Chapter 488 Report from the Golden Gate Park Book Fair

I am carefully wading out of a sea of boxes full of books and portable book cases strewn across my dining room/office to give you a full report on this past weekend’s Golden Gate Park Book Fair, held in the Hall of Flowers in San Francisco’s beautiful Golden Gate Park. After that, I’ll have to dive back in until all the books are put back on the shelves again.

The Golden Gate Park fair was the first one I have done (and I’ve done nine fairs in the two and a half years I’ve been in business) where there was a long line of people waiting to enter when the doors opened. The fair’s organizer did a great job getting the word out about the time and location of the fair. In addition to the bibliophilic crowd were the many people who were out and about walking through Golden Gate Park on a beautiful (75 degree) Sunday who were likely drawn in by curiosity and by the free admission. The aisles were filled with people from opening until closing time. Having occasionally done a fair where the aisles are so empty the booksellers could have used them as golf fairways, the sight of so many people at a book fair made me so happy.

That said, I would characterize the customers at this fair as readers and book lovers but not necessarily book collectors (with a few exceptions, of course). What that means is I sold a lot of books, but the books I sold were in the $10-$25 range, books which are usually overlooked at the larger fairs with paid admission. What that also means is that there were many people in attendance who were like me several years ago. That is to say that I heard comments ranging from, “I never knew old books could be so beautiful!” to “Why would anyone pay $100 for an old book?” to (my personal favorite because I said it myself when I “discovered” the world of antiquarian books), “Why didn’t I know these type of books existed before today?”

There are a couple of ways booksellers view such potential customers. Some might refer to such book fair attendees as “looky-lou’s” because the person looks at the books and perhaps comments that they’re lovely but doesn’t buy any of them. Another bookseller might call such a customer a “tire-kicker”. This usually refers to a book lover who browses the books for sale, takes one off the shelf and then handles the book, often rather, er, exuberantly, perhaps opening it too far or bending pages when turning them. Such a customer usually has little or no experience handling old books. I’ve seen their book-handling methods make booksellers twitch.

The third way, and the way I think most booksellers assess such book fair visitors, is to see this as an opportunity to expose people to the world of antiquarian books, to book collecting, and to the fun of seeking and finding the perfect book. I was very impressed with the way so many people asked questions about the books — “How old is this one?” “How do I know if it’s a first edition?” “Why is this book considered significant?” “How do I learn to do this?” Before I was a bookseller, I often attended fairs but NEVER asked questions unless I planned to buy a book. I was way too intimidated by either the books’ usually high prices or by the sometimes silent manner of the booksellers.

Yep. I was a “looky-lou”. I am officially ashamed to say that I did not have the self-confidence to ask questions so I could learn more. Now I still need to learn more, but I’ve learned not to be afraid to ask questions. Many booksellers are so happy to have someone to talk to about books that they are thrilled to answer your questions. And if you find a rude seller, might I suggest trying again at another booth? While there are a few who genuinely seem to dislike people, most booksellers love to talk about books and are happy to talk to you at a book fair.

Once I observed that most of the people at this particular fair were not going to be buying rare books, I took the opportunity to explain to them why they might want to do so in the future and why it is so fun to build a collection in any field (not just the “expensive book” field) and how to go about doing so.

By the end of the day, I sold more than half of my book case filled with $10 books and had sales of a few more expensive books. I did make a profit, though smaller than my average for larger fairs, but I also think I may have attracted a few more potential book collectors (maybe even booksellers?) to the trade and that is always a good thing.

I bought a few interesting titles, and I hope to show those to you soon. Buying books and discovering new stock is another of the many benefits of book fairs.

Would you believe that in my rush to leave the house for the fair I forgot my camera? Sorry to say I did. I would have liked to show you pictures of my booth and of the bright, light-filled Hall of Flowers.

I have to run now, but tomorrow I’ll tell you about the mysterious customers who asked if they could photograph the books in my booth.

See you in the stacks!

Chapter 487 Oops!

I got so busy preparing for this weekend’s Golden Gate Park Book Fair that I forgot to post last night! Right about 9:00 pm, I opened a box of new acquisitions from September’s book fairs and, well, I just kind of got lost in looking at all the new books. By the time I snapped out of my biblio-hypnosis, it was time for bed. Sorry about that.

I’m also busy helping Thoughtful Husband prepare to take Tom, Huck, and all of the Cub Scouts in our school here tonight. This annual trip involves making lots of popcorn, cookies, and hot chocolate. It also involves pumpkins, a haunted barn, and a 2.5 acre hay maze that has to be negotiated in the dark of night with only flashlights for a guide. Here are some photos from last year’s trip.

Hoping to post again Monday. Have a great weekend!

See you at the Golden Gate Park Book Fair on Sunday!

Chapter 477 A See-Saw

True confession time:

I’ve never liked the cliches that are often employed to describe mothers who also have a career:

“Motherhood is all about the work-life balance.”

“It’s a juggling act.”

“Mothers must deal with competing demands.”

Etc.

My thoughts:

Hogwash.

And pish.

And tosh.

I want to hold my children close while they are home with me, not “juggle” them. I don’t so much try to “balance” my life as I try to give attention and care where it is needed when it is needed. Sometimes that means excluding all else. In fact, being passionate about and good at life and work really requires that at times one approach each area with boundless enthusiasm and focus rather than with restrained “balance”. Whether we have children or not, most adults have “competing demands” in their lives, and most of us do our best to figure out how to meet those demands. Sometimes we fail and sometimes we succeed.

Life is choice.

I see my life and work not as a “balance” to be negotiated nor as a “juggling act” but as a see-saw. My family and my books both get my attention. Sometimes the focus is necessarily on one thing over the other (hence the see-saw), but in general family gets first priority. That’s my choice and that’s the main reason my business is in my home. I know my choice might not work for every working mother, but the see-saw analogy best describes the way I integrate my work and my family.

For instance, taking a class at Rare Book School for a week, writing a detailed description for and quoting a significant book to a library, and then doing two back-to-back book fairs over two weeks meant that I had to focus most of my attention on my book business these past couple of months. It is thanks to my family, both immediate and extended, that I was able to give my focus to the business at that time. Everyone pitches in to help around the house in different ways so I can do fun things like study at the University of Virginia and sell books at fairs in far away Santa Monica.

However, the start of the school year, the start of football and baseball season for the boys, a few family birthdays, my mother-in-law’s emergency surgery, and the birth of a new niece meant that I then had to focus 150% of my attention on the most important people in my life — my family. And that’s where I’ve been these past few weeks — enjoying (well, most of the time) being available to my family. This means that the blog got neglected, though I am happy to report that I still had the opportunity to sell some good books.

In any case, the see-saw is currently in a state of equilibrium. I’ll be blogging Monday through Friday again until the next time my family life overtakes the state of equilibrium. That could be tomorrow. Or it could be in a few months. One never knows, and that is part of the fun.

Life is choice.

In the meantime, here are some of the things that caught my attention as I was catching up with my book business, some things I think you should take a look at:

The Private Library waxes eloquent on the future of book collecting. If you haven’t bookmarked The Private Library as a must-read blog, you are missing out. The posts are always well-written and always relevant to books, book collecting, and bookselling. The posts are so good, it makes me wonder why I bother with my tiny (and sometimes sporadic) blog posts at all.

Americana Exchange has a great article on the role of book collecting clubs and associations. I recently joined the Book Club of California and went to my first BCC event this week. Terry Belanger, founder of Rare Book School and instructor of the class I took there over the summer, gave a most informative and entertaining talk about libraries and rare books and de-accessioning policies. The bonus of joining a book club is that besides listening to interesting discussions about books, there are other people I can talk to who are as relentlessly obsessive about books as I am.

Thoughtful Husband’s ears are so relieved.

Philobiblos has a recap of a conference I wish I could have attended in person. If, like me, you are nowhere near New York, read Jeremy’s report. It’s the next best thing to being there.

I still plan to report on the recent Central Valley Antiquarian Book Fair. And I still plan to tell you the story of my first successful quote to a library. And I’ll add a re-cap of Terry Belanger’s speech to the Book Club of California.

I’ll get to these stories next.

See you in the stacks!

Chapter 476 Still Digging Out

Well hello there!

I’m still digging out from under the avalanche of the paperwork and new acquisitions that came home from two recent book fairs; from the whirlwind of the back to school, sports, and scouts schedule of my kids; from my mother-in-law needing emergency surgery last week (she’s doing great, thank you); and from a couple of September birthday celebrations. I miss blogging daily, but lately I get to the end of my day and find there are no hours left. That’s the way life is sometimes. I’m just trying roll with it and hope there are still a few of you checking in on the blog from time to time. Judging from past experience, September is one of the busiest months on my calendar. I’m expecting (hoping?) October will be a little more routine.

I still plan to report on the Sacramento Book Fair and to start telling the story of my first successful quote to a library. I’ll be back just as soon as I can.

Chapter 468 Book Talk

Now that Tom and Huck are back in school for much of the day, I had enough “free” hours today to take a drive over to visit my mentor, Mr. Z at his lovely shop. We enjoyed a nice lunch and talked about some books we hope to sell at the upcoming Santa Monica Book Fair. The weather here is lovely in September, so we dined at a cafe with outdoor seating. It was an enjoyable afternoon — good food, good weather, and good conversation with a fellow bookseller — and a fun way to use up my “work” hours for the day. Unfortunately, that means that the time I have available for blogging is short again. Back with a longer post tomorrow, I hope.

See you in the stacks!

Just a Quick Note

Just a quick note to let you know that the weekend was busier than I anticipated. We celebrated Huck’s ninth birthday with an all-day outing to San Francisco and then a slumber party for five boys. I’m also helping Tom adjust to the demands of sixth grade. For the first time, he has a different teacher for each subject rather than one teacher for all subjects. Instead of writng a blog post for Monday on Sunday night, I spent Sunday evening helping him to come up with a calendar system to keep track of all of the different assignments and expectations for each teacher as well as his extracurricular commitments. I’ll be back sometime Monday with a post. Promise! r

Chapter 459 Potential Redux

I mentioned in a post a few days ago that nothing gets me more excited about being an antiquarian bookseller than a book fair (except for when I actually sell books). Here’s an old post from the San Francisco Antiquarian Book Fair in February, 2008 that explains just why I love it so much.

San Francisco Antiquarian Book Fair, Or, Potential

When I arrived at the Concourse Exhibition Center early Friday morning for set-up, I walked into an empty exhibition hall. There were a few other booksellers there, but their booths were largely empty, pale receptacles of the vibrant book stalls they would become as the day progressed. I checked in with the fair organizers and found my booth still empty, as my boothmate Jeanne Jarzombek of The Book Prowler had not yet arrived. In those last few moments of calm and quiet before set-up began, I took a minute to appreciate just being able to exhibit at this fair.

While I shivered in the cold air of the almost empty exhibit hall, I was reminded of the 1993 movie Rudy, which starred the diminutive Sean Astin as Notre Dame football great Daniel “Rudy” Ruettiger. If you’ve never seen the movie, Rudy is a small-statured young man (5′6″ and 165 pounds) whose lifelong ambition is to leave his blue-collar, factory town and play football for the (awesome, totally awesome) Fighting Irish. Because of his poor academic skill, the idea of his gaining admission to Notre Dame is slightly crazy. Because of his size, the idea of playing football for the Irish is completely ludicrous, something which others frequently remind him.

After three rejection letters, Rudy finally does gain admission to Notre Dame. He earns a spot on the team as the guy the real players practice against, getting hit hard every day for three years. He is never allowed to play in a real game. Then, in the final game of the final season, because his teammates demanded it of the coach, Rudy is permitted to play for two downs. Though he is not a marquee player, Rudy’s tenacity and heart during the three years he’d been used as a team punching bag had won him fans among his teammates. At the end of that game (took place in 1975 in reality), Rudy is carried off the field on the shoulders of his teammates. He is, to date, the last Notre Dame football player to receive that honor. It sounds sappy, and it is, except it’s a true story. I dare you to watch the movie without caring and without crying and without being inspired.

Take a look at the Rudy movie poster above — where he’s standing on the empty field in an empty Notre Dame stadium, taking it all in and dreaming of what might be. When I got to the (almost) empty, cold, cavernous exhibition hall on Friday morning, I felt like I had stepped into that poster. I stood in a cold empty hall that would, the next day be transformed, filled not with thousands of cheering football fans, but with thousands of bibliophiles like me. 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 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.

The last time this particular fair was held in San Francisco — two years ago — I found a babysitter and spent couple of free hours walking through the fair on its last day. I was not a bookseller, but I knew I wanted to be one. How, I wondered, do you become an antiquarian bookseller? How do you find enough good books? How do you get admitted to be an exhibitor at a fair like this? I probably would never be allowed to do it. I wasn’t known as a book collector. I barely said two words to the dealers I bought books from at the fair. I didn’t know any other book collectors. (That shyness thing again.) I was told by some (non-booksellers) that a stay-at-home mom could never expect to compete on the same level as the marquee sellers who offer rare treasures at every fair. It was too late for me to try to get started in the bookselling game. Many sellers have been involved with books from a very young age, learning at the knees of fathers and grandfathers, and here I was at a not so young age, with my own children at my knee, trying to get a start. I could never expect to become as expert as they are.

What hubris — and it is hubris — allowed me to utterly disregard all of these valid fears and admonishments, I do not know. 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. If you’ve read my blog before, you’ll know that in the months following that fair, I joined email lists, found a bookseller willing to mentor me, went to the Colorado Antiquarian Book Seminar, etc.

Does this make me a marquee bookseller? I certainly think not. Not even close. What it made me was someone who could be a small part of a larger team. I’ve since made friends with dealers of all kinds and and even occasionally sold books to those marquee sellers, those much higher in the bookseller food chain than myself. You know the ones. They are the quarterbacks who call the plays in the antiquarian book world, and everyone knows who they are and speaks their names with reverence, passing on the legends of some of their best book plays. Even though I’m not (yet) one of these sellers, it’s (usually) a real thrill and honor to sell them a book (or two or three or more).

The best thing of all, though, is that in the past two years I’ve met other new booksellers like me. There are actually quite a few of us. My boothmate Jeanne is one of them. If you are intimidated at the prospect of exhibiting at a book fair, find another bookseller and share a booth. It is great fun and great comfort to have someone to be new with. We had a great weekend, and we both realized we were so happy to be a part of the fair.

Will I ever be carried out of a book fair exhibition hall hoisted on the shoulders of my fellow booksellers? I don’t know and I don’t care.

I’m just thrilled to be a player in the game.

Player #45, The real Rudy, playing in his only game for Notre Dame, and so happy to be there.

Booth #717, Me (left) and Jeanne (right), new booksellers, exhibiting at the San Francisco Antiquarian Book Fair together, and so happy to be there.

Tomorrow: 2008 San Francisco Book Fair, Part 2, or Reality

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.

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!

Chapter 454 How I Chose My Logo

From September, 2007:

Our Logo, Open To Interpretation

When I began to plan my business, I thought long and hard about logos. I wanted an image that would be memorable to my customers. I also wanted my logo to be a kind of talisman for me, a reminder of who I am and why I love this business. I considered lots of possiblities, among them the ubiquitous images of old books, shelved or stacked in some artful manner, or a quill pen in an inkpot. Ultimately, though, I chose a drawing that at first glance would seem to have little to do with books:

Above: The original sketch for my logo, over 100 years old, drawn by Emilie Schellenberg Paull, my great-grandmother, who died before I was born.

My great-grandmother on my father’s side was a true lover of beauty and art. She lived part of her life on an old farm in Orchard Park, New York that she and my great-grandfather, who was an interior designer, had bought in order to restore it to its former glory. (Oh my goodness, perhaps this farmer girl streak in me is genetic!) Romantics, the both of them, they never did make the farm do much other than look charming and bucolic. At the start of the Great Depression, they lost much of their income and moved to California to live near my great-grandmother’s sister.

From the time she was a young girl, my great-grandmother spent much of her time writing poetry, drawing, and painting. She never, to our knowledge, sold her art. (Well, she may have. Another post about that to come later.) She wrote poetry and drew and painted purely for pleasure. The world is a poorer place for that. Much of her work is lovely, and I wish she could have known that others saw and enjoyed it. A few days before he died in 2003, my 92 year-old grandfather gave me a box of books, notebooks, and drawings that once belonged to my great-grandmother. The sketch above, which became my logo, was one of dozens inside the box, many of them sketches of young women and books (maybe my love of books is genetic, too?).

I immediately fell in love with this drawing. Becoming a parent and bidding a final farewell to my grandparents in the space of a few short years had moved me up a rung on the generational ladder. The sketch reminded me of so many good things from my past — my grandparents, who had made the effort to preserve my great-grandmother’s work over the years — and so many things I hoped for my future — preserving that legacy for my own children and starting my own book business.

I began to call the girl in the sketch The Book Hunter. Her paintbrush (or quill pen) reminded me of a spear. I decided to show the choice of logo to my relatives and friends, seeking out their opinions. I wanted to know what they thought of the name Book Hunter’s Holiday for the business as well. Below are just a few of the responses I received.

From my cousin, who worked at the time for the publisher of the famous Dummies books (as in Bookselling for Dummies):

“As for your business – I rather enjoy your logo and think it rather special you can use something from our great grandmother. However one thing to remember with logos is size. How will this logo look on something small – for instance an invoice, a bussiness card, stationery, etc? When I created logos in past – the rule was always to keep them simple and easy – think McDonald, Nike, etc.”

Good point, especially if one has a high volume business. However, as has been said by the writer Nicholas Basbanes, antiquarian bookselling takes patience and fortitude. Its pace is not what I would call fast, though it can be busy. And I certainly didn’t want to develop a reputation as the McDonald’s of antiquarian bookselling.

From my brother, who thought the girl in the picture was holding neither a paintbrush nor a quill pen but a spear:

“For your business name, how about ‘It’s Not a Spear, It’s a Quill Pen Books’? That way everyone knows what that girl is holding. How is that a pen? It’s as big as she is!”

Growing up the only girl amongst brothers with no artistic vision can be a challenge, and the above quote is just one example of why. I guess I have my brothers to thank for helping me to develop a thick skin.

From a friend with whom I used to teach:

“How about ‘Smokin’ Hot Bookselling Babe’?” (He’s referring to the girl in the sketch, not to the bookseller.)

I decided that bookselling by committee was not going to work for me. Ignoring their feedback, I plunged ahead confidently with my new logo and my business name, Book Hunter’s Holiday.

Last week, after I got home from the Sacramento Book Fair, I received an inquiry from a customer who’d taken my business card home with him. At the end of his message, he added,

“I liked your booth very much–good stock in great condition and well displayed. The young woman on your card almost looks like she’s on longboard skis in the snow and holding the steering pole–or maybe that’s just what I’d like to think it is. I hope you did well at the fair. It’s really nice to see some new blood in the out-of-print book business.”

Longboard skis?! On a business card, where the image is reduced, I guess the shadow of under her feet might look like skis. Maybe I should have listened to my brother. In my response to his inquiry, I explained the story behind the logo. He (very kindly) responded:

“Your description of your great-grandmother’s illustration makes perfect sense. The longboards were a bit of a stretch, drawn probably from the fact that my wife’s family has raced on home-made longboards up in Plumas County. I like the idea of the large quill pen ready to spear an idea. We’ll look for your booth at the San Francisco fair.”

Beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder, but The Book Hunter is here to stay, ready, in the words of my customer, “to spear an idea”, or a good book.