Up until this point I had never taught anyone anything. My only credentials were that I’d been playing since I was 11 and I wasn’t terrible. So when I sat in my room with a girl who was not much younger than me showing her what written music looked like and how one deciphers it, I figured I was in over my head. That didn’t stop me from faking it, I mean trying. In fact, I still teach today.

What does me teaching music have to do with rare books you might ask? Well, I found myself in a similar situation a few weeks ago. Between the Covers has a new cog in the machine, one Raymond Solowij. And guess who was asked to train him? Correct! Yours truly. Let the panic attack begin.

If you have read my previous blogs you may have picked up that I haven’t been doing this for very long – just slightly over a year now to be exact. That isn’t a lot of time to pick up enough nuances to feel comfortable telling someone, “Yes sir, that’s how we do it here at Between the Covers.” Suddenly I was 17 again and a woman I barely knew was saying, “You play guitar right? So you can teach my daughter?” Oh sure, but why stop there? I’ve also heard people speak French before and I bet I could figure that out too. Want me to prepare someone for space travel? I have seen Apollo 13 a few times. Nevertheless, I forged on and the week before Ray started I tried to come up with a plan to teach basic cataloging that wouldn’t make our newest employee run screaming into the hills.

Education Traditionalists - Ray attempts to ingratiate himself with his instructor, while Ashley adopts a time-honored method of inspiring her pupil.

So, what do you tell someone who doesn’t even really know what book cataloging is all about? I was going to launch into a whole scholarly lecture about how the book surrenders to me all of its secrets and then reveal that I’ve come to a place where, when holding a new, previously uncataloged book, I suddenly become one with it and am able to tell its story simply via the words fine, near fine, very good, good, or fair. The travels, exploits, and journeys of this particular piece of literature meld with my own training and experience, and suddenly I understand what must be done. However, this Zen approach to cataloging only comes after years, er year, of extensive work; Yoda-like conversations with Tom on the future of the rare book trade, books, and the human race; as well as after the consumption of numerous Red Bulls. You can not expect someone to really understand what you’re going on about at such an early stage of the game.

So I took a different approach. At the Colorado Book Seminar the one thing everyone repeats is “Look At The Book.” This may seem silly or obvious but it’s so true. For instance, what edition is it? It says “first” hooray! It’ll be so expensive! I can retire! However, moments later, further investigation reveals that awful blind stamp on the rear board and drat it’s a Book Club edition. My elders have also drilled into my head that when holding a new book it is best to remove the dustwrapper and investigate.

Next comes the reference books. I supplied my new pupil with a trusty Carter’s ABCs, just in case he suffers from insomnia; an Ahearns, which has a small yet especially nice first edition identification chapter; and a McBride’s, for those pesky publishers that are a little obscure. I also made Tom fill in the blanks on a diagram of a book that I had prepared so that I could be sure I was actually using the correct terminology. That was probably the day I went through 3,000 entries of my own creation to double check things, ya know, just to see what a good description really looks like.

Things have actually been going smoothly. I’ve only had to beat Ray once, and exile him to the boiler room a handful of times. Not bad considering how inexperienced he is. Most days we sit together while I berate him saying, “Near fine? Near fine? You REALLY think so! It’s the chokey for you!” My days have been very pleasant as of late. I thrive in positions of authority.

An Advance Reading Copy of Go Tell It On The Mountain sporting the rejected original cover and an Advance Review Copy with the final published artwork.

An Advance Reading Copy (ARC) is generally a perfectbound wrappered issue (i.e. looks like a paperback), and usually with artwork which will be featured on the published book. It is a pre-publication version of the book prepared very close, chronologically, to the first edition. It comes after the production of galleys (which are generally used by publishers in-house for editing purposes) and uncorrected proofs (which may also be used for editing, legal vetting, etc., but like ARC’s are often distributed for pre-publication publicity and reviews). It should be noted that different publishers use these terms differently – what one publisher would call an uncorrected proof another publisher would call an Advance Reading Copy. Usually uncorrected proofs do not have artwork on the cover, merely text, but you will find publishers who issue advance copies with artwork and label them uncorrected proofs.

By contrast, generally an Advance Review Copy is a copy of the book, taken from the first printing, but pulled from the run and distributed BEFORE the book is officially published (a book is printed several days, weeks, or sometimes more before it is officially published, because the copies have to be sent all over the country to be put on sale the same day). Usually Advance Review Copies are accompanied by supplementary material such as a photo of the author, an additional copy of the dustwrapper (in the pre-digital era this allowed one of the two jackets to be cut up for artwork in a printed review), praise from the editor or publisher, etc. Advance Review Copies are necessary for distribution because, if the book reviewer had to wait until the first printing was sold in bookstores in order to read and review the book, his or her review would not appear in a newspaper or magazine until the book had already been in stores for several days or weeks. Advance copies of all types are used not only to help time the publication of reviews, but also to encourage the managers and purchasing agents for bookstores and book distributors to acquire copies for their stock. (One quick aside regarding review copies: not all review copies are advance copies – sometimes a publisher will send out review copies of reprints if the book’s sales did not meet initial expectations, or the book has suddenly become timely, or for other reasons.)

An Advance Reading Copy and an Advance Review Copy with author photo, publisher's slip, and promotional material.

As to the legality of selling these advance issues, it is a gray area supported on both sides by those who have a dog in the race. Publishers and a few authors get upset when they see advance copies for sale because these copies were distributed for free and thus they (the publishers and the authors) never technically made money on the sale of that particular item. To me this is small minded and petty – they should be glad that there is interest in the work. They also get upset when advance copies are sold on the used and antiquarian market before the book is officially released – this has more credence to my mind because publishers sometimes have an investment in keeping plot points under wraps, as it were, until the release (SPOILER WARNINGS: Dumbledore dies!? Darth Vader is whose father?!, Bruce Willis is a ghost?!, etc. OK, it matters more for movies, but you get the idea).

On the other side, lawyers who happen to be booksellers will argue that when you give something away unsolicited and for free, as for example if you have a 3 foot pile of your author’s ARCs at a new book trade show, you also forgo and relinquish any legal ownership of those physical objects. No backsees you might say. You can’t give something away under those circumstances and then complain when it turns out it might have some cash value. Now of course you can sue anybody over anything, and you might win in front of a jury (cf. McDonald’s coffee). But I have never heard of a publisher going after a single independent bookseller, and juries don’t like Goliath very much. Large bookstore chains, including Amazon, have commercial agreements with publishers which explicitly prohibit the sale of advance copies – these agreements are in place because the chains and Amazon have a vested interest in keeping publishers reasonably happy. For them it is an easy concession in a much larger negotiation. For independent used and antiquarian sellers, who usually have no commercial agreements with publishers, the trade generally has no problem with the sale of advance publication material.

More illustrations showing the difference between ARCs and Advance Review Copies can be seen in our illustrated glossary at http://www.betweenthecovers.com/btc/glossary/A/2

Needless to say, not much is known about this virtuous auxiliary. After my initial shock and awe at Tom’s genius for compelling me to catalog this hilarious piece of ephemera, in five minutes no less, I immediately warmed to the tiny tots and their instruments, who reminded me of my stint playing the clarinet at Public School concerts in Philadelphia. There am I with my clarinet squeaking out Alouette:

Alouette, gentille Alouette
Alouette, je te plumerai
Je te plumerai la tête; (Je te plumerai la tête)
Et la tête; (Et la tête)
Alouette; (Alouette)
O-o-o-oh!

Certainly this item symbolizes the end of an era. The Tiny Tim Society in 1942 had an executive board of seven married ladies, an executive committee of eight married and two unmarried ladies, and 125 Patronesses, only one of whom was a Doctor. And the April benefit performance that Tuesday evening was “Blithe Spirit,” Noel Coward’s Best Comedy Hit, at the Morosoco Theatre on Broadway:

A daughter fair, So buxom, blithe, and debonair.

Of course Coward did not have Milton in mind but The Blitz, and the play was a hit. When I look again at the tiny tots balanced in twos on the steps of The House of St. Giles the Cripple, arrayed before the Hospital’s heavy Georgian façade, I see the specter of Texas Governor Rick Perry in his cadet uniform hovering above.

Off with his head!

Published at the height of the Sexual Revolution in 1968, The Forty Eight Ways, with its cover featuring Auguste Rodin’s statue The Kiss, romantically lit no less and with soft foreground elements suggesting a voyeur’s point of view, has all the hallmarks of a hot time in the bedroom. Would that it were so. Instead what you get is a scholarly adaptation of a popular Japanese sex-ed manual without any “smutty jokes and dirty pictures.” And boy, they weren’t kidding.

Not only is there no sex in this sex manual, there’s not even nudity, or a real couple for that matter. Instead what you get is a solitary woman in leotards (apparently just returned from her Jazzercise class) lying or sitting in various positions. In most pictures she looks bored, though in others she just seems annoyed, like she’s talking to her mother on the phone.

But all is not lost! There actually IS another player in this pantomime, found on the facing page and accompanying each position name and description. This love interest is a cute illustrated cupid with a bow but lacking significant “arrows” of any kind. On each page he appears in various positions representing the male role in each coupling. Or, to spell it out in just as obtuse terms, whenever she is pictured as the horse’s head he’s the hindquarters.

Apparently The Forty Eight Ways was considered a respectable way to address sex for those mature and discerning couples curious about new positions but who didn’t actually want to see or experience them first hand. The entire package makes for a delightfully dysfunctional sex manual that might not enlighten you but will certainly entertain. Sort of. For a minute.

As some of you may know Between the Covers’s main hub was formerly an old school building. Those of you lucky enough to have gained entry to our Fortress of Solitude may have seen the piles of white banker’s boxes stacked just about everywhere. They’re constantly being reused so you can never really trust anything written on the outside of them, or so I thought. One fateful day, as I was collecting another box of books to catalog from the boiler room, I spotted a box that read “Hitler’s Head.” Hmm. Assuming it was some inside joke I wasn’t privy to, I decided to open it. Guess what? It was Hitler’s head.

You really never know what you'll find here at BTC.

Of course I wouldn’t be surprised if over the years Tom had somehow managed to acquire a famous skull, or perhaps a celebrity femur, but alas this was not the case with Adolf. In the box, shrouded in a grey sack, I saw the creepy empty sculpted eyes of Der Führer. You would think someone at the height of their power would be a little more cheerful looking. Mildly distressed I brought it to the attention of our fearless leader, Tom.

And thus, did he spin me a yarn. It was a magical tale of booksellers, car crashes, and espionage. Ok, maybe there weren’t any spies. Or magic either, come to think of it. Apparently, long ago, John Wronoski of Lame Duck Books, previously a partner of Mr. Congalton’s, purchased a collection of rare German material. Seems cut and dry, but wait! What’s this?

The only tolerable way to view Hitler is disguised and with a cute kitty.

The German-born, New York dealer, Peter Tumarkin, who was selling these things to John, had an added bonus, er…demand. He insisted that if John took the books, then Hitler’s bust would have to be included with the lot. Not surprisingly Mr. Tumarkin didn’t want to be seen peddling or even possessing a dictator.

What do you do with the head of a man who is that evil? It’s not like you can donate it to your friendly neighborhood Klavern of the Ku Klux Klan. Well I suppose you could…but no, I think not. Our good friend John, apparently adept at the game of hot potato, decided to bring it to Tom at his Merchantville shop, but not without first giving it a clever disguise. Wearing stylish sunglasses and a baseball cap one could hardly tell it was Hitler! He could have easily passed as a stern businessman, or perhaps just a minor despot, or at the very, very least, an extra from Weekend at Bernie’s.

For the next decade poor Adolf was left alone in an attic, head in a box, to reflect upon what he had done. There’s a bit of a moral dilemma when Hitler’s involved, as one might imagine. While keeping him certainly looks bad, selling him feels even worse, especially if he was to be sold to someone who actually wants him.

Some of you may be wondering what happened to the New York bookseller who started all of this. Well, I’m sorry to report that Mr. Tumarkin was killed in England after being hit by a black Vauxhall Corsa in 2004. Is Hitler’s head cursed? Are we unleashing the same fate as those who opened Tut’s tomb? Who can be sure? For now, the dictator remains in his box, in a warehouse, and we have our top men working on it.

Between the Covers Literary Events

Specifically, her birthdate entry reads:

English novelist Jane Austen, author of Pride and Prejudice, Emma, and Sense and Sensibility, was born in Steventon, Hampshire on December 16, 1775. In her lifetime her novels were published anonymously, and it was only after her death that her brother made her authorship public.

These lists of events can be pretty dull, so I often try to add a little trivia of some kind to spice things up. I recently learned, for example, that nothing so became the life of Norman Douglas as his leaving it. The author (another December baby) best known for the novel South Wind and the obscene anthology Some Limericks, whose life was a series of scandals, committed suicide on the island of Capri in February, 1952 at the age of 83 after a long illness. His dying words, appropriately enough, were “Get these fucking nuns away from me.” (This according to Wikipedia, and so good enough for me.)

For Jane Austen, I wanted to add a sentence mentioning the cottage industry of films and television adaptations (not to mention books by other authors) based on her works, and the fact that she of course saw none of this, nor the proceeds from said productions. Therefore I went to the Internet Movie Database to look up when the earliest Austen film adaptation was made. Apparently in 1938 the BBC, which I have read elsewhere was producing early television dramas at this time, made a version of Pride and Prejudice with British stage actress Curigwen Lewis as Elizabeth Bennett. This was followed two years later by the much better known, and certainly more often seen, film version with Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier.

An uncomfortable moment of silence as Norman Douglas sits with Sister Jane Austen

So the entry for Jane Austen’s birthday will now read:

English novelist Jane Austen, author of Pride and Prejudice, Emma, and Sense and Sensibility, was born in Steventon, Hampshire on December 16, 1775. In her lifetime her novels were published anonymously, and it was only after her death that her brother made her authorship public. Furthermore, it was not until 121 years after her death that the first of the numerous screen adaptations of her work, an early BBC television version of Pride and Prejudice, was produced. She received no royalties.

Not very exciting, but there you have it. But that’s not why I love IMDB. I love IMDB because of what else caught my eye when I visited the Jane Austen page. Each page on IMDB has a Message Board, a space at the bottom where the masses of plugged-in cinephiles can argue over how much the next Star Trek movie “is gonna suck” (something that they seem to do even when they are not on a Star Trek-related page for some reason).

At the moment the most current discussion for the IMDB Jane Austen message board was started by one cherry_fizz55 and reads:

OMG I like totally met her! She was SO nice! I was walking through JCPenny and ran into her! She gave me her autograph and asked me over for tea!!! She was such a nice person.

The Internet being the social mechanism that it is, a user by the handle of Julie-30 was the first to take the bait, responding within minutes:

Jane Austen’s been dead for almost 200 years. How could you have run into her?

These two entries are then followed by dozens of further comments ranging from quick appreciations of the meta-humor exhibited by the original poster to weak subsequent attempts at additional humor (“Yeah, I heard she was dating Brad Pitt…”), to additional blatant proof of a lack of humor (“I am going to give this poster the benefit of the doubt by assuming that she was writing about another Jane Austen.”), and everything in between. (I didn’t read them all, but I’m sure there is a Star Trek comment somewhere in there for good measure.)

I don’t really love this (although I do love IMDB), but I am continually mystified by it. Before the Internet I would never have guessed that so many, many people simply HAVE to express themselves. They can’t stop. It’s almost as though the Internet is an invention that humanity has been waiting for, for the entire span of our species. As though some future anthropologist will write, “As the second millennium of the Christian era came to a close, mankind finally achieved three major advances which marked the most significant turning point since the extinction of Homo sapiens neanderthalensis 30,000 years before: 1) they traveled beyond the orbit of Earth, 2) they achieved the widespread use of flushing toilets, and 3) they invented a mechanism whereby every individual could continuously prove and document his or her own stupidity.”

On one of his comedy albums Tom Lehrer once commented, “I feel that if a person can’t communicate, the very least he can do is to shut up.” But apparently I can’t. Happy Birthday Jane.

Our blog editor Matt Histand and I both thought it a good enough idea. I primarily thought it was a good idea because I assumed that I would be exempt from contributing. After all, I am the one who is responsible for pretty much all of the over quarter-of-a-million objects being here in the first place.

Not every man can pull off a skirt, but with gams like that it's no wonder March was a star.

For me to wax ecstatic about “finding” something that I was apparently surprised and delighted about enough to buy at some time in the past seemed just a trifle disingenuous.

However, Ashley just contributed a blog, and Matt is staring balefully across the room at me because no one else has stepped up and written one this week. So I guess I’ll be forced to elaborate on an item that has just crossed my desk for cataloguing. Thus, I will present a Souvenir Book for Cecil B. DeMille’s film The Sign of the Cross.

I like film souvenir books well enough, but with a few exceptions it’s a little hard to get truly excited about them. De Mille’s 1932 film, based on the play by Wilson Barrett, has a backstory about Charles Laughton as the Emperor Nero. Nero blames the Christians for burning Rome, and decides to put them all to death, as one is occasionally wont to do.

A beard and cross is Hollywood shorthand for Christian.

There’s also a love story between Frederic March as Rome’s highest-ranking military officer, Marcus Superbus (really? Superbus? Why not “Marcus Gas Guzzling SUV”?) and Elissa Landi as Mercia, a cute Christian chick. You can see where complications might ensue.

If this lavishly illustrated booklet is any indication, Nero probably had no trouble identifying the long-suffering Christians. It’s hard to miss them with those silly beards.

The front wrapper of the souvenir book mentions that the film features:

Frederic March
Elissa Landi
Claudette Colbert
Charles Laughton
And 7500 others

Extra credit will be awarded to anyone who can identify the other 7500. No peeking.

The rear wrapper features an elaborate artist’s rendering in grand Hollywood style of Laughton cheerfully providing background music on the lyre as Rome burns, with a woman who almost certainly shouldn’t wear white to her wedding, smoldering at his feet.

The best part of the painting though is the broadside that hangs behind Nero’s throne, and as purveyors of rare paper products, you know how much we like broadsides! It reads in part:

CIRCUS MAXIMUS
Spectacle for the People
60 CHRISTIANS
WILL BE EXECUTED
In various and diverting ways
100 DANCING GIRLS
COMBAT BETWEEN DWARFS
AND AMAZONS

Okay, it goes on from there, but they had me at “Combat between Dwarfs and Amazons.” I mean, when planning spectacles for the disgruntled masses, don’t you think it’s always the details that matter most? In all the sand and sandals epics I’ve watched in film and on television, I’ve yet to see one that featured a purveyor of dwarfs and amazons. But then, as we’ve learned in the rare book trade, it pays to specialize.

Probably not a woman to bring home to mother.

As we are always at leisure here at BTC, this remarkable broadside engendered a deep and learned discussion about the pluralization of the word “dwarf.” Cecil B. apparently goes for “dwarfs” while I was always of the opinion that it should be “dwarves.” Matt seems to intimate that the animated Disney epic Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs was a game changer in the pluralization of dwarfs, but The Sign of the Cross predates Snow White by half a decade anyway. Maybe we’re on to something!

Oh, well, as deep and learned discussions at BTC often do, we lost interest in it almost immediately. Perhaps someone else can enlighten us.

You know, as I think on it “Combat between Dwarfs and Amazons” sounds a little bit like one of the seasonal diversions at the BTC Christmas Party!

Danielle with Princess Ashley shortly before her abdication.

It was a man who had inquired about a Michael Ondaatje item the day before and had decided that he must have it. I, being the cheerful, personable gal I am, mentioned that the purchase was brilliant, as I myself happened to love Ondaatje. This is when the interesting thing happened. The customer said that Ondaatje was on a book tour for his new book. Transaction over I wished him good day and proceeded to hunt for dates in my area. What luck! New York on Thursday!

I should preface this by saying that I am not generally very spontaneous, my anxiety just doesn’t allow for it. While I know going up two hours to Union Square for a book reading is hardly like planning a safari in Africa, it does require some planning and I like to have these things figured out well in advance. Social phobia and my fear of not getting to places on time aside, I decided to find an accomplice and venture north. Thankfully my friend Danielle was free and I could steal her for the night. Nothing was gonna stop me.

The lovely Cynthia Gibson.

On Thursday, November 17th I left work early to begin my drive to pick up my partner in crime at the North Jersey prison where she works – not as an inmate, usually. I made amazing time and we were in Hoboken boarding the Path train well ahead of schedule, take that anxiety! First stop was a visit with Cynthia Gibson at the original Barnes and Noble to see the infamous basement. Ms. Gibson was charming as always and kind enough to walk with us the block over to the event where Norman Graubart, NYU scholar and former BTC intern, came over to hang out with us before the talk.

The New York company was lovely and if I had had more planning time perhaps it could have lasted longer, but alas ‘twas not to be. We were early, I know right? So we did what any other self-respecting Barnes and Noble patron would do while waiting, we got cupcakes and cookies at the café. If something contains eggs, milk, and butter it totally counts as dinner.

You could practically feel the adrenaline in the air. I mean, what’s more exciting than a 68-year-old Canadian? The thrill was probably all being generated by my insane fangirlness. Sitting in the reference section waiting for the reading to begin I felt like a 13-year-old meeting Justin Bieber, minus the screaming. Well, maybe I whimpered a little. After a nice introduction from an event coordinator a stately older man walked up to the podium and thanked us for coming.

Michael Ondaatje reading from his latest novel, The Cat's Table.

Reading from his newest novel, The Cat’s Table, Ondaatje entranced his audience. I wanted him to read everything I own: the classics, haikus, the back of the toothpaste tube. His voice is exactly what you want from a writer; he could have made the ingredients to Pop Tarts sound enchanting. I was then overcome with the urge to have Michael Ondaatje be my writer-grandfather and read me bedtime stories. My actual grandfather was the strong silent type, being a New Jersey State Trooper. Do people adopt 25 year olds? Of course when I went to get my copy of The English Patient inscribed I decided not to mention all of my daydreaming; I may be crazy but I try to keep that to myself, oh, and of course to the three readers of this blog.

Ondaatje was a gracious signer and very lovely, even as I gushed at him. Danielle (who had never read him before but had been made a fan by the experience) and I were happy we had decided to venture out on a Thursday night. With one look back over my shoulder and a huge smile on my face I said goodbye to my favorite Sri-Lankan/Canadian.

I have a fair sized closet, although since it’s becoming overrun by t-shirts I needed to do a sort-through. I actually thought I’d find some to throw away. Nope. They all have meaning and I found I could not part with those with the tattered necks and yellow stains, or even the one that had shrunk into another dimension – by the way that would be my “Shades” rock and roll band shirt. They were friends of Tom’s, the band we dated to, and who played at our wedding. How could I chuck that?

I found a number of ABAA shirts (along with the variant sweatshirts), and book fair tees. How else would I keep track of all the shows we did? Book fairs bring us to regions that offer souvenirs. The San Francisco show means wine country. Since I also collect wine books, I yearned to see the Napa Valley and Sonoma County. That trip provided shirts from some of my favorite wineries visited. During the aforementioned sort-through I came across a stained shirt from Chateau Montelena. A big yellow stain just below the image. What to do? The wine is really, really good. Did you see “Bottle Shock”? This winery won the “Judgment of Paris.” What to do. Since t-shirts are actually limited editions as their designs are always being updated, I feared I would not be able to replace it. Should I cut out the image and stash it with my wine labels and other wine related ephemera? Would Tom approve? I thought not. I trashed it. Then I took it back. Later I stuffed it back in the trash bag and carried it outside. Yes, you got it. A day later I opened the bag and it’s sitting here next to me. Oh, woe. My wine book collection fills our bedroom, and part of the guest room. My t-shirts will get more space in the closet.

How did this begin? Almost certainly with my first real job during high school. I worked for Crazy Shirts, a T-Shirt shop founded in Honolulu, where I lived, and we were required to wear an in-stock shirt during our shift. Thus with every paycheck came a free t-shirt – thus I acquired many tees! Later on, after moving a few times (and taking every last book and t-shirt I owned with me), I gave the bulk of them away. I still have pangs of regret. I want them back! Just as I want back the rare book on port I sold when I toyed with selling my wine books. So during another book fair, I found a Crazy Shirts store on the Mainland and bought one with a B. Kliban cat on it. I’ll never wear it though, it’s “not me,” but I have to keep it!

When do I wear all these shirts?? Why, running of course. Which means the Boston Book Fair required a pilgrimage to Bill Rodgers’ running store and a t-shirt; the now defunct ABAA Washington fair resulted in a Socks the Cat shirt; the annual Cooperstown fair adds to the tally of Yankee t-shirts; and the ILAB fair in Australia meant the Sydney Bridge Climb and commemorative t-shirt; and the ILAB fair in Koln, Germany found me determined to bring home a t-shirt only to find they hadn’t yet discovered this tourist cash cow and I searched the corners of many souvenir shops before finding the only t-shirt in the city. And it’s ugly.

Did I mention the limited edition? I have Colorado Antiquarian Book Seminar shirts – with the old and new logos, along with Rare Book School shirts also with the old and new logos. I bought up a bunch with the old logo for myself and Tom (how could I not, it’s a lion!).  I also bought the new RBS shirts with its austere sans serif design for the BTC staff, and they wear them more than the BTC selections. Harrumph.

So, my latest, and only, count revealed Tom: 51, Heidi: 96. Plus I suspect a few in the laundry. Too much of a good thing? Hardly. I have more cat books than that.

• First, never go to any function that doesn’t include alcohol in some form, rubbing alcohol and mouthwash are only to be employed under dire circumstances.
• Second, you will probably never fully understand the term “first edition” in its entirety.
• Third, buying can almost be as fruitful as selling if done right, which leads me to,
• Four, house calls are necessary.

Being the bright and enthusiastic pupil that I am, I jumped at the chance to visit some clients in New York with Tom and his lovely assistant, Matt. For the good of mankind, and for privacy’s sake, identities of non-booksellers will not be revealed, only Matt’s and Tom’s, whose privacy I care little about.

So on a Friday in the not so distant past we gathered in a parking lot in scenic Gloucester City, New Jersey at 7:30 a.m., sharp. Oh wait, I forgot, I gathered at our appointed meeting time and waited for the men to arrive. By 8 we were on our way to The Big Apple, feel free to insert your own preferred silly New York nickname, and I was on my way to Napville. After being lulled to sleep by the conversation in the front seat I awoke ninety minutes later to find we had actually made it, and no one had yet died. A brilliant start if you ask me!

Patti Smith's first vinyl single, "Hey Joe" and "Piss Factory" on the B-side, produced by Lenny Kaye for Robert Mapplethorpe.

Our first stop was a lovely penthouse apartment filled with amazing art, lots of vinyl records (which just so happens to be my vice of choice, next to shoes), and the obligatory tiny dog. The three of us sat in a much bigger kitchen than any apartment should warrant, discussing the potential buy laid out on the countertop. I quietly observed as large numbers were exchanged along with handshakes; I’d like to assume somewhere in there they decided on the correct amount of oxen and land to barter, but it was early so I can’t be sure. Two hours later and it was time to move along to house call number two, but first, everyone’s favorite game, “Find Somewhere to Leave the Car in New York.”

Our contestants for this round were Tom Congalton with his navigator, Matt Histand, on the smart phone. Suffice it to say cobblestones are not the greatest streets to choose on a busy New York afternoon. Some time later, after an interesting dispute with a parking attendant, we were in a cab en route to the other side of the city and our next house call.

After signing in at the front desk we made our way up the bazillion floors to the apartment of our second client. He poked his head out, motioned for us to come in, and we entered into something that was not comparable to a penthouse. Our host offered the mattress in the middle of the room as seating for young Matthew and myself, which we politely declined. While Tom and Matt looked over the potential buy I gazed around the cluttered apartment, books stacked to the ceiling, VHS tapes, and erotica taped to the walls. If we had had all the time in the world, and stronger stomachs, this could have been an amazing adventure. Alas we did not. Because of that, and the fact that the things that had been set out for us to look at were not the same things that had been offered, we decided to pass, but thanks, keep in touch.

An inscribed Hemingway first edition.

A big part of being a successful bookseller is keeping up the nutrients. Eating is always a must. How can you expect to buy or sell books if you’re constantly experiencing the vapors? So being in a hurry, the three of us scanned the immediate vicinity and noticed that there was a diner within walking distance, also “voted the best diner in NYC,” which is probably the 45^th best in New Jersey. We’re diner folk, it’s what we’re good at, ya know, besides bookselling.

Strength sustained, we went back from whence we had come to pay a visit to Glenn Horowitz, Bookseller. His shop boasted numerous interesting books, including some fascinating Virginia Woolf items, and of course coffee which Matt and Tom were happy about. Me, I don’t touch the stuff. The visit was short, however, because there was one more pressing matter at hand in New York for the staff of Between the Covers.

You may have guessed that I wasn’t just in this for the books. I mean we all know books are great, but I had ulterior motives. There was a record fair, not just any record fair either, but reportedly the biggest record fair in the US. We stood in line with record collectors both young and old, looking for first pressings of the Clash self-titled, both the U.S. edition and the British, toting messenger bags full of bartering material, and the occasional instrument case, possibly holding automatic weapons. Next to our line was a group of cute fashionistas waiting to get into the Yves Saint Laurent sample sale. The crowds weren’t hard to tell apart. I was torn, I must say, but I went with vinyl over designer.

Inside was a Mecca of grooved plastic waiting to be checked for scratches and issue points. Trying not to salivate, I went with Tom and Matt to the booth of Adam Davis, of Division Leap. He was lovely and we briefly discussed Riot Grrrl and some of his punk rock material before I took my leave and pursued the wares surrounding me. Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery.

When Tom and Matt had had enough I begrudgingly said goodbye but not before I purchased Ed Gein’s Car Live at CBGB’s, Bratmobile’s The Real Janelle, The Specials AKA-Live EP, and The Selector Three Minute Hero single. I was happy and not too broke.

Ashley and Matt learning the ropes of bookselling, most notably the importance of food.

Before booksellers can head all the way – almost two hours – back to New Jersey they must, you guessed it, eat more! It is a wonder I don’t weigh a million pounds. So my compatriots and I went to the Union Square Café for steak, libations, and a discussion about the Bob Newhart Show with the waiter, oh and dessert! How could I forget my favorite part of any meal?

The day ended at 10:30 p.m. when we arrived safely back at Between the Covers World Headquarters, in a carefully concealed cave, while I’m sure, Matt made fun of me. I feel like my bookseller bit is strengthened by the fact that I went into the trenches for a day, and hopefully will again soon. Who knows, maybe if I work at it long enough I could even become a legitimate seller, but that remains to be seen.