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.
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."
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.
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!
Vancouver, B.C., is currently dealing with a most welcome outbreak of Olympic fever.
Shaun White pulled off a Double McTwist 1260, which includes two board-over-head flips within 3 1/2 turns, and somebody from the Olympic Committee quite rightly found his neck under that rag-mop of hair and adorned it with a gold medal.
But hey, Mr. White, snowboard yourself 305 miles south of Vancouver, B.C. to Vancouver, Washington, and try pulling off this complicated maneuver: keep an independent bookstore thriving for 35 years. In these days when profitably running an independent bookstore is as dangerous as a luge, Vintage Books has managed to find the quirky combination to keep itself going
Somebody needs to pull a podium up to the corner of East Mill Plain & Andresen and play "O, Bookstore" to celebrate the 35th anniversary of Vintage Books.
What began in 1975 as a home business by Becky Minor has become 6,000 sq. ft. behemoth brimming with 500,000 titles. Security and hospitality are aided by two cats, Henry and Dickens.
One of the more popular areas of the store might be called "automobile ephemera," for if you just happen to own, say, a 1972 Datsun, you can buy a manual for it as low as $12.00 USD. And if its a 1953 Willy-Overland you need to be touching up, you'll find a book of paint chips you can take to your local Sherwin-Williams.
There is small, but respectable Rare & Collectible section. (An autographed copy of Milton Berle's biography, anyone?)
If you buy online and use the coupon code GOLDBOND, 10% of your purchase with be sent South o' the Washington Border to the Gold Bond Golden Retriever Rescue service in Oregon.
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.
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."
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.
As if independent bookshop owners aren't getting run over by enough trains already, a planned light rail line may spell the end of the line for Thomas Stransky in St. Paul, Minn.
I heard first from Pradeep Sebastian, a literary columnist in India, who offered the following dozen--count 'em, twelve--first-rate suggestions:
The Hoax (2006), a film about Clifford Irving, and the fake Howard Hughes biography; F For Fake (1974), written, directed, and starring Orson Welles, and based in part on the forgeries of Irving, and others, and available in DVD; Selling Hitler (1991) a made for TV movie based on Robert Harris' book about the faking of a Hitler diary; The Last Station (2009), about Leo Tolstoy's manuscripts and will, and recipient this week of an Academy Award nomination for Christopher Plummer for best actor. Also from Sebastian: Creation (2009), a dramatization of the life of Charles
As a bonus, Sebastian offered a pair of documentaries: BookWars (2000), about New York City pavement book sellers, and Paperback Dreams (2008), profiling the struggle to survive among independent bookstores.
Arriving about a half-hour after that dazzling list came a terrific suggestion from Benjamin L. Clark in Oklahoma--he has a pretty nifty book blog of his own called exilebibliophile, which I highly recommend--to wit:
Cimarron (1931), winner of six Academy Awards, including Best Picture, based on a novel by Edna Ferber (and winner of a Pulitzer Prize in 1929), which was partly inspired by the life of T.B. Ferguson, a cursading Oklahoma newspaper editor, and his wife, Elva.
Next came an email from Eleni Collins, an assistant editor for the Martha's Vineyard Times, who wondered if a couple of movies based on outstanding children's books, Harriet the Spy (1996) and The Mixed Up Files of Ms. Basil E. Frankweiler (1968), might not create a category in their own right. I love the idea--maybe we can do that next (think Maurice Sendak and Where the Wild Things Are)--but more on point for this particular exercise was her third suggestion, Between the Folds (2009), a television documentary about the world-wide mania for origami that aired in December on PBS, and has just been released in DVD.
A suggestion from reader Mike Gindling advised that a key scene in his favorite movie, Lawrence of Arabia (1962), has Lawrence writing out an IOU to a shiek in return for help in the taking of an important city. I like that--an IOU is an example of a piece of paper whose value is only as good as the word of the person who gives it.
Just this morning, Joe Fay, manager of rare books at Heritage Auction Galleries in Dallas, offered these beauties:
The Whole Wide World (1996) starring Renee Zellweger and Vincent D'Onofrio, a biographical account of the relationship between pulp fiction writer Robert E. Howard and Novalyne Price Ellis;
Fay mentioned a 1988 mini-series starring Stacey Keach as Ernest Hemingway, titled Hemingway, and cited one documentary in particular as outstanding, Lovecraft: Fear of the Unknown (2008), about the science fiction writer H. P. Lovecraft.
Finally, from daughter Nicole, who is weathering out the blizzard in Washington, D.C., a news flash about the release of a documentary with the improbable title of Miracle Banana, a Japanese film with English subtitles, "based on an actual project to make paper from banana trees in Haiti." To prove that this was no joke, she furnished this link.
Honestly, I am lost for words (that never happens with me). But I do thank one and all for these fabulous films. I promise you, they will be used.
New York Times today has a nice profile of National Enquirer editor Barry Levin and his exceptional Ernest Hemingway collection:
Mr. Levine's collection includes bullfighting programs Hemingway used for his research, check stubs for routine things like car repairs, and letters by Mary Hemingway, the author's widow. Among those: a carbon copy of a typed note to the sheriff in Ketchum, Idaho, where Hemingway committed suicide in 1961, asking that the shotgun he used be returned.
It's a nice look at the creative approach smart book buyers use to assemble their collections. My one quibble is this line:
Glenn Horowitz, a rare-book dealer and friend of Mr. Levine's, said that while Mr. Levine lacks the 'deep Champagne pockets' of some collectors, his reportorial skills have helped him identify interesting items to put together an 'imaginative, elastic collection,' one in which each piece offers a little anecdote—and some work together to tell a story.
The article bears out the second half of that statement very well. But the first—that Levine lacks "deep Champagne pockets"—may be tough for collectors on more modest budgets to swallow, especially when the article describes how Levine once "spent several thousand dollars at a Christie's auction on another first edition of 'For Whom the Bell Tolls'—this one a brilliant copy that Hemingway signed and that includes the author's calling card."
