The Value Of Collecting Books
01.07.08By Deanna Dahlsad“Not unless they’re perfect, or extremely rare.” At the Trash or Treasure event, I heard several of the appraisers saying such things about books. They were polite, and kind, when telling folks that their books were common editions of little value, or that the problems such as broken hinges & bindings rendered the books undesirable to collectors; but they were clearly saying that the books had no value.
I did my best not bite my tongue and not let them see my twisted facial expressions — partly ‘cuz Momma taught me to be polite, and also because appraisers can be intimidating — but fundamentally, I disagree.
With all due respect to the appraisers, who obviously deal in volumes I couldn’t afford the catalog for, book lovers fall into many categories, and while I ask you to call me a bibliophile, I am still, first and foremost, a reader. And readers know the value of a book surpasses such things as conditions.
As readers, we love a story, old or new; the author had something to say, and we still want to hear it. Some of us love books for the tactile experience of holding tender tomes of brittle pages & fragile bindings, wondering who held them before us. Some of us love old children’s books, with their tattered and scribbled pages, because they, like the Velveteen Rabbit, have been loved to life.
Even non-fiction books from ages ago are to be cherished.
If I had not dared to salvage this copy of Earth, Sea and Sky Or Marvels of the Universe by Henry Davenport Northrop (published by James Lewis Springfield, Massachusetts, 1887), I would not only have missed out on the beautiful boards & the 300+ engravings, but the out-of-date science & knowledge.
It is precisely the out-of-date knowledge which I learn from. How else would I know that the giraffe or camelopard was once one of the “curiosities of the animal kingdom”? I may take a trip to the zoo, or the Internet, to see a giraffe for granted, but once it was a mighty curious beast.
How else would I have known of of the “strange people”, of the “wild tribes & their curious customs”? It is from these things that I know of the reality of ethnocentric thinking.
If hinges and spines had to be perfect, then I would have passed up the two volumes of History of Ancient Egypt by George A. Rawlinson, M.A. (John B. Alden, publisher, 1886) — and then I would have missed this wonderous book of illustrations and text with actual Egyptian symbols right in the text, showing how the names etc. were actually written or carved.
Of course, I’ve also picked up works of less amazement. Books which may or may not be out of print, but were printed in the millions anyway so they are not rare; books with new editions; books which most would just call ‘used’. Like these old nature guides.
I compulsively buy them, often duplicating titles to the the point of same editions and covers. But does one really suffer from such things? Perhaps the locations or habitats have changed as the environment has, but certainly should I or one of my brilliant children wish to compare the ranges to see the effects of global warming or human encroachment on said habitats this could easily be done sitting such books side-by-side.
Books need not be in pristine condition or rare to be valuable; they just need to be found by a reader, a book lover — a bibliophile.
Naturally, such appreciation and adoration of books leads to buckling bookshelves which are, more often than not, in disarray. I personally find it rather delightful. In my own home I get to browse and, yes, rediscover books at my leisure. No waiting for that charming local book dealer to open, I can peruse anytime I wish to. Some might even find the spilling shelves part of our eclectic decor. We sure do.
Someone recently asked Pradeep Sebastian, “Books may furnish a room but where does it say that they have to furnish every room?”
My reply would be similar to that at Bibliophile Bullpen, “I find that very amusing as when I need more actual ROOM in a room, I usually remove something that is non-book, like a chair or a table.”
Perhaps it is that I feel about books the way Jean Cocteau felt about cats.
I love books because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.
