Chapter 500 Touchdown!

No bookish posts today.

Here’s why:

footballpillow

We all know I’m no Martha Stewart (though I’d really like to be). Way back in July, Tom and Huck were with me at the local craft store, and, while I was shopping, they each selected some fabric from the clearance table. Tom chose a skateboard-themed fabric (2 yards for $3) and Huck chose a football-themed fabric (1 yard for $2). They wanted me, their mother, to sew pillow cases for their beds.

I don’t sew very often, and I only know how to use a sewing machine to sew straight lines.

“I don’t know, guys,” I said. “Maybe Aunt Sarah can do this for you.” (Aunt Sarah is my aunt and she is an amazing designer and seamstress who had her own clothing shop for many years. She is a professional, and everything she sews looks fantastic.)

Huck then said, “I love it when you make me homemade things.”

And my heart melted.

I bought the fabric, with that wishful and probably arrogant motherly thinking that they would each think of me every time they rested their heads on the pillows. I was determined to sew their pillowcases myself.

Just as soon as I went to Rare Book School at the University of Virginia.

Just as soon as our family took our summer vacation.

Just as soon as I quoted that big book to a library.

Just as soon as school started for Tom and Huck.

Just as soon as the Santa Monica Book Fair, the Central Valley Antiquarian Book Fair, and the Golden Gate Park Book Fair were finished.

Finally, I decided I had better just do it. And, there it is, pictured above. It only took me about an hour to cut, press, pin, and sew.

I need to apply this attitude — just do it regardless of other priorities — to the Dante catalogue.

Just as soon as I sew a skateboard pillowcase for Tom tomorrow.

:)

Chapter 498 Especially for Those Learning the Trade: Learn to Call Each Thing By Its Proper Name

Today’s post is especially for any newcomers to book collecting or to the antiquarian bookselling trade. If you are trying to learn the proper way to go about understanding a description of a rare book or are describing rare books yourself, read on.

Over at Past is Present is a great article and instructive diagram of the anatomy of a catalog record. I link to it because most of the information included in a library’s catalog record for a rare book should also be included in a bookseller’s written description of such a book. Although the format a bookseller uses to describe a rare book is likely to look different than a library’s, the information needed for both to be useful to the end-user is similar. If you click on the diagram to enlarge it, you’ll get clear, succinct explanations of each part of a rare book catalog description and the reason it is included.

Happy reading!

Published in:  on November 10, 2009 at 8:40 pm Leave a Comment

Chapter 495 My First Appearance in Print

Today I received the Fine Book & Collections 2009 Compendium in the mail. Now that the magazine has gone to an online-only format, the annual Compendium is a print version I have been eagerly awaiting.

fb&c

In addition to the great Gift Guide for Book Lovers and a slew of great articles, the 2010 Bookseller Resource Guide included in the Compendium lets you know where you might consider shopping to fulfill all of your bookish needs.

Wait a minute. What’s that?
bigpage

Hmm. Let’s zoom in a little bit on page 89, to the first listing under the heading “Book Dealers”:

fb&c ad

:)
It’s the first time I’ve advertised my business in print! It’s a humble ad, not nearly as pretty as the half-page and full-page ads by some of the other dealers, but it’s in there. This is also the first time that my logo, originally drawn in the early 20th century by my great-grandmother, has made it into print, and I think that’s kind of neat.

Another milestone reached. I feel so official!

Thanks for letting me toot my own horn today.

See you in the stacks!

Chapter 490 Exhaustion

I was out from nine this morning until nine tonight (Wednesday) working on that top secret Dante project, of which I can’t tell you the details just yet.

Suffice it to say that I had a great day and, having worked on this project since right after last weekend’s book fair, am now entirely exhausted and going to bed.

I should be sufficiently recovered to post again tomorrow!

Published in:  on October 28, 2009 at 9:21 pm Leave a Comment

Chapter 483 American Bookbinders Museum, San Francisco

Sometimes we book lovers lament the state of the printed book. Will it be overtaken by electronic media? Why are so many booksellers closing their shops? Why are libraries using valuable floor space, once the real estate province of books, for computers? Everywhere we look, it seems that fewer and fewer care about the printed book.

But if we take the time to look closely, we can find those who dedicate their lives and livelihoods to books. They’re out there. Here’s one example.

For those of you bibliophilic readers who live in the Bay Area or are planning a visit here, be sure to schedule some time to visit San Francisco’s newest addition to the preservation of book history: The American Bookbinders Museum.

Founded by Tim James of Taurus Bookbindery, the museum and all it holds was featured in a recent article in the San Francisco Chronicle. You can read it by clicking here. The museum and its website have interesting exhibits of and information about equipment, manuals, documents, bookbinders, and endpapers.

Those of you interested in bookbinders’ tickets, the little stickers and tags often found on the endpaper of an old book, should feast your eyes on the collection at the museum.

I haven’t had a chance to visit here myself, but I will try to fit it in soon. The museum is located in San Francisco at 1962 Harrison Street and is open 12-4pm on Saturdays or by appointment. Admission is free. The phone number is (415) 710-9369.

See you at the museum!

Published in:  on October 18, 2009 at 9:57 pm Leave a Comment

Chapter 479 Food for Thought when “Eating the Seed Corn”

Last Monday, October 5, 2009, Terry Belanger, founder of Rare Book School, gave a talk to the Book Club of California, a group which recently allowed the likes of me to become a new member. I was lucky enough to attend the event, held at the lovely University Club in San Francisco. The title of Belanger’s talk was “Eating the Seed Corn: Reflections on Institutional Sales of Rare Books”.

Given the controversy over the University of San Francisco’s recent sale of a few of its treasures from the Gleeson Library, including a Durer print of St. Jerome — the patron saint of libraries — I looked forward to what Terry Belanger had to say and figured that since he was speaking in San Francisco he would almost certainly bring up recent events.

Belanger’s speech served a lot of food for thought to donors, to institutions, to collectors/potential donors, and even to us antiquarian booksellers.

The talk was not so much a diatribe against USF specifically as it was an acknowledgment that deaccessioning happens but that it needn’t have happened the way it did at USF. Belanger covered some of the problems of bequests and donors and libraries and of the income to be derived from selling deaccessioned materials.

Here are some guidelines he recommended institutions take into consideration when they are faced with deaccessioning books:

* If multiple copies are owned, the inferior, not the superior, copy will be sold.
* The institution needs to honor the conditions of bequests. Failure to do so jeopardizes the trust of donors in making future bequests to any and all institutions.
* If books must be sold, the should be sold in a way that will realize the highest possible price.
* Association copies and those containing manuscript material will be retained.
* Deaccessioning could emphasize out-of-scope material.
* There should be advance, public disclosure of proposed deaccessioning.

Two other lists were covered by Belanger, which, if my notes are correct (sorry, but that’s unclear at this point — any errors are mine), came from the New York Public Library. The nine kinds of deaccessioning deserve mention here:

1. The Deaccession Nugatory (getting rid of ephemeral materials)
2. The Deaccession Rapacious (wartime plunder)
3. The Deaccession Inadvertent (materials deaccessioned as worthless about which later generations think differently)
4. The Deaccession Censorious
5. The Deaccession Covert
6. The Deaccession Incendiary (of. Alexandria)
7. The Deaccession Extraneous
8. The Deaccession Duplicative
9. The Deaccession Remunerative

The last list was of factors institutions should consider when deaccessioning books:

1. Institutional goals
2. Crown Jewel aspects: great treasures need constant display
3. Integrity of bibliographical records: is the item listed as yours in a catalog or catalogs distributed throughout the world?
4. Preservation: the present physical condition of the item; the cost of preserving it; the cost of making it saleable
5. Security problems
6. Legal matters: get them straight
7. Original donor’s intentions
8. Public relations
9. An accession by definition makes something accessible; it follows that a deaccession does the reverse.

If someone who has access to the President of USF could courteously let him know about these ideas, he might see to it that, from this point forward, the university stops eating the “seed corn” and starts understanding that libraries and the books they hold provide the intellectual nourishment that a good university like USF purports to serve its students.

See you in the stacks!

Published in:  on October 11, 2009 at 10:31 pm Leave a Comment

Chapter 458 Don’t Be Afraid to be Remembered

Sorry for all of the re-posts. It’s Tom and Huck’s last week of summer before school starts. That means I am busy doing things like the things I did today: take Tom and Huck for haircuts, take Tom and Huck shopping for new school shoes and new school clothes, take Tom and Huck shopping for school supplies, come home and label everything for school with their names, etc. etc.

I know. I miss books and blogging, too. Hoping to get back to original posts before too long. Thanks for your patience.

Here’s re-post of my experience working for my mentor, Mr. Z, and meeting other booksellers at the San Francisco ABAA Antiquarian Book Fair in February, 2007.

Don’t Be Afraid to be Remembered

Meeting other booksellers has been one of the best parts of my life as a bookseller. To have a friend who doesn’t immediately leave the room when you’re discussing the merits of Howes, USiana, Final Edition versus Howes, USiana, Second Edition; to have a colleague who sends good books your way; and to have a compatriot with whom you can commiserate when you’ve made a mistake (and you will make mistakes) is more valuable than any first edition.

I probably don’t sound like it on this blog, but, in person, I am shy upon first meeting someone new. I always have been, and I think my shyness often drove me to books when I was a child, as a way to avoid having to interact with my more socially confident peers. I hate to start conversations, though I do relax once I am actually involved in a conversation. Despite the fact that I have matured enough to be outgoing when called for, this shyness has carried over somewhat into my adulthood.

Last February, I had the privilege of working for my mentor, Mr. Z at the ABAA Fair in San Francisco. Unfortunately, Mr. Z came down with a nasty cold the week of the fair. Feeling awful, he returned home immediately after set-up, to try to rest up for the grueling long days of the fair itself. Before he left, he insisted that I attend the booksellers’ reception that evening, held in the rooftop room at a swanky hotel smack in the middle of Union Square, and try to get to know some other booksellers.

I was petrified. I would have felt much better if I could have been introduced to other booksellers by Mr. Z. Caught offguard by Mr. Z’s unexpected absence, my shyness kicked in, silly thoughts filling my head. Why would any ABAA-level bookseller want to speak to me without an introduction from Mr. Z? What if they just ignored me? How do you start a conversation with someone who is obviously more knowledgeable and experienced than you (and a few of them will be sure to let you know that fact right off the bat)? Worse, how do you start a conversation when all of the other booksellers in the room already know each other and have plenty to talk about without your rookie questions thrown into the mix?

Time for a gut-check. I asked myself how much I really wanted to be an antiquarian bookseller. I was certain that other booksellers never felt intimidated on meeting each other. The answer to my question: I want to be an antiquarian bookseller as much as a collector wants a Gutenberg Bible, even if I look foolish. Stop whining, then, I told myself. I swallowed my shyness and self-consciousness and marched aboard the shuttle bus from the fair to the hotel, where I was seated next to a bookseller from England, from (oh God) Bernard Quaritch.

“What’s the name of your shop?” he asked.

“Book Hunter’s Holiday.”

“I’m not familiar with that one, but” he added generously, “there are so many booksellers here.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started as a bookseller. I have an online shop only right now, and a small one at that. I’m working for Mr. Z for the duration of the fair to gain experience.”

“What do you specialize in?”

“Illustrated editions of Dante’s Divine Comedy.

“Brilliant! We just did the catalogue for an exhibit of a Dante collection at Cambridge University. It was really nice. If you have a card, I’ll send you the catalogue from it. Will you send me your catalogue?”

I was thinking to myself that while my Dante books are interesting, they are probably not worthy of an exhibition put on by the likes of Bernard Quaritch at such a prestigious University. I wanted to hide under my seat for having the presumptuousness to pick such a high fallutin’ author as Dante. I had no Aldines, no Velutellos, no Blake illustrations. What was I thinking, bragging about a Dante catalogue to a bookseller who could assemble a fantastic one at the snap of his fingers? Was it possible for me to make a great catalogue out of unusual but lesser known editions? I hoped that the man from Bernard Quaritch would quickly forget me and my Dante catalogue.

Off the bus and into the reception, where I met my husband (who is plenty outgoing and who knows a lot of people, but no booksellers). The room was filled with many of the heavy hitters of the antiquarian book industry . . . and me, the former English teacher with a website. I was lucky enough to know one other ABAA bookseller, sort of, Mary and James — we’d met at a reference book workshop the month before. Prior to going home, Mr. Z had asked them to meet me at the reception. They were very kind to talk to Thoughtful Husband and I about book adventures for quite a while. We broke off to get some food, and then I stood in a corner at a cocktail table and ate my food, alone except for poor Thoughtful Non-bookish Husband. I might have looked forlorn in that corner, but I was actually happy just to be surrounded by sellers of such fine and elegant books, a fly on the wall.

Suddenly, I heard, “Chris!” from a few feet away. It was Brian, another bookseller I’d met at the reference workshop, and he was working for Mary and James during the fair. He was with his friend Kent, who works for another ABAA bookseller. They were laughing because Brian had called my name twice and, lost in my happy thoughts of bookseller heaven, I hadn’t heard him, but stood gaping mutely into space. Brian and Kent graciously stepped in to rescue me and Thoughtful Husband from bookseller oblivion, and we talked about all of the great books we saw during set-up and how we thought the fair would be. Suddenly, I noticed, I wasn’t a stranger in the room anymore. Though I wish Mr. Z could have been there, the rest of the evening was most enjoyable. I keep in touch with Brian, Mary and James to this day. I even shared a booth with Mary at a recent book fair.

This August, when I was about to leave for the Colorado Antiquarian Book Market Seminar, Brian, who had attended the year before, gave me some good advice. “Don’t be afraid to be remembered,” he said. “This is a great opportunity to meet other people in the trade, and knowing other people in the trade is crucial.” Meet people. Panic. Gut-check time again: How much do I want to be an antiquarian bookseller? Answer: As much as a collector wants a Gutenberg Bible, even if I look foolish.

I went to Colorado, determined to be outgoing from the start. I even brought a draft of my Dante catalogue to be critiqued, lesser-known editions be damned. I was terrified. However, I had a week so good it was in the realm of a bookseller’s dream come true, and I got to know my fellow seminarians and the faculty, all of whom were without fail friendly and sociable.

Oh, and the bookseller from Bernard Quaritch did, for better or worse, remember me, and sent me the catalogue from that Cambridge Dante exhibition. I was pleasantly surprised to see that I had, on my own, chosen some of the same books that were listed in the catalogue. Maybe I don’t need to be so shy around other booksellers after all.

Do whatever you can to meet your colleagues, and don’t be intimidated unnecessarily by those with more experience and knowledge. Most booksellers are collegial and even friendly. Many are happy to help a new bookseller learn the ins and outs of the trade. I’ll talk about where and how to meet other booksellers tomorrow.

Published in:  on August 18, 2009 at 8:16 pm Leave a Comment

Chapter 457 Once More — Etiquette for Booksellers, Or, Learn from My Mistake

Here’s one more re-post from the early days of this blog. I hope you learn from my mistake if you’re a new bookseller, and, if you already have common sense and don’t need to learn from my mistakes, then I hope you get a laugh from this one.

Etiquette for Booksellers, Or Learn from My Mistake

Since I was a kid, I’ve been shy. When I was in first grade and other kids that I didn’t already know would come and talk to me on the playground, I would cry, because I didn’t know what to say. “Hey, kid. What’s your name? What are you playing?” some unsuspecting fellow student would ask, and the tears would flow. This became such a problem that my desperate parents ultimately moved me to a much smaller school that was less intimidating. To this day, nothing fills me with dread more than knowing I will have to talk to people I don’t know well.

For some inexplicable reason, I could teach a room full of 37 teenage high school students without fear. I also feel totally comfortable expressing myself in writing. I think I articulate my thoughts much better in writing than I do when speaking. I seem to do just fine being outgoing at book fairs, where there is a constant flow of new people. There is no logical nor justifiable way to explain this shy behavior. We all have our shortcomings, and shyness is one of mine. Now that I’m well beyond the first grade, I rise above my bashfulness and jump straight into whatever the social situation demands — most of the time. The only way to lose the fear is to confront it, and I find that the anxiety disappears after a few minutes of talking to someone new. It’s just the initial few moments of a conversation that terrify me.

As I said — most of the time I rise above it. Occasionally, I find myself gripped by an inexplicable fear of, of . . . of what? I don’t even know! I recently found myself gripped by shyness in a book store and feel like I made a mistake. I’m going to tell you this story so you can learn from it.

About two weeks ago, I met my friend Penny of Vandello Books, who was visiting from Seattle and staying near Santa Cruz. In an effort to meet halfway, we had lunch in San Jose, about a 45 minute drive from my house. We had a great time catching up and talking books, and then I left to drive home and pick up Tom and Huck at school. While heading toward the freeway, I passed a used book store I haven’t ever visited. Hmm. I really didn’t have time to stop without being late to pick up the boys. Well, maybe just a five minute stop. I could run through, and, if I found anything great, could plan a return trip sometime in the future. (Bibliophile that I am, it is just impossible for me to pass a bookstore without going inside, even if it means Tom and Huck are out in the rain wondering why Mom is late to pick them up. Heck, they enjoy splashing in puddles anyway.)

I may be a new bookseller, but I know enough to know that when I visit the shop of another bookseller I should introduce myself (oh, the horror!) and identify myself as a bookseller. Still, I always find this to be an awkward moment. I’ve no reason to make assumptions, but my insecurity makes me think the owner will tell me I’m not a bookseller (because I sell online) and to leave the shop. I cower in fear of being assailed with all of the ways the brilliant shop owner knows more than I do. This has never actually happened to me, and I realize there is no logical reason why I should think that it will, but I just do. When I entered this shop, the man behind the counter was busy buying books from another customer. No chance to introduce myself right now. Pressed for time, I immediately went about browsing the shelves in the Western Americana section. I worked my way through History to the Children’s section. A few minutes later, he found me in Poetry, that most intimate of all literary subjects. “Can I help you?” he asked.

I’d like to tell you that I said, “Yes. I’m a bookseller, and I only have a few minutes to shop today. You have a great shop and I’ll be back in the future to buy more. In the meantime, I’d like to buy this and this and this. And this.” But, alas, stunned at being noticed before I introduced myself, what came out of my mouth was:

“No.”

Not, “Yes, I’m a bookseller and I’m interested in . . .” Not even, “No thanks, I’m, just browsing.” Not even, “No thanks.” Just a rather curt, “No.”

Why I said this, I don’t know. The bookseller, probably used to browsers, though I hope not rude browsers, left me to the books. I stood there and pretended to be reading a book, wondering how I could now introduce myself as a bookseller at the cash register and not look like a total idiot. Not to mention, the clock was ticking and I had to get on the road to pick up the kids. After hiding behind some shelves for two minutes figuring out what I was going to say, I wandered nonchalantly (yeah, right) up to the register and plunked down a stack of seven books. “Um,” I started to speak, “I’m not trying to ask for a discount, but I just wanted to introduce myself as a bookseller. Here’s my card.”

(Um. I’m past my teenage years. What adult starts a sentence with “Um”? And, “I’m not trying to ask for a discount . . .” That was tactful. Not.)

The man behind the register barely glanced at the card. “Oh. Ok,” he said. “Um. You can have a 20% discount.” He tossed my card back at me.

“Do you want my resale number?” I continued, in an effort to establish the fact that I am a legitimate bookseller.

“Don’t worry about it. You can give it to me next time. Thanks for the purchase.”

Carrying my seven books with me, I slinked out of the store and into my car feeling like a complete idiot, despite the fact that the store’s owner was very nice to me and gave me a dealer discount even though he’s never heard of me. Why didn’t I just introduce myself like a normal professional bookseller would? If I were that bookseller, I wouldn’t have offered me a discount. Well, thankfully, that bookseller is a kind man. I resolve not to be overcome by shyness next time. I absolutely hate it when I don’t act like a grown up. There really is no good excuse.

Don’t ever do this to yourself. Spare yourself the humiliation and always introduce yourself when in another dealer’s shop, preferably before you start shopping. I knew that I should do this and I still didn’t introduce myself properly until I was ready to make my purchase, even though I was given the opportunity to introduce myself when the shopkeeper asked me if I needed any help.

There is a bookseller etiquette, and we new booksellers need to learn it and use it. It’s there so that everyone understands how to treat everyone else and so we don’t all feel like uncomfortable fools. Want to learn more about it? Brian Cassidy has already done a great post here. Read it and learn.

For what it’s worth, I know that if I want to be considered a professional I must act like one. I’ll do better next time.

Published in:  on August 17, 2009 at 8:54 pm Comments (2)

Chapter 456 Just One More, To Remind Myself — The Velveteen Bookseller, Or, Why Booksellers Should Sell at Book Fairs

I know I said I’d return to all new posts this week, but if you can bear with me for just another day or two, I have two more posts that demonstrate the small victories and frequent mistakes of those of us new to the antiquarian bookselling trade. (Aside: One interesting thing about the antiquarian bookselling trade is that after two years — and probably after 20 years — I am still a newcomer to the trade. Every day I learn that I still have a lot more to learn.) ;)

Book fair season is coming up. I’ll be selling books at two fairs in September (Santa Monica and Sacramento/Central Valley) and one in October (Golden Gate Park). I was sorely tempted to sign up for the excellent Seattle Book Fair, and even had a couple of offers to share a booth, but that would make four weekends out of six where I was away from home, and I just can’t figure out how to fit that in this year. Now that I am exhibiting for the third time at some fairs (Sacramento), and I am selling books at three fairs within about five weeks, I concede that, though I love book fairs, they are a lot of work. I sometimes need to remind myself why book fairs are generally more than worth the amount of preparatory work before a fair — getting supplies, choosing books to bring, making sure all books have a corresponding price and description, figuring out what to do with Tom and Huck when I am away at a fair, etc. There’s even more work catching up after I return home. Despite all those logistical details, I am at my most animated when at a book fair. Book fairs give me an energy and excitement I don’t get anywhere else, and I look forward to each and every one (and to the day when I can finally sell at the aforementioned Seattle fair). I love it because I am able to interact with my customers and potential customers and fellow booksellers in person.

Here’s the article I wrote after my very first book fair, the Central Valley Antiquarian Book Fair, held in September, 2007. Re-reading it, I am already getting excited for this year’s fair season.

The Velveteen Bookseller

Do you know the story of The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams? To quote Wikipedia (and please, to those new to bookselling, don’t ever rely solely on Wikipedia for important bibliographic research): “A boy receives a Velveteen Rabbit for Christmas. The Velveteen Rabbit is snubbed by other more expensive or mechanical toys, the latter of which fancy themselves real. One day while talking with the Skin Horse, the Rabbit learns that real is not how you are made; rather, a toy becomes real if its owner really and truly loves it.”

I came to think of myself as somewhat like the Velveteen Rabbit at the Fourteenth Annual Central Valley/Sacramento Antiquarian Book Fair this past weekend. For the first time, I sold multiple books to actual “civilian” customers. When you work out of your home, as I do, you’re working in a bit of a vacuum, wondering if the books you’re choosing are good enough or interesting enough for anyone else to spend their hard-earned cash to purchase. Sure, if you have good books and price your books appropriately, other booksellers will buy them, and that is a wonderful and necessary thing, but it does not, in my opinion, make you a “real” bookseller. A real bookseller has, in addititon to many fellow bookseller customers, other, non-bookselling customers to whom she can introduce books she just knows they’d buy if they knew about them. (Yes, I know there are many additional qualities that make a “real” bookseller, but indulge me for purposes of this post.)

Exhibiting at the book fair this weekend allowed me to display many of my books to many potential customers at one time, quite a different venue from the internet, which is not user-friendly for the casual browser and where a customer is usually seeking out one specific title instead of many. One extraordinary benefit of a book fair is that it allows a bookseller to hand-sell a book. This means that when a customer expresses an interest in a particular author, subject, or title, you’ve got the book — plus more material related to it that your customer perhaps didn’t even know about. If you’re lucky, the customer will buy multiple items to which you’ve introduced him. If you’re extremely lucky, you may even be able to open up a whole new area of collecting for the customer. I had such an experience at the fair this weekend, and it was wonderful. I liked the opportunity to hand-sell a book so much that I now wish I could find a space to open a shop in my too-high-rent town.

How is this at all related to The Velveteen Rabbit, you ask?

Though I’ve been studying books and bookselling for some years and have had my own business since January of this year, I felt like a “real” bookseller when I walked in and saw my booth, the first inside the entrance, with this sign:sign.jpg

It was so fulfilling to see my business, made real in print and with shelves of books, alongside the placards of other booksellers whom I respect very much.

I felt like a “real” bookseller when random customers walked by and complimented my books and display (not so much lunacy after all) and then bought actual books they’d not seen before from me, a bookseller they’d never heard of before the fair. And, of course, the other booksellers who bought my books helped make my fair a great one, too. I’m just trying to encourage those new booksellers chained to a computer, virtual booksellers, to become real and to give book fairs a try.

I know I have a long way to go to become a good bookseller, but attending that fair this weekend was not only good for my business and for customer development, it was great to know I could connect people with books they love. And that’s why I love this business.

Published in:  on August 16, 2009 at 10:28 pm Leave a Comment

Chapter 455 Giving Meaning to the Undefinable, Or, This Bears Repeating — What is an Antiquarian Bookseller, Anyway?

Any experienced bookseller will tell you that the term “antiquarian bookseller” is almost impossible to define, as an antiquarian bookseller may deal in such disparate items as ancient incunabula and modern first editions. If the term antiquarian doesn’t refer to a book’s age, what does it mean? Last year, I wrote an article explaining why the term has not been narrowly defined and what, in my opinion, makes the difference between a bookseller and an antiquarian bookseller — applying knowledge (usually specialized knowledge in these internet days) to add value to a particular book. I need to be reminded of this concept, and I got good feedback on the article the first time I posted it, so I think it bears repeating. (I plan to be back with new posts next week, so thanks for your patience with these re-posts this week.)

What is an Antiquarian Bookseller, Anyway?
by Chris Lowenstein
Book Hunter’s Holiday

Every antiquarian bookseller’s lament is that there are so many people who don’t understand her chosen field. Mention the words “antiquarian books” to those who aren’t collectors or sellers of them and you’ll likely hear, “Oh, you sell books about antiques. That’s wonderful!” or, my favorite, “Did you say you sold books about aquariums?” One wishes there was a simple way to clarify what we do for a living for the uninitiated.

Even amongst other booksellers, the term “antiquarian book” evokes heady thoughts of papyrus, vellum, parchment, rag paper, leather binding, gilt tooling, or marbled paper. While these words certainly suggest ancient tomes, the term “antiquarian book” actually has a broader meaning, one that is at once simple and difficult to articulate.

A history of the Antiquarian Booksellers Association of America found on its website reveals that the initial group of 50 booksellers who met in 1949 to form the well-known bookselling association had a tough time determining the best definition of antiquarian: “ The next question arose as to the definition of an ‘antiquarian bookseller’, and debate centered on such issues as the necessity of having sales-tax registrations, and the ineligibility of persons engaging in the trade as a ‘sideline’. Herman Cohen brought what was described as ‘appreciative laughter’ when he asked, ‘Who wants to define sideline?’”

Coming up with a rigid definition was contentious even for this group of experts in the field. Presently, in their handy glossary of terms, the ABAA has not included definitions of “rare” or “antiquarian books”, suggesting just how difficult it is to pin down to a specific meaning this seemingly innocuous term.

Like the ABAA, John Carter’s well-known reference, ABC for Book Collectors, a readable dictionary of terms related to the field of book collecting, has a rather vague definition of an antiquarian bookseller: “The lines of demarcation between ‘rare books’, ‘old books’, and ‘second-hand books’ have never been, and can never be, clearly defined. The same applies to most of those who deal in them; and the Antiquarian Bookseller’s Association of America (ABAA) makes no distinction between a man who specializes in incunabula, another who deals only in modern firsts, and a third who restricts himself to botany, and finally a general second-hand dealer, provided that his business is primarily in old books.”

Astonishingly, another usually quite useful reference, Geoffrey Ashall Glaister’s Encyclopedia of the Book, a compendium of many useful book-related terms, does not have any entries for the words “antiquarian”, “rare”, or “scarce”. How, then, to define this term, “antiquarian”?

If you’re interested in selling or collecting antiquarian books, you’ll need to inform yourself a bit further, so that you know what is generally meant by the term “antiquarian book”. In fact, I think that the word “information” is one thing that sets the antiquarian bookseller apart from his other bookselling colleagues. In my experience, antiquarian books are books that have required me to have either particular knowledge to understand their value (e.g. I recognize a book as the unknown first work of a later famous author) or, in the absence of that knowledge, have required me to research the book to discover what might be especially valuable about it. Sometimes this research pays off, and I discover that I have a good “find”. Other times, further research reveals that a book I selected merely because of its age or its pretty binding is not especially valuable at all. As I gain more experience and more knowledge, I become better at selecting antiquarian books, which are the focus of my business, Book Hunter’s Holiday.

In Nicholas Basbanes’ book about book collectors and booksellers, Among the Gently Mad, the author credits John Hill Burton, a nineteenth century Scottish bibliophile with this glib comment about collectors (and by extension sellers) of antiquarian books: “It is, as you will observe, the general ambition of the class to find value where there seems to be none, and this develops a skill and subtlety, enabling the operator, in the midst of a heap of rubbish, to put his finger on those things which have in them the latent capacity to become valuable and curious.”

Two other veteran antiquarian booksellers, now deceased, mention a term for Burton’s description above that, to me, sums up perfectly what an antiquarian bookseller does. In their memoir Old Books, Rare Friends, Leona Rostenberg and Madeleine Stern call the ability to discover value in a book “fingerspitzengefuhl”. They say, “As far as we know, the word Finger-Spitzengefuhl never made it to a dictionary. It was originally Herbert Reichner [another bookseller to whom Rostenberg was an apprentice] who passed it on to us. A tingling of the fingertips becomes an electrical current of suspense, excitement, recognition. In an artificially controlled voice, one of us calls to the other, ‘Look! This may be something.’ And two heads look down upon the title page of a discovery. Sometimes the Finger-Spitzengefuhl occurs on the spot as we scan the shelves of a foreign dealer. Sometimes it takes place only after the purchase has been made and we study our finds. Whenever or wherever it occurs, it is an experience that makes the rare book business a hymn to joy.”

Additionally, Pat and Allen Ahearn, experienced booksellers and authors of Book Collecting: A Comprehensive Guide, and Collected Books, weigh in with the opinion that books bought as objects deserve special qualification as antiquarian: “It would seem that the transition from reader to collector occurs when the book itself is perceived as an object, akin to art perhaps. Certainly, if you are going to pay $25 or $50 for a first edition when you could borrow a copy from the library or purchase a paperback reprint for $5.95 (and up), you have bought an object that you want to own and actually look at occasionally, just as you want to own an original painting or a signed limited print when there are copies available at significantly lower prices.”

If we begin to think about owning books as objects, as opposed to owning books for their reading content alone, we can establish some other guidelines. Some of the assumptions others make about antiquarian books can be easily dispelled here. First, scarcity does not equal rarity. If only ten copies of a book exist but there is no interest in the subject, it may not be a significant enough book to be financially valuable for an antiquarian bookseller. However, when I find a book that is scarce, I take the time to research whether it is or is not a significant book. Sometimes that research pays off and sometimes it leads to a dead end. For me, this not knowing the end result in advance is part of the fun and challenge of antiquarian bookselling.

Secondly, age does not necessarily imply rarity or value. Many people assume that because a book is old, the book has value. This is usually not the case, unless that particular title is in demand or that particular subject generates a lot of current interest or has an intrinsic importance. Bibles are a good example of this principle. Although Bibles are considered important by those who own them, most of the thousands of editions of the Bible published over time are not financially enriching, with the exceptions of a few early printed Bibles. The Bible has been printed so often that it is not, at this point in history, a rare book by any means.

Finally, condition plays an important role in antiquarian bookselling. A book that is in less than fine condition must be in very high demand or contain very important information in order to be of substantial value to the antiquarian bookseller. Otherwise, an antiquarian bookseller seeks to sell fine books as opposed to reading copies.

The antiquarian booksellers I know personally include, among others, sellers of ancient books about science and medicine, sellers of great works of literature, and sellers of modern first editions (books published in the twentieth and now the twenty-first centuries). On the surface, these sellers would seem to have nothing in common. However, they are all antiquarian booksellers. The unifying factor among them is their ability to apply their specialized knowledge to the books they find and create value, and, in some cases, even create new markets. The ability to do this is, in the words of Rostenberg and Stern, a hymn to joy indeed.

The End

Sorry for all the bold type. Sometimes I fall into my pedantic, former teacher mode. Just wanted to highlight the points I think most important. Thanks for reading such a long post.

See you in the stacks!

Published in:  on August 13, 2009 at 10:56 pm Leave a Comment