Rick Gekoski writing on his Guardian blog, Finger on the Page.
Feel the appeal? A first edition of Ulysees on sale at a London antiquarian book fair. Photograph: Martin Argles for the Guardian
Just recently home after five days displaying our stock at the New York Antiquarian Book Fair, and I'm resting. You need to: it's a peculiarly exhausting business, exacerbated by the fact that I had flown in from Sydney via London, and kept waking at 2am longing for bacon and eggs. For the first three mornings I eventually got up at 6am and went out to dinner. Worked for me. Great steaks in New York.
We do three fairs a year – California, New York, and London – and none of them are much fun. In the olden days (I feel an old fart moment coming on) fairs had a real buzz about them. During set-up (when dealers unpack their trunks and shelve the books) other dealers would crowd round, checking out each book as it emerged, picking up the occasional bargain. Set-up was why you were there, to see if you could buy something before the public got a look-in, and sell enough in that hectic first few hours to cover your costs.
No more. Things are tighter and tougher, we've seen each other's books in catalogues and online, and there is no excitement during the two-day (too long!) set-up period. We sold one book for $5,000 (£3,000), which is better than five for $4,000, and pretty much in line with what I would have expected. The key to surviving a fair emotionally is to keep expectations realistic, which means low. I set our bottom line hope at sales of $40,000, though whether such a sum is profitable depends on what you have sold. Sometimes we have books on consignment at 20% to us, at others we may be selling something we own – better yet, have owned for ages – and get an entirely positive cashflow boost.
I need one. I have, alas, taken my eye off the ball this last year, with reading for the Man Booker International prize, and the effect on the business has been predictable. Even my bank manager is starting to twitch an eyelid. So it was essential both to get some money in from New York, and to generate a project or two with clients or other dealers: find a collection to buy, an archive to sell, a line to pursue.
But I'm getting ahead of myself, and it may be hard for you to envisage what I'm talking about. People in specialist trades often do this, and lose their audience in a welter of trade jargon and inappropriate assumption that one will be understood. So:
What is an antiquarian book fair, anyway?
It is an arena for members of the rare book trade publicly to offer their stock, and for collectors to peruse it.
That sounds a little dull, doesn't it?
OK, then. Dealers sit in their little, lit booths, displaying their wares like girls in Amsterdam windows. A few potential customers drift by. Sometimes money is exchanged. Some pleasure is had. Usually nobody gets hurt, but many wives are not told of the transaction. Or husbands.
What sort of things might one see at the fair?
Enticing ones, naturally. Hand-coloured antique maps, letters by Freud or Dickens, leatherbound sets of Jane Austen, rare books on travel, nature or military history, books illustrated by Arthur Rackham or Beatrix Potter, first editions by most of the greatest writers.
Why are first editions valuable?
They're not. Most first editions are worthless, because most books are first editions – that is, not worth reprinting. A tiny number of these first editions are desirable because they are by collected authors, and were printed in small numbers.
How can you tell if a book is a first edition?
Generally, it can be assumed unless there is any evidence to the contrary.
Why are some authors collected?
Most, because they deserve to be: John Milton, Jonathan Swift, John Keats, Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, James Joyce, Graham Greene. Some, because whatever their deserts, people love them: Agatha Christie, Ian Fleming, JK Rowling.
Link to the Guardian to read the rest of Rick's entertaining and fair look at Fairs.
Footnote:
Rick Gekoski is a rare book dealer, writer, and occasional broadcaster. An American who came to England in 1966, he taught English Literature at the University of Warwick from 1971-1987, and has published books on Joseph Conrad, William Golding, Premiership football (Staying Up), a collection of essays entitled Tolkien's Gown and Other Stories of Great Authors and Rare Books (based on his BBC Radio 4.
He is a witty, erudite and entertaining man with strong New Zealand connections and Bookman Beattie is one of his many Antipodean friends. He has strong connections with New Zealand. He was a star performer at the 2010 Auckland Writers and Readers Festival and is currently chair of the judging panel for the Man Booker International Prize. I look forward to catching up with him at the Sydney Writers Festival in a couple of weeks.
We do three fairs a year – California, New York, and London – and none of them are much fun. In the olden days (I feel an old fart moment coming on) fairs had a real buzz about them. During set-up (when dealers unpack their trunks and shelve the books) other dealers would crowd round, checking out each book as it emerged, picking up the occasional bargain. Set-up was why you were there, to see if you could buy something before the public got a look-in, and sell enough in that hectic first few hours to cover your costs.
No more. Things are tighter and tougher, we've seen each other's books in catalogues and online, and there is no excitement during the two-day (too long!) set-up period. We sold one book for $5,000 (£3,000), which is better than five for $4,000, and pretty much in line with what I would have expected. The key to surviving a fair emotionally is to keep expectations realistic, which means low. I set our bottom line hope at sales of $40,000, though whether such a sum is profitable depends on what you have sold. Sometimes we have books on consignment at 20% to us, at others we may be selling something we own – better yet, have owned for ages – and get an entirely positive cashflow boost.
I need one. I have, alas, taken my eye off the ball this last year, with reading for the Man Booker International prize, and the effect on the business has been predictable. Even my bank manager is starting to twitch an eyelid. So it was essential both to get some money in from New York, and to generate a project or two with clients or other dealers: find a collection to buy, an archive to sell, a line to pursue.
But I'm getting ahead of myself, and it may be hard for you to envisage what I'm talking about. People in specialist trades often do this, and lose their audience in a welter of trade jargon and inappropriate assumption that one will be understood. So:
What is an antiquarian book fair, anyway?
It is an arena for members of the rare book trade publicly to offer their stock, and for collectors to peruse it.
That sounds a little dull, doesn't it?
OK, then. Dealers sit in their little, lit booths, displaying their wares like girls in Amsterdam windows. A few potential customers drift by. Sometimes money is exchanged. Some pleasure is had. Usually nobody gets hurt, but many wives are not told of the transaction. Or husbands.
What sort of things might one see at the fair?
Enticing ones, naturally. Hand-coloured antique maps, letters by Freud or Dickens, leatherbound sets of Jane Austen, rare books on travel, nature or military history, books illustrated by Arthur Rackham or Beatrix Potter, first editions by most of the greatest writers.
Why are first editions valuable?
They're not. Most first editions are worthless, because most books are first editions – that is, not worth reprinting. A tiny number of these first editions are desirable because they are by collected authors, and were printed in small numbers.
How can you tell if a book is a first edition?
Generally, it can be assumed unless there is any evidence to the contrary.
Why are some authors collected?
Most, because they deserve to be: John Milton, Jonathan Swift, John Keats, Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, James Joyce, Graham Greene. Some, because whatever their deserts, people love them: Agatha Christie, Ian Fleming, JK Rowling.
Link to the Guardian to read the rest of Rick's entertaining and fair look at Fairs.
Footnote:
Rick Gekoski is a rare book dealer, writer, and occasional broadcaster. An American who came to England in 1966, he taught English Literature at the University of Warwick from 1971-1987, and has published books on Joseph Conrad, William Golding, Premiership football (Staying Up), a collection of essays entitled Tolkien's Gown and Other Stories of Great Authors and Rare Books (based on his BBC Radio 4.He is a witty, erudite and entertaining man with strong New Zealand connections and Bookman Beattie is one of his many Antipodean friends. He has strong connections with New Zealand. He was a star performer at the 2010 Auckland Writers and Readers Festival and is currently chair of the judging panel for the Man Booker International Prize. I look forward to catching up with him at the Sydney Writers Festival in a couple of weeks.
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