Andy Grace’s “The Joys of Local Reading” a while back, Sarah Heidt’s “library unpacking” from a few years ago, and Joseph Campana’s “Rare Books,” have all had me thinking about the book as coveted object for a while now. I’m afraid I haven’t been much of a discriminating “collector” of books. I have Jennifer Weiner next to Walt Whitman–and no, it’s not all alphabetized. I have books I’ve never read, too–one of my shames. And I’ve kept books that I’ve read and hated. (Something I’ve recently tried to change by shipping books I love and hate off to people I love–or at least like). On a recent trip to Downtown Los Angeles I found myself standing in front of Caravan Book Store with a few hours to kill. Amidst the high rises and shiny, mirrored glass, Caravan Book Store looks surprisingly comfortable on its street. Owner Leonard Bernstein was there, sitting at a wooden desk surrounded by shelves and shelves full of old books and old paper ephemera. “Antiquarian” books, they call them. And I found myself–how shall I put this–giddy.
I picked up a couple of affordable first editions after perusing the shelves–The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin, and a collection of poems by Robert Penn Warren. Bernstein wrapped them up in paper for me and I found myself wanting to continue the experience. As I stood there while he was making my change, hip-hop music blared from a car outside. I asked Bernstein how long the store had been there. When he answered, I marveled at what downtown Los Angeles must’ve been like over 50 years ago. After that I was on my way, somehow feeling important and special carrying such books in my hands. I wondered why—why this feeling of fulfillment and well-being at holding first-printing copies of hardback books? It must’ve been something like Andy Grace’s reflections on the hands that had turned the pages of Duncan’s copy of Pindar. Connection.
I didn’t think I could afford to be an Antiquarian Book Collector, though. Then I thought back to my childhood, back when I was much more discriminating about how I spent my money. Once I spent it, it was gone, so I was careful about my choices. As an adult, I’m not as discriminating with my funds, even though I should be. I’ll pick up a coffee at Starbucks, or grab several trash magazines to read for an hour or two before I toss them. But as a kid I was particular about where my money went. Books were often the first choice, because books were a special thing to buy. Mostly hardbacks were available, with the rare, cheaper paperback–so I usually had to save up to get a book I liked. I remember treating my books gingerly too–no dog-eared corners, no underlining or highlighting, no quick notes on the insides of covers because I couldn’t find a piece of scratch paper–and I never, ever cracked the spines (something I’ve been doing at an alarming rate ever since Graduate school). I loved the books as objects–as things to love, honor and cherish. Books represented transportation to someplace I wasn’t. Books were time machines.
After leaving Caravan Book Store, I decided to take myself back to that space and time when I treated my books with a bit more respect. As I walked up the city streets to MOCA, clutching my brown paper package, I vowed to be more discriminating with my book purchases. In my search for how to get started, I’ve found numerous helpful essays at the Antiquarian Booksellers Association of America website. As it turns out, book collecting is pretty easy. Book Collecting As A Hobby by P.H. Muir offers a pretty good justification for buying first editions rather than spending half the cost of a first edition on a cheap paperback. If you know it’s an author or subject you’ll like, you might as well buy the good stuff because it’ll last longer, and if you ever get rid of it, you’ll get some sort of return on your investment. It takes a bit of time for that investment to mature, but it’s worth it. And of course, if you keep it forever, it’s a great thing to put in your will: my library goes to . . .
A favorite essay featured on the site was by author/bookseller Larry McMurtry of Lonesome Dove fame. His essay, Splendors and Miseries of being an Author/Bookseller was funny, and gave great insight into the antiquarian book trade. Gordon Hollis’ essay Antiquarian Book Collecting in Sourthern California was another favorite. Hollis argues for knowing the context of antiquarian books, and also knowing the pleasures and joys of owning antiquarian books. It had never occurred to me to collect books other than the “classics,” but collecting books by subject is a great way to spend your book allowance–and it doesn’t have to be expensive. I remember picking up a book called Ready Made Speeches some time ago, and marveling at the speeches for various occasions included in the text. It’s a lovely green volume and has given me much pleasure. A manners book! It echoed Pride and Prejudice for me–when Mr. Collins shares that he often rehearses compliments for occasions upon which he meets young ladies. I’ve often thought of the other types of “manners” books circulated in the 1920’s and the 1930’s. How cool the be the ‘go-to’ person for a manners-books archive?
Since my visit and my preliminary research into book collecting, I think I’ve been convinced; and not just because of the logic of buying the good stuff because it lasts longer. There’s something that changes when you’re reading a first edition. First editions are mostly well-crafted, well-made, and put together with care. Much different from the quick-print paperbacks on newsprint paper that yellows after a few months and almost surely has a “NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE STARRING ‘INSERT HOLLYWOOD STAR’S NAME HERE” sticker on it. The reading process is just. . . different. I’ve just finished rereading The Fire Next Time, and as I closed the cover on my first-edition copy, I swear the book felt better and more important to me than ever. It felt life-changing–life-altering. I felt like a superhero finishing that book. To be there, in ’63, when everything was getting ready to erupt and Baldwin was making his plea for all of us to continue steadfastly on a course for changing the world—it was an amazing read. Again.