I went to a couple of bookshops while I was in London last weekend, and they were quite different. About the only thing they had in common was that they are pretty small.
First up was Archive Books, near Marylebone. I thought I hadn’t been there before, but this turned out not to be true. The website said they opened at 10.30am on a Saturday, and I was lurking outside around 10.15. That’s when I spotted a scrap of paper in the window saying that their Saturday opening hours were 11-5, so I sat in a little park around the corner and read a book. I came back at 11.10, when the owner was starting to put some boxes of discounted books.
In I went, and the quiet but friendly owner asked if I needed any help – no, said I, I was happy browsing. Which I was, though I couldn’t see all the shelves. The shop is tiny and the amount of stock is rather larger, so I couldn’t get to all the shelves. But I could get to the fiction and biography, and that’s what I was after really – I picked up R.C. Sherriff’s autobiography, No Leading Lady. Only later did I discover that I’d stumbled across rather a rare book. The cheapest copy online is about £75, and I paid £5 for mine. More importantly, I’m really keen to read it because I love the novels of his that I’ve read.
The copy was in very good condition, with an almost pristine dustjacket. I think it might have been a first edition, because I’m not sure that there was a second edition. It was only when I got home that I discovered I’d torn the back of the dustjacket quite significantly. One clumsy journey in my bag probably knocked off at least half its value. But I was more bothered that it was rather a shame that the dustjacket had survived for decades in the wild and less than a day in my hands. I felt bad. But I didn’t care about the value. I’m not planning on selling it.
Which takes me to the second shop I went to – The Second Shelf. You’ve probably heard about it, if you read some of the same blogs I do. I heard an enjoyable interview with the person who runs it, on The Book Club Review Podcast. In brief, it was set up to combat the marginalisation of women writers in the world of rare books and book collecting. There is a catalogue/periodical, and the bookshop has many fine editions of rare books.
It was a lovely space to be in. And lovely to see beautiful editions of so many authors I love – most of the books were from the 20th century. But I have to admit that I came away from the shelves feeling rather sad. So many wonderful books – probably to end up unread on somebody’s shelf. Because I can’t imagine there are many readers who will settle down with a cuppa and a novel if they’ve just spent £200 on that novel.
There is a small paperback section, including lots of Virago Modern Classics, where you can come away with something for a fiver. That’s brilliant. But the other novels I picked up had to be very carefully put back again. I’d love to try more Nancy Spain, and they had Murder, Bless It that I’ve been intending to read – but I’m not going to spend £400 trying it. I can’t imagine many people are. There was a Rose Macaulay I’d love to read – £250.
To be clear, this is an issue I have with the whole of book collecting and the rules that have arisen around it. Not just The Second Shelf. I think anything that gets equality in any area has to be lauded, and it’s good that the imbalance in the rare books business is being addressed. But I do still have any issue with books as commodities to be sealed away and kept pristine, worth more for their scarcity and condition than for their contents. My collection of books is dear to me because I love the books – but the 3,000 books I own are collectively worth substantially less than £3,000.
The reason it affected me in this shop is because these are the authors I love. I don’t care if a rare edition of Wordsworth is put in a case and never touched, because I don’t particularly want to read him. It feels closer to home if it’s Barbara Comyns or Dorothy Whipple. It’s not even that I want their books on my shelves – I had cheaper, tattier copies of the ones I saw there – but I want someone to be reading them.
Which does also bring me on the title of this blog post. I can understand people paying a lot for a book that is very hard to get hold of. I can even understand spending more for a signed book, because I like the sense of connection with the author. But I’ve never been able to get my head around a first edition being worth more than any other edition. Why does its being the first make it better than the second or seventeenth? The content is the same, and it’s quite possible that the cover art and other aesthetic elements are worse. It seems such an arbitrary way of designating value. I’d take a pretty reprint over an ugly first edition any day.
I suspect most readers of this blog will be readers first and collectors second (if at all). But I would be intrigued to know if there’s anybody who hankers after a first edition – and, if so, why?
And more power to Second Shelf, why not. I only hope that their well-off patrons are also keen readers, and don’t get too precious about damaging the books they buy.
I found your thoughts really interesting. I’ve always valued first editions but maybe because that’s what I’ve learned. You raise a good point. The books should be read and not many people can afford the prices you mention. I’ll be interested to see more comments on this post.
I’ll never be able to afford hundreds of pounds for a book but if I could I think I’d worry about damaging them and I’d prefer to read a cheaper copy! The author that I struggle with on this is Margery Sharp. Her first novel Rhododendron Pie sells for around £500 a copy and there aren’t further editions I don’t think. By some miracle my library had it but if that hadn’t happened there’s no way I would have been able to read it. I’m no longer a member of that library so I wish someone would bring out a pretty current edition for a re-read – I really wouldn’t care that its a modern print. I have some of her other novels in first editions but I paid £5 for those so I’m happy to carry them about and read them.
Congratulations about finding the Sherriff you’re keen to read, it’s lovely when that happens. I can relate to the bag issue – I have a lovely book sleeve my mother made me to protect the books I lug about, but yesterday my water bottle leaked, soaked through the sleeve, and now my VMC copy of South Riding is looking decidedly rippled! Thankfully its dried out this morning and the pages aren’t stuck together so I can finish it!
Well, I’m pretty much with you re this one. I have a book collection (ahem) and I like a pretty edition but at the end of the day my books are to be read, and I would hate to think I had one on the shelves that I would never touch. In fact, my Beverley Nichols “Sweet and Twenties” is a signed first edition if I recall correctly – however, I’ve handled it and read it (as you may recall!!)
I do understand the motivation of Second Shelf and applaud their efforts to redress the imbalance. However, on my visit I put just about every book I picked up to look at back on the shelf because the prices were out of my range; and like you I do wonder why the first edition should have such stature? (I’m a little uncomfortable about seeing Sylvia Plath’s skirt there for sale too…) Like you, I believe that books are there for the reading, and I hope that the rarities they have in the shop *will* get read and not just collected.
This is indeed interesting. I have a collection of all of Iris Murdoch’s novels in their first editions. I did this because I am a rabid Murdoch fan and a bit of a Murdoch scholar. When I first discovered her, I read all that I could that was out and then read what came out from then onwards – but I was a school child, a student, a trainee librarian, a poorly paid call centre worker, a student again and then a low paid worker in London – so I had to collect the paperbacks and wait for the new ones to come out in paperback because I couldn’t afford/justify the hardbacks, let alone first editions. Then, in 2004, I decided to treat myself to one of her firsts, a later novel, £18, and thought of treating myself to others but they were so expensive. Kept my much-loved paperbacks. Still have them. But as her reputation went down and so did her prices, I have managed to pick up all of them at no more than I think £40 for the dearest. I don’t much care about first printings of first editions but I think what I’m trying to reclaim here is the idea of another me snapping each book up as it was published, to devour it. Also I love that my husband gave me the money for some of them, and dear friends gave me a wodge of money to collect a few one birthday.
I bought the newish Vintage editions of (most of – grrrr) the novels for their introductions, and to have reading copies that would last a bit longer, as some of my originals are getting a bit tatty.
I certainly don’t care about anyone else’s first editions. In fact, I’d pretty well always rather have a second-hand battered paperback full of previous owners’ signatures to a pristine first!
It’s difficult. I don’t really like reading tatty books – having a particularly developed hatred of broken spines (old Penguins excepted!). I do love a new book and I do like a signed edition, whether found or personally obtained, (rather than buying just for the signature). I do like beautifully designed editions too (I’m a sucker for Folio when money permits). But, most of the first editions I have are hardbacks of new books I just had to have when published, not bought as collectables, or to complete a set etc. So I have a little bit of the collector in me, but just a little!
Probably people who buy the books during their first editions, before the publicity and hoopla that creates a demand for further editions, are the rare ones . And that rarified feeling gets passed down to the second hand book buyer, who feels among the original ‘discoverers’, if only by holding a first edition copy of, for example, To the Lighthouse, and feels the same thrill as the original owner/reader.
I think there is a difference between an unread first edition, and one that is pre-loved. An unread book makes no sense to me either.
I collect first editions of Booker Prize winners, and also of Miles Franklin award winners, and they are all pre-loved. I love them too. I bought nearly all of them to read, though there are a few that I had already read, and I bought them as first editions for my collection. I think that my collection is a thing of beauty, the way that a collection of fine china can be beautiful, and I like the idea of having the whole set one day, as a kind of testament to literary culture, and my abiding love for it.
First editions don’t matter at all to me so I found my visit to the Second Shelf back in June incredibly frustrating. I can’t imagine how this works as a business model and will be interested to see how long they last. I was also really bothered by the owner’s behaviour when I was there – she was completely oblivious to the shoppers (how is that possible in such a small space?) and spent the entire time I was there whining to her friends about staffing issues. She did not come across as someone it would be a pleasure to work for.
I try to keep my books in good condition (and will remove a dustjacket if I’m throwing the book in my bag to read on my commute) but the only thing to be done with a book is to read it. If it’s too precious to be read, it’s not much use to me.
As far as I can tell, most people with large book collections are either readers or collectors and rarely both. Sure, as many have said, a lot of readers have first editions because we snapped them up as soon as they were published because we couldn’t wait to read them! But I have a couple of collector friends and they do not read their first editions. It’s about the chase, the rarity, the thrill of finding, and the satisfaction in displaying, similar to people who collect anything, from Beanie Babies to teacups.
When I was in my teens and had little money, there was a used book and comic store in my town that had a musty upstairs where they kept the hardback books.I have always loved hardbacks much more than paperbacks, with their durability, heft, dignity, and the way I can prop them up between the milk carton and the edge of my bowl.. But most people want paper, so to move them faster, this shop sold the hardbacks by the pound! I spent many happy hours up there, on the floor, going through the piles, and found some real gems, many of which I still have.
I started amassing books pretty young, before I had any idea what made a book “valuable.” I read anything I could get my hands on and had my own ideas about what made a book valuable to me. People who collect first editions and signed copies talk a out the connection to the author, but I have always been much more thrilled by connecting with past readers. I love thinking about what other people were doing or thinking when they read the same volume I am holding. And so, against popular opinion, I love those that give me insight into previous readers: bookplates, dedications, marginalia, the odd smudge, book marks, receipts, and so on. Once, I found an old book with a Victorian calling card in it!
That said, I do have some books in my collection that I’ll probably never read, bought solely for their beautiful covers. These are mostly from the early twentieth century, with highly embossed and illustrated covers were popular. I didn’t want them to be lost just because the content was so dated. I love looking at them.
We all have our eccentricities about books!
“As far as I can tell, most people with large book collections are either readers or collectors and rarely both.” Well said, Shannon, and an excellent answer to Simon’s “Why do people care about first editions?”
Although I have shelves and stacks of books in my house, I’m a reader rather than collector.
I prefer hardback books. However, I happily purchase softbound reprints which make the reading of those books affordably possible. I can’t say enough about the publishers of these reprints.
Finding used books containing bookplates, dedications and marginalia is a joy.
Because I love the art of dust jackets, I occasionally order books from either the UK or the USA when the dust jackets differ. It matters to me!
So yes, we all have our eccentricities about books.
Wonderful!
If you want to see the astonishing heights – or depths – of first edition mania, visit https://www.peterharrington.co.uk/
A.E. Housman used to maintain that second editions of his poetry books were the ones that mattered. He’d got the publisher to take out all the printing errors in those.
The books I would like to get a first edition of would be books that the author revised in subsequent editions. I would find it interesting to see the differences. Especially if it’s a book I really liked. But otherwise I just want a book that’s in decent condition.
I loved my one and only visit to Second Shelf, but I also feel a little like you about the place. I have supported it a lot, buying some reasonably priced books, but there were dozens I would have loved to buy but couldn’t possibly. Part of me does wonder if it is the true Elizabeth Taylor fan who pays nearly £100 for the first edition of A Game of Hide and Seek. I hope it is. I contented myself with a pretty American book club edition.
The following are provided for edification and amusement …
https://www.abaa.org/blog/
https://ilab.org/home
The sections devoted to latest catalogues may be of interest. This is the world of antiquarian booksellers.
I understand the idea of attaching a higher cash value to women’s fiction as a way of underscoring its intellectual value, but I’m not convinced by it. But then my reading preference is also for new paperbacks that I can dogear and otherwise abuse without worry. I haven’t bothered making the trip to The Second Shelf purely because I know I couldn’t afford to buy anything from them, even the paperbacks are generally available elsewhere for less.
Good post, Simon. I’ve never understood the whole first edition thing, or collecting books for financial reasons. I just want to read what I want to read, and am thankful to live in an era when the books you want can be found and ordered online. I remember when I was collecting my grandmother’s obscure novels it was a matter of searching in physical bookshops and maybe finding one by occasional and magical and random happenstance. Took me years to get copies of them all (Onoto Watanna published about 15 novels). Now you can find them in multiples online in an hour. Some cheap, some high priced “collectible.” I go with the cheap. Honestly, it’s like the invention of air travel would be to people in covered wagons…
I would quite like an Elizabeth Taylor first edition because (in answer to your enquiry) some of the dust jackets were designed by her lover.
I can’t imagine ever having enough money to buy a first edition of something truly fancy — and after that I can’t really imagine feeling secure enough to read a book that I knew was super rare and valuable. But I can imagine liking the idea of having the first edition insofar as like, it would feel closer to the author and their hopes for the book, you know? I don’t know. Maybe that’s silly. But I can imagine it being meaningful for an author I really loved, like Oscar Wilde.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the cultural capital of books lately, the sacred status we assign to them (some more than others), the book as both object and subject – mostly for a uni project, but also out of genuine curiosity. This has been great fuel for thought on that front, thank you!!!