I had fun at the fair but really had to question at the end whether it was worth it to be away from my family for five days if I was only going to break even. The Central Valley Antiquarian Book Fair, held the weekend after the Santa Monica Fair, was also slow fair for me. It's usually my highest grossing book fair each year.


Not this year.


Needless to say I was nervous about the San Francisco Book Fair. Would it be a good fair for me? I had invested every bit of cash flow into printing and mailing the Dante catalogue. What if I lost money on the fair, too?


I tried to remember a couple of years ago, how I felt when I did this fair for the first time, when I compared myself to the title character in the movie Rudy:


I was just happy and amazed to be there, and, like Rudy standing alone on the big-time field at Notre Dame before he plays, I thought about the potential a big fair offers a small-time bookseller like me. Would I sell the most books of any seller there? Would I find the unrecognized treasures that every bookseller looks for when shopping at a book fair? Would other booksellers even know who I am or visit my booth? Would anyone buy any of my books? Probably not. As a new, small bookseller, I would likely be overlooked. I was, as usual, filled with anxiety over these issues, but mostly I just wanted to stop and think about what might be and to be grateful to be a small part of it.


What has changed since then?


I have more experience. I have done many more book fairs since I wrote that I felt like Rudy. I am now aware of all that might go wrong at a book fair and the myriad ways to lose money at a book fair. But driving to the fair, the old feeling of excitement came back to me, as sure as if it was the first time I ever sold an antiquarian book to a live human being.


Wait a minute. What has changed since then?


I have more experience. I have done many more book fairs since I wrote that I felt like Rudy. I was now aware that most of the fairs I do are profitable for me. I've also developed a good eye to hunt for and find good books at fairs, books on which I can make a profit at a future date. And as an added bonus, I've developed a great network of bookseller friends to visit with and to buy books from and to sell books to. I had dinner with several of them on FridaySaturday nights.
and


As I said in that 2008 post when I did the San Francisco Antiquarian Book Fair for the first time:


I just know that I wanted to be an antiquarian bookseller so much that I didn't care whether I could be a top-tier bookseller. I want to be a part of the antiquarian book world, regardless of how well-known of a bookseller I ultimately become.


I took stock for a moment.


Yes. I could say the same thing today, and even more vehemently than I said it two years ago.


We parked the car and checked in to our booth, Booth #205. Adjacent to us in Booth #305 was my bookselling friend and mentor, Mr. Z. We'd requested that the fair organizer remove the partition between our booths to make one very large space with Mr. Z's books on one side and mine on another. Here's a photo of how it looked after Tom unloaded my boxes and Mr. Z's assistants Kara and Jill unloaded his boxes:



Some of my books and ephemera are in the left-hand trophy case. Mr. Z's are on the right.


Tom, my able assistant, got right to work unloading 22 boxes of books and 8 bookcases for me. If you will permit a moment of motherly pride, I marvel at the fact that my "baby" (don't tell him I used that word) is growing up and that he is now big enough to lug heavy boxes and furniture. When he had finished a couple of hours later, Thoughtful Husband and Huck came up to the City to check out my booth and to pick Tom up.


Here are a few photos of my side of the extra large booth:

Some books from the Dante catalogue.


A small collection of Kate Greenaway ephemera.


Interesting books on all subjects.


Western Americana.


Books by or about American women.


I had four other book cases on the outside perimeter of the booth for a total of seven bookcases, one trophy case, and half of a glass counter case.


With the words to Tom Petty's song echoing in my ears, I was ready to run down my dream.


Tom Petty - Running Down A Dream
It was a beautiful day, the sun beat down
I had the radio on, I was driving
Trees flew by, me and Del were singing
Little Runaway. I was flying

CHORUS
Yeah running down a dream
That never would come to me
Working on a mystery
Going wherever it leads
Running down a dream

I felt so good like anything was possible
I hit cruise control and rubbed my eyes
The last three days the rain was unstoppable
It was always cold, no sunshine

CHORUS
Yeah running down a dream
That never would come to me
Working on a mystery
Going wherever it leads
Running down a dream

I rolled on as the sky grew dark
I put the pedal down to make some time
There's something good waiting down this road
I'm picking up whatever is mine

CHORUS
Yeah running down a dream
That never would come to me
Working on a mystery
Going wherever it leads
Running down a dream


TOMORROW: The third (and final) post about the fair: Was It a Success? Rare, Fine, and Sold.


Alright: It's more than a week overdue and I am still swimming in oceans of work to do after returning home from ten days on the road. Still, it's high time I wrote a little report of the 2010 San Francisco Antiquarian Book Fair. I put the boxes of books to be re-shelved to the side for the moment. Part 1 of my report appears today with more to follow tomorrow.


Two years ago, I wrote about selling books at the San Francisco show. It was only my second book fair.


I was quite excited and quite nervous.


This year's San Francisco Antiquarian Book Fair is book fair number ten. I've gained a lot of experience and made a lot of progress since the 2008 fair.


I was quite excited and quite nervous.


Not only would I be selling books at this fair, I'd be personally handing out a lot of copies of Book Hunter's Holiday Catalogue #1 to customers and to other booksellers. What if no one liked the catalogue? What if they wanted to know why all of the "serious" Dante books from the 1500s are not in my catalogue? I had just mailed out the catalogue three days before the fair, and people's reactions were just beginning to trickle in. So far so good, but watching people examine the catalogue in person could potentially be gut wrenching.


Added to the catalogue anxiety was my usual lack of sleep the night before a fair, when I am kept awake by the nightmarish thought that I have since learned haunts most booksellers: "What if no one buys any of my books?"


Did I mention that Tom and Huck's school also gave them a 10-day "ski week" vacation, beginning on Friday, February 5, the set-up day of the fair? Not only would they be home from school for the duration of the fair, but they wanted to leave for the snow on Monday, the morning after the fair ended. The plan was to come home on Thursday night and then for me to leave Friday to attend (but thankfully not to also sell books at) the Los Angeles International Antiquarian Book Fair. That's a full calendar, and it would require that I be away from home for about 10 days. I was exhausted from getting all of the catalogues in the mail, too. I was beginning to feel a little bit overwhelmed.


Maybe I should just stay home.


"Not on your life," said Thoughtful Husband. "You've worked on this catalogue forever. You love book fairs. Get out there and sell some books!" He took Friday off of work to stay home with the boys. I got a hotel room in the City so I could focus on the fair.



My room in the literary-themed Carriage Inn -- the Lawrence Ferlinghetti room. The Carriage Inn and its neighbor, Good Hotel, were home to many of the booksellers for the weekend of the fair. It's near the fair venue and the rates are affordable.



My room came with its own Remington typewriter. I loved that.


In trying to sort out all the details for my travels, a remarkable thing happened. Tom, who is almost twelve, is looking for ways to earn his own money. He wanted to know whether I would pay him if he came with me to help unload boxes and book cases and to get them set up in the exhibition hall the day before the fair.


Absolutely relieved to have help with the heavy lifting, I said, "Sure. I'll pay you. But you really have to carry a lot of stuff and you can't go home until Dad can come and pick you up in the afternoon. It's hard work to set up at a book fair. I don't want any complaining." Secretly, I was happy he would get to see that the life of an antiquarian bookseller involves more than sitting at a computer in a tiny corner of our dining room.


Tom rolled his eyes, said, "I'm strong," and joined me. He wouldn't let me take his picture because I told him that, as my employee, he had to wear a collared shirt. What's a mother for, if not to bust her kids' chops once in a while? :) We compromised a little bit. He was allowed to wear jeans. It is set-up after all, and it's sometimes dusty and messy work.


We loaded up the Bookmobile and set out for San Francisco, about 30 minutes from our house. Though rain was in the forecast, it was shaping up to be a pretty nice day.


To be continued . . .


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The Creative Review blogged this week about type designer Seb Lester's designs for Salinger reprints. Lester was commissioned by Hamish Hamilton (part of the Penguin group) to create a set of book covers for Salinger's books: Catcher in the Rye, For Esme With Love and Squalor, Franny and Zooey, and Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour. Above are Lester's sketches for Catcher

"It turns out that JD Salinger had some very basic (and strict) rules about how he wanted his book covers to look. He was adamant that the only copy that should appear on his books was his name and the title of the book. No quotes or plot summary, no author biography. And definitely no marketing blurb. Just the title and his name."

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This finished product was approved by the author before his death last month. The typeface, designed by Lester, is known at Hamish Hamilton as 'The Salinger.' Said Lester, "The inline treatment and style of flourishing have echoes of classic typefaces and lettering from the mid-twentieth century period when the books were written."

The four reprints were originally due to be published in June. The pub date has, however, been moved up to March 4.