Just when I think there's nothing to write about, all kinds of stuff crops up. This is why it's good to change your Bloglines subscriptions now and then; it shakes things up. I was grazing through Grumpy Old Bookman, which I've subscribed to on and off, and ran across his exclusive scoop about a book thief in the bosom of the Manchester (England) public library. The story reads like an outline for one of John Dunning's Cliff Janeway Bookman novels. This guy stole some lovely stuff: an edition of Chaucer from the 1600's, some very very early John Donne, that sort of thing, and (wait for it) sold it on ebay. Which is how he got caught. That, and selling books with Manchester Free Library embossed on it without a "deaccessioned" stamp or slip. Duh. Dunno what the guy was thinking, but he's going to be interviewed, apparently (or has been already), so perhaps we'll find out. It seems like nothing more than greed, since he was selling them, and with books, I don't really get that. I mean, if you're going to steal books like that, why would you sell them? I'd want them just to paw and drool over.
I'm not a book collector, per se, but I do like beautiful books, and there are certain beautiful books I'd like to own because their texts have special meanings to me. I'd like that pretty red faux leather edition of Lord of the Rings collected in one volume. I've got a boxed set of L'Morte D'Arthur illustrated by Aubrey Beardsley, and a Barry Moser Pennyroyal Caxton Bible from Viking Studio. These are all books I've read and loved, that have played some significant role in my life or the formation of my ethics. For a while now, I've been subscribed to Powell's list of rare book acquisitions because I'd like to get a copy of Virginia Woolf's The Waves, printed in England by the Hogarth Press, which is the press that she and Leonard owned, which published much of her fiction in hand-typeset editions. Some of these Virginia helped typeset and bind herself, and I like the idea of owning a book she may have not only written, but also physically produced in some way, though I'll never really know. It doesn't have to be a first printing or first edition, or even in anything other than very good condition, just a copy from the Hogarth Press during her lifetime.
Or so I thought. Among the recent notices was one for the first edition complete set of her diaries, all five volumes, printed and bound by the Hogarth Press. Now, logically, I know she had no hand in anything but the writing of these, as they weren't published until after her death. But my trade paper copies of her diaries are pretty ragged and yellowing and these were in good to very good condition (which isn't that great in book collector's parlance, I gather), all five for $400. That's less than $100 a book. And I had a moment of book lust. They had the original dustcovers and and they looked like something designed by Vanessa, her sister, who often designed the dustcovers for Virginia's novels. They were lovely. I wanted them.
I made myself go look at the price of new paperback editions—less than $25 each—and that sobered me up. I'm not collecting her books; I just want nice, readable copies, except for that one novel, which I adore. I enjoy the hunt for it, the excitement of scanning through the list every day to see if it might be there, and seeing what else crops up, and how much the other books I already own are selling for. (Harry Potter! You would not believe what first editions are going for! and Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials. Sheesh! Crazy! They're not even dead yet.) I half suspect that I enjoy the hunt at least as much as I will owning The Waves.
Of course, this was all moot when I got the bill for my latest lab test, which was almost as much as Virginia's diaries. I think I'll settle for the paperbacks.
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