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.

Chapter 453 Mark Twain Would Be Proud — Tom and Huck

In case you’ve only recently stumbled upon this blog, I should introduce a few other people who figure prominently in my life. First, I should introduce my husband, who prefers on this blog to go by his nickname, Thoughtful Husband (he really is thoughful — I’m a lucky girl). Long-time readers know we have two sons. I refer to them as Tom and Huck on the blog. As of this re-posting, Tom is now 11 years old and Huck will turn 9 in a few short weeks. They continue to amaze me with their creativity, their sense of fun, and their hijinx with our triplet neighbors. Tom and Huck have so many mischievous adventures, I think Mark Twain would be proud that I’ve nicknamed them after two of his best-known characters. Here’s what they were up to when I started my business a little over two years ago.

Tom and Huck

I’ve mentioned before that I have two children, both boys, ages 9 and 7. For privacy purposes, when I’m blogging, I’ll call the older son Tom and the younger one Huck, after two other literary imps. They are good boys, but have a penchant for getting into what I think of as boyish mischief:

You might imagine that as I am a former English teacher and now a bookseller, my children must love books and reading. Ashamedly, I admit that nothing could be further from the truth. I am so envious of another bookseller’s darling photo of his young son comfortably ensconced in a tree reading Heinlein. Tom reads books, but only for homework or only if there is nothing else to do. Huck just started first grade two weeks ago, and can read books, but still struggles to read them independently. Despite frequent library visits, neither boy has yet found the book that creates the spark that becomes love of reading. We live in a part of the United States where the climate is sunny and mild, even in the winter, and the outdoors is the focus for the boys just about every waking moment. They spent most of their summer days not holed up in a corner reading, but instead doing things that scare their mother, like this:

and this:

and this:

They like to build their own games like this one, called “Wagon Train”, and play in the middle of the street with the neighbors every day (don’t worry — it’s a cul-de-sac and has little car traffic). Notice the shoeless, helmetless glee on their little faces as they realize that when the “puller” in the front stops, their wagons will all crash into each other and spill them on the cement:

They like to explore new things and reach new heights:

For reasons unknown to me, they find such pursuits much more adventurous than sitting indoors reading. Now, I am about as girly a girl as they come. I love being a mom, baking, clean clothes, nice hair, and even clean fingernails. I much prefer indoors to out and find few pleasures greater than sticking my nose in a book whenever the opportunity presents itself. I sometimes think that my particular boys were born to me so I would get my nose out of my books and experience life. Still, I worry sometimes about my boys and their limited reading. They are certainly at the levels they should be, academically, but why don’t they have the passion for books that I do? Most importantly, will they ever have that passion? I’d hate to see them miss out on something that brings me so much pleasure and could do the same for them. However, perhaps they could say the same thing about me and their game, “Wagon Train”, which they’d like me to try, but which I’ve no desire to actually play.

However, as a former high school English teacher, I can say that those teenagers I knew who hated reading the most were the ones forced to read for a set amount of time every day at a very young age because their parents thought they should. This reading-because-you-should idea can, if not judiciously applied, take the joy of discovery out of reading. I try to remember that, if I keep books around (and in our house they are all around), eventually Tom and Huck will find the book that sparks the joy of reading. I am trying to remember to introduce books to, rather than to inflict books upon my kids. For me, the magic book that started the onslaught of reading that has yet to abate was in fifth grade. I was ten and read every copy of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House on the Prairie series in a month. I even begged my parents to move from California to De Smet, South Dakota, where the real Laura grew up. Fortunately, I quickly discovered that I enjoyed reading about the hardships of pioneer life more than actually living them.

What book was it for you?

Chapter 451 Rare Book School Scholarship Applications Now Available

This just in from Ryan Roth, Program Director of Rare Book School at University of Virginia:

The 2009 Rare Book School scholarship application is now available online. Applications will be accepted until 5pm, 1 September 2009.

The usual rules apply: students apply for a scholarship generally, rather than for any particular RBS course. Successful applicants in the fall 2009 competition may then use their scholarships for any RBS course offered in 2010 or 2011 to which they are subsequently admitted.

The Scholarship page provides more details, including a link to the complete Terms and Conditions.

The current Scholarship Committee comprises:
Melissa Mead (Digital and Visual Resources Librarian, University of Rochester) chair, through 2009; Vic Zoschak (Tavistock Books, Alameda, CA) through 2009; Libby Chenault (Librarian, Rare Book Collection, University of North Carolina) through 2010; and Ryan L. Roth (Program Director, RBS) through 2011.

Updated Program Costs, FAQ
The RBS website now contains an updated Program Costs section, with Sample Budgets for courses in Charlottesville, Washington, DC, Baltimore, and New York City. See also the new Frequently Asked Questions page Frequently Asked Questions page.

Go for it!

Chapter 448 Rare Book School, Part 2

I entered Alderman Library at the University of Virginia on the fourth floor.

That’s right. The fourth floor.

The fourth floor is the main entrance to the building, which, from the front, looks to be maybe two stories high:

But looks can be deceiving. Hidden far beneath the entrance to the Alderman Library is a treasure. It’s deep down in the building, somewhat hidden away from those who are not already aware of its existence. The treasure is Rare Book School.

At the back of the fourth floor of the library is an elevator. I got in and pushed the button for the first floor, three floors below the fourth floor. I exited the elevator in what looked like standard basement-level book stacks. Following the narrow, labyrinthine hallway around the perimeter of the stacks, I began to wonder where the Rare Book School could possibly meet. Lucky for me, there were signs pointing the way.

I entered a room that would be used for all of the various classes to meet for refreshments at break time. There was more to the room than that. A printing press stood at the back of the room, and a sink and a couple of work tables. Various art and printing tools hung on the walls, and running on clotheslines across the high part of the walls were freshly printed sheets of paper, the scent of wet ink wafting through the air.

I fortified myself with tea and a muffin, said hello to my classmates, and then wandered to a doorway at the rear of the room.

This would be the place where my class, Book Illustration Processes to 1900, would meet. Stepping across the threshold into the windowless room deep in the bowels of the building, I have to admit that I felt a little bit like Luke Skywalker arriving in the remote swamps of Dagobah to receive his secret Jedi training from Yoda. There was a kit at my seat with a loupe, a small 25x microscope, a linoleum block, some tools, and — this is where the Jedi training comes in — some light sticks (Zelco Micro Fluorescent Lanterns) that, to my pop culture eye, looked like miniature light sabers.

I took my seat, wondering what would await me in this magical place. Though I’m no Jedi warrior, I knew for certain that my training as an antiquarian bookseller would be greatly improved by the end of the week.

To be continued tomorrow . . .

Chapter 442 At Last — Summer Reading . . . Well, Not Quite

Sorry it’s been so quiet around the blog today. The arrival of summer brings with it an end to homework and sports practices for Tom and Huck, but it also brings a slew of other (mostly enjoyable) activities. Some times we are gone all day and by time we get home and cook dinner and get the boys off to bed, it’s too late for coherent blogging. So, forgive me if blogging is a little sporadic lately. I’ll continue to post as often as I can.

Before summer is out, I wanted to share my (planned) summer reading. You must understand that I will absolutely not read all of these before summer’s end; it’s just my plan. Sometimes activities come up or people visit and I get sidetracked . . .

. . . loud noises and sirens outside . . . Huck says to come out right now . . . be right back.

And now, almost two hours after I started this post . . .

I feel like the universe is conspiring against me to keep me from sharing my summer reading list. Unbelievably, I’m not going to get to it today either! It’s really not all that spectacular anyway.

I just spent the past 90 minutes or so with the boys watching the cleanup of a car accident that happened right up the street.

Apparently, a car was driving down the road and hit a parked car. I didn’t see the accident, but one car hit another parked car and then flipped. Here’s the end result:

Here’s the other car, the one that was parked. Check out the rear tire. Fortunately, no one was in the car when it was hit.

The person in this car must have just been to the market. Here are a bunch of broken eggs on the ground. The driver of the car, while taken away by ambulance, was conscious and we were told he’d be ok:

“Seeing those eggs make me so sad,” said Tom. “That person was just grocery shopping and then had their whole day ruined.”

Isn’t it strange, the things that kids observe sometimes? I explained to him that the driver was lucky that his day, his groceries and his car were the only things ruined. The driver was lucky to be alive.

Once help arrived and it was established that no one was in danger, Tom and Huck, being the boys they are, wanted to stay and watch the fire trucks and tow trucks and police cars do their work.

Too much excitement around here for reading or blogging. And I already know I have a full day tomorrow and likely won’t post then either. Hope to return soon!

See you in the sunshine!

And, let’s be careful out there!

Chapter 441 Delayed Again, Or, As Tom Petty Might Say, The Waiting Is The Hardest Part

I do have a post coming about the books I’m reading this summer. I had planned to write it earlier this evening (it’s after 10:00 p.m. in California right now), but I got invited to go to a summer concert at a park in my city. I packed a picnic dinner, put Tom, Huck, and our neighbor in the car and met Thoughtful Husband there after he got off work for the day. It was the perfect summertime evening — warm weather, good music, good food, and good friends. We just got home and now I’ve got to get Tom and Huck into bed for the night. Look for the post about reading soon — as soon as I get some time to read.

One of our friends is the drummer for the band that performed tonight, The Refugees. The Refugees are a Tom Petty tribute band.

Here’s a video of one of their performances on a Santa Cruz, CA television show, called Band Maddness:

See you in the stacks!

Chapter 438 Must Read of the Day

Over at Book Patrol, Stephen J. Gertz has written a couple of articles of interest to both buyers and sellers of books.

Take a moment to read them and come back. I’ll wait.

What do you think?

I’m too new to the trade (a little over two years in business) to remember a time when book prices have risen significantly or deflated significantly. Looks like now seems to be the time for the latter. This is good news for buyers and for those like me, who are new to the trade and looking to increase the number of quality books we buy for resale. Even so, it’s difficult for me to make an informed judgment about this topic because I lack the experience to do so.

I and my readers would like to hear from those of you who have been booksellers or book collectors longer than I have, if you’re willing to share with us. Have you seen periods of deflation before? How long did those periods last? Do you think we are now in a period of deflation? What are the signs that the market for antiquarian books is improving? How can a serious book collector identify good purchases in a down market?

I ask these questions because I think pricing is the most difficult thing for a bookseller to learn. A bookseller has to leave room for a profit (at least most of the time) and a bookseller has to being willing to get what money he can out of book purchased for resale at too high a price (a/k/a “a mistake”). A bookseller needs to research past and current asking prices for a book. A bookseller also has to have a sense of the marketplace — who might buy this book from me and what will they be willing to pay — to set the appropriate price. Navigating through all of these things to set an appropriate price for a book can be tricky, but it is also part of the fun of the trade. While no bookseller hopes for a big deflation in book prices, Mr. Gertz seems to be of the opinion that a general lowering of prices will “openly invite interested newcomers who may feel that current prices push the ‘gentle madness’ of the hobby into a full-blown psychosis that few can afford.”

I hope he is correct. There is nothing I’d like more than to help interested newcomers become passionate book collectors and I’ve always been confident that booksellers (especially this one) can assemble interesting and amazing collections at an affordable price.

See you in the stacks!

Chapter 436 Happy Independence Day!

Ok, it’s a day early, but I don’t usually post on Saturdays, so I’ll leave my July 4 greetings for you today.

Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

I Hear America Singing.

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe
and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off
work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deck-
hand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing
as he stands,
The woodcutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morn-
ing, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work,
or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young
fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.