Muskoka Antiques; Good Shop, Bad Shop; James Joyce, T.S. Eliot and F. Scott Fitzgerald

Yes, We had Ice Storms Back Then As Well; Circa 1890's

The Whole Band Circa 1890's

THOSE UNEXPECTED SITUATIONS THAT POP-UP - THAT KEEP THE ANTIQUE DEALER PEAKED IN CURIOSITY

FUNNY MOMENTS THAT LIGHTEN UP A HEAVY DAY

     DON'T GET ME WRONG. I LOVE BEING THE PROPRIETOR OF AN ANTIQUE SHOP. EVERYTHING I'VE WRITTEN IN THE PAST, ABOUT THE SHOP CULTURE, IS TRUE. I LOVE THE SOCIAL CIRCUMSTANCES. I ENJOY ENCOUNTERS WITH POETS AND SCHOLARS, AND CANDLESTICK MAKERS. THERE ARE HOWEVER, SOME SITUATIONS THAT ARISE, FROM TIME TO TIME, THAT MAKE US WONDER ABOUT THE ATTRACTION OF ANTIQUES TO ECCENTRICS, AND OTHERWISE ODDBALLS. IT'S TRUE, I WOULDN'T WANT TO DEAL WITH A GUY LIKE ME AS A CUSTOMER. I CAN BE VERY DEMANDING, AND I WINK AT THE CUTE SALES STAFF. BUT I AM NOT THE BEST SALES CLERK TO HANDLE THOSE WHO ARE, AS THEY SAY, DIFFICULT BY VIRTUE OF CHARACTER.
     EVERY VETERAN ANTIQUE AND COLLECTABLE DEALER, COULD CONTRIBUTE TWO OR THREE CHAPTERS, JUST ON THE STRANGE OCCURRENCES, THAT HAVE TAKEN PLACE IN THEIR RESPECTIVE SHOPS. FROM CASUAL SIGHTINGS OF GHOSTS AND BANDY-LEGGED WEE BEASTIES, APPEARING AT TIMES, ALOOF IN THE SHOP, TO ODD DUCK CUSTOMERS, WHO SEEM TO HAVE STEPPED OUT OF THE FUNNY PAGES, OR ANOTHER DIMENSION OF TIME AND PLACE. I WON'T SAY THAT I'VE SEEN MORE THAN ANY ONE ELSE, BUT I COULD WRITE A WHOLE BOOK ON THE STRANGE EVENTS AND CIRCUMSTANCES, I HAVE FOUND MYSELF IN, AS AN ANTIQUE SHOP PROPRIETOR. THEY PROBABLY PALE IN COMPARISON TO OTHER TALES OF WOE AND MISADVENTURE, TOLD BY OTHER SHOPKEEPS, ABOUT STRANGE VISITATIONS TO THEIR INNER SANCTUMS. BUT I STILL BELIEVE THERE IS A CURIOUS, UNEXPLAINED ATTRACTION, OF AN ANTIQUE SHOP, THAT BRINGS US SOCIETY'S MOST ECCENTRIC AND UNRESTRAINED.
     One autumn afternoon, a local chap arrived in our basement shop, in Bracebridge, showing signs of intoxication. Suzanne and I knew him from his other exploits, visiting businesses along Manitoba Street. While it was known, by considerable experience, that he was relatively harmless, he did occupy a lot of law enforcement time, officers having to extract him, when he'd worn out his welcome, somewhere or other. In our case, I watched him rummage through the first room in the basement shop, and while he seemed respectful in his conduct, although a little wobbly on his feet, I only got concerned when he grabbed a hold of an old golf club, I had hung on the wall. We had other customers come in, at around the same time, so I had to be concerned about their safety as well as saving my inventory, should he have decided to tee-off. It was a busy afternoon, so we had to work around the counter, unfortunately leaving the young man alone in the small room. After everyone had left, I went to see where our golfer had gone. He had sat down in a big armchair, and fallen asleep with the golf club still in his hands. We had lots of folks coming in and out, and this wasn't a satisfactory situation. I went up the stairs, and out into the driveway, to see if I could find an officer to give me a hand, escorting the man out of the building.
     When I did manage to wave-down a passing officer, he certainly didn't seemed pleased, about having to involve himself in such a menial task. "Why can't you get him out of there yourself," he asked. "Well, for one thing, the guy has a golf club, a lot of booze (or drugs) in him, and I've got lots of customers in the shop....and who knows how he wakes up from these little naps." Another officer showed up, a few minutes later, but his hands on his hims, chortled a bit, and they talked over the strategy for extracting my slumbering guest. I know they were laughing about my situation, but I wasn't going to take any chances, of pissing-off the out-of-place golfer, no matter what they thought of the gutless antique dealer. "Sir, please stand back and let us do our job." Well, the young man seemed pretty upset about having to leave the comfortable chair, and nice digs, he'd enjoyed for forty winks. He didn't leave without the officers helping him from the chair, and then out of the building. They didn't get the golf club back until he was in the front driveway, and the last I saw him, he was stumbling down the street, while elegantly throwing one of Suzanne's hand-knit scarves around his neck. Hey, it was the cost of removal. A small price to pay. I didn't want to strong-arm him out of the shop. He wasn't the first or last intoxicated individual to visit. He was however, the only one to fall asleep in our store, while dreaming, I suppose, of playing the links.
     Another girl came to visit, in roughly the same condition, and asked if we had any old steamer trunks. We pointed to a small hump-back trunk we had just purchased that day, which was still "in the rough," and needed a little bit of work. She immediately began yelling, "It's perfect....it's just perfect for what I need." It was situated close to the counter, and Suzanne and I watched as she opened the lid very slowly, as if she suspected there was something enchanted inside. When she had opened the lid fully, and stepped-up closer, for a good look inside, she began a rather weird dance, hopping up and down, which involved arm movements, as if she was trying to extract something unseen. It was like a dance from the 1960's. The only music was what she was hearing in her head. All we knew, by what she was mumbling, was that she sensed there were (vapor-like) dragons living in that hump-back trunk....which made it all the more fascinating. Eventually it became so disturbing, we had to tell her the trunk was sold to another wizard, and maybe she should check out the second hand shop down the road. She floated out of the shop, as if she was on the back of one of those liberated dragons. We couldn't help but sneak a peak ourselves. Darn it all. Just dust bunnies and bits of paper.
     One afternoon, fairly late in the day, our boys heard someone yelling, that sounded, at first, like the words, "gobble, gobble, gobble," with a shrill voice, over and over, coming from the lobby of our present Gravenhurst shop. It even scared the youngster, in a music lesson (in the studio) with Robert, and the first instinct, we had, was that someone was in medical distress. We all met in the upper hall, to see what was going on, only to find an elderly lady, quite distinctive, elegant, with considerable poise, smiling back at us. She had been making the turkey call, simply to get our attention. Neat eh! Then she told us we had her accordion in our possession, and she wanted it back. Well, we didn't have her accordion, and she was just mixed up, about the shop she had taken it to, for repair. We have had a few other customers, who, for whatever reason, feel it necessary, to blurt out an announcment, that they are officially in the building....and in need of attention. One large gentleman, who visits once a week, comes into the building with a smash of the door, aggressively strums the first guitar he comes to, and then begins singing....., no yelling out, his favorite song, which is usually "Lola". Scares the crap out of us. He also yells a greeting, walks ten feet into the store, then storms out. We know he'll be back. Then we have another bloke we call "The Stair Dweller," because he comes in, stands at the bottom of the stairs, looks for three or four minutes, and then darts out of the building. He bought a guitar off us once, a long time ago, but has never braved those two flights of stairs. We have others who ask the same question each and every time, and when they hear the answer, it's as if they'd never heard it before. These are not people with mental health issues, that we know of.....but there's something about being in company of all this old stuff, that freaks them out.
     One of my funniest encounters, was with a customer, who accidentally broke a vase, having brushed it with her purse on the way down an aisle; and then showed up at the counter, glass in hand, dumping it in front of me in disgust. "I suppose you're going to make me pay for this, even though it was clearly your fault," she blurted, giving me this really angry look. "You shouldn't leave things like that, so close to the edge of the shelves." She'd given me hell for the first two minutes, after confronting me at the counter, not affording any opportunity to slip in a word, edge-wise, as they say. When I found an interval to make comment, she interjected that "I'm going to pay you for it, but you'd better fix up your store, or there's going to be a lot more smashed inventory." I have only been speechless a few times in my life, but this was definitely the most memorable and awkward at the same time. I really didn't know what to say, because I didn't want to start a fight with the woman, who probably thought it would have been better if I hadn't been born....thus removing the temptation for her to have come into my shop in the first place. So I scooped the shards off the counter, into a small box I had set aside for such situations, and told her that there was no charge for the damaged piece. "Well, that's fine, but you should really tidy up your shop. Someone could have been injured you know?" She was still red in the face, which if there had been a mirror, I would have seen mine glowing, by this point, as well. I thought about what Suzanne told me about handling difficult customers, and I just turned away and went about some other more rewarding tasks. Nothing I could have said, would have stopped an angry person from acting out some inner frustration. The piece hadn't been in a high risk setting at all, and it was what you would expect in any such shop, the world over. Still not happy, that I hadn't handed over the keys of the store, or stabbed myself on the spot, she mumbled about never coming back, as she left the building.
     There was a book collector I used to call "Wally the Weasel," because of the way he acted in the shop. He'd arrive, always when I was alone, and from initial greetings, he seemed to be the happiest most contented guy on earth. It lasted like that during the "small-talk" portion of the visit, until that is, he got into my stash of new "old book" arrivals. They guy was a jerk. And I was giving him the benefit of the doubt. He'd start hauling-up books from the back of the shop, and before long, I wouldn't even be able to see over it. This usually happened on a Saturday morning, and the shop would have had several other regular customers. In the summer, it could get quite busy, in the cooler mornings, making the visit of "Wally" very compromising indeed. His strategy, was to befuddle me. He couldn't do it to Suzanne, but because I got annoyed easily, I'd do just about anything to unload him. He would finish his shopping, and ask me what my "best price" was going to be, for the pile of books on the counter. Early in our relationship, I would have written all of the books onto a receipt, and then given him a discount for such a large purchase. He would buy more than twenty books at a time, or more, so yes, in terms of dollars spent, he was a good customer. It's just that he wore me out, trying to beat me down. Depending on my mood, I'd spar with him for awhile, and he'd whine and fuss, and tell me how he could get the same books elsewhere, for a fraction of the cost. It didn't deter him one bit, when I'd retaliate by saying, "Well then, what are you doing here?" I think he just enjoyed the back and forth negotiations, like chess moves, and nine times out of every ten visits, I'd wind-up surrendering a deal just so he would go home. So here's how I'd get even with him. As a huge bibliomaniac, he'd attend every old book sale in the area. We'd arrive as a family, to the same sales, and out-muster him, by three collectors to one. Andrew, Robert and their mother, Suzanne, have been bibliophiles in training for many years, and know how to book-scout for me. We'd thrust ourselves in his face, and dawdle, procrastinate in certain areas, and basically, my team-mates would block for me, while I ran for the touchdown. He'd get so mad, at our crowding strategy, he mumbled one morning, about never coming in to our shop again. It accomplished more than I had hoped for, and honestly, it was worth losing a customer, to maintain my sanity.
     There was another customer who was a champion "price tag flicker." He never once, in all the years I dealt with him, showed up at our store counter, with a price tag attached to anything he wished to purchase. Yet he never denied flicking it off either, before he reached my desk. Suzanne couldn't tolerate his behaviour, so she'd say, "Just a second, and I'll go and find it for you." He was a little sloppy where he left the price sticker, so she could find it every time. He didn't see it as a dastardly deed. He thought he was being cute. The last time I took the bait, was late one Saturday afternoon, after a day of very poor sales. He came to me with a highly collectable, Shell Oil bottle, with lid, that was in perfect condition. "There's no price on the bottle, Ted.....I guess it's free." This was the same anecdote he used every time he arrived at the desk, with something he wanted to purchase. "How much?" He got me at a bad time. Well, let's just say, a good time for him. I needed grocery money. He was probably going to be the last customer of the day. So let's just say, I suggested a price I could live with, and he had the money on the counter with lightning speed. This was odd, because there was always a certain amount of squabbling and re-negotiating, which I came to despise. I suspected something was wrong, but by that point, I couldn't go back on my word. When he left, I went to the shelf where it had been situated, and I found the price tag on the floor directly below the now empty space. Suzanne had priced it for a consignor at fifty dollars. Now although we factor in some wiggle room, to negotiate a fair price, I had sold it to the chap for twenty bucks, just to get rid of him. I was about as angry as I could get, that afternoon, and vowed from that point on, to never allow it to happen again. When he arrived the next time, and did exactly the same thing, as all the other times, I went and looked for the price tag he had flicked off. Did that ever displease him. "I don't care what was on the price tag.....what will you sell it to me for," he asked, as I came back to the counter, with the price tag on the tip of a finger. So it gave me the opportunity I'd been waiting for, to give him an example of a customer's bad behaviour. Of course, he denied flicking off the price tag, from the oil bottle, and became quite indignant about its fifty dollar asking price. "It certainly wasn't worth that." "Well," I said, "It was worth way more than twenty dollars, and I bet when you go to sell it, the price will be tripled." In fact, for the condition of the bottle, sixty dollars wasn't out of the question. He did come back. He just stopped his "flicking" activity. We became good friends after this.
     On another occasion, I happened to get in the middle of a dispute between customers, that I knew nothing about, until that is, I was up to my neck in the crisis. I was selling a consignment piece for a collector, and I was offered an interesting trade from another customer. There was no sacrifice of price, which I had set, not the consignor. I would simply buy the piece, minus the commission, which for us then, was twenty percent; and then attempt to sell the items I had received in the trade. So what was the problem? Well, when I told the consignor, after having handed over the cheque, that I had made a trade with this particular collector, she was so outraged, all that came out of her mouth besides the foam, were nasty slurs and cussing. I had become the scourge of the earth, because I made a trade to someone she didn't like. She couldn't get mad at me for the price I paid, because it was market value. She just didn't want the other person to have acquired it....and I dare say, that she would have been mad, even if a trade hadn't been involved. I've turned away other consignors since, who have told me, in no uncertain terms, not to sell their pieces to specific individuals. This is when I tell them to take their antiques and leave the building. We don't offer selective sales, or screen our customers, deciding what they can and can not purchase. On the other side, we have customers who claim to know who previously owned the piece in question. Recently, a rather burly man stood at my counter, and demanded to know where we got a Coke cooler, we had on display at the back of the shop. Before I could answer, he told me where I had bought it, and for how much. Don't you just love moments like this? He wasn't mad, just adement. I must have bought it from a yard sale he and his wife had in Toronto. "It has the exact same marks as mine did," he said. There is a point, with customers like this, when you just surrender, nod, wink, and shut-up. I wasn't in Toronto. I purchased it from a long time friend in Gravenhurst. I paid way more than he said it had been sold for, and the friend I purchased it from, hadn't been to Toronto in years. Oh, well!
     There was another man, who used to drop-in, who truly believed he was an exceptional salesman. Every time he came in, he would engage me, or Suzanne, in a lengthy debate about some aspect of antiques and collecting, that while interesting, was pointless banter, with no right or wrong answers, even without any sensible wrap-up to our multi-hour investment. There were times, in his counter-side chats, when honest to God, I wanted to climb through some portal under the counter, and liberate myself from this mind-numbing incarceration. No matter how hard I tried to stop him, even feigning sudden illness, this guy wouldn't quit the barrage of questions he'd ask, and then answer himself. He only needed me for when, in his estimation, it was the perfect time for the "pitch" line, which usually came shortly after hour one. He could eat up two hours if he had a lot to sell. When he suspected I was at my most vulnerable, he would suddenly get very spry, and suggest that he had a few things he brought to show me, stored at that moment, in his car parked in front. As a picker myself, in a family of trained pickers, we don't buy much at all, over the counter. So when he'd get to this stage of our one-sided conversation, I still had enough gumption left, to slam down his ambitions like a volleyball hitting the hardwood. He'd look disgruntled, ask me why not, and I'd slam him down one more time. One day he got four of them in a row. Now he doesn't visit. It's true. Maybe one day he would have actually purchased something from our shop. I doubt it though. Even if he had, it would have been at a ration of one hundred to one....meaning I would have had to purchase a hundred items from him, to warrant him making one purchase from me. You'd be shocked to know how many of these folks exist out there, to tantalize us antique dealers with great deals that will make us a fortune. Believe me, we've heard all the sale's pitches, and they can get pretty extravagant. It doesn't take too much willpower to resist these great offers.
     A very nice lady showed up at my counter one day, to return a crystal bowl she claimed to have purchased from us several weeks earlier. We try to be as fair about this as possible, but there are occasions, when someone will try to pull a fast one. Even kindly older ladies, who seem so pleasant and passive. Anyway, it didn't take me too long, to determine, that we had never owned or sold the crystal bowl she was trying to return. She certainly didn't like the fact, I wasn't willing to take her word for it, and her attitude changed in an instant. She was going to call her lawyer if I didn't give her back the thirty dollars she had paid for the bowl. I got suspicious, when I found a receipt in the bottom of the bag from the local Salvation Army. Although it wasn't showing a purchase for this particular bowl, it had been from a bag they had given her at the Thrift Shop. The glass piece had a chip on the top, and even if we had sold the bowl, it would have been for well less than thirty dollars, considering the damage. Basically, she was trying to con us into buying a bowl she had just bought....thinking we would just take her word. When I pointed her out, one day to Suzanne, she recognized her from our shop, but agreed, she had never bought a single item from us. Certainly not a crystal bowl.
     Lots more stories to come.

THE PERSONALITIES AND THE BOOKSELLER - YOU JUST NEVER KNOW WHO MIGHT POP-UP NEXT

GOOD BOOKS, GOOD CONVERSATION, GOOD TIMES - GOOD REASON TO RUN A BOOK SHOP

     "IT WAS ON DECEMBER 7, 1921, THAT VALERY LARBAUD PRESENTED THE IRISH WRITER JAMES JOYCE TO THE AMIS DES LIVRES. (THE BOOKSHOP OWNED BY ADRIENNE MONNIER, IN PARIS, FRANCE.)

     "THAT WAS ONE OF THE MEMORABLE MEETINGS AT OUR HOUSE. THE FIRST FRAGMENTS OF THE TRANSLATION OF 'ULYSSES,' WERE GIVEN A READING THERE AFTER THE WARNING, 'CERTAIN PAGES HAVE AN UNCOMMON BOLDNESS OF EXPRESSION THAT MIGHT QUITE LEGITIMATELY BE SHOCKING' (I QUOTE FROM THE PROSPECTUS). AS AUGUSTINE MOREL HAD NOT YET UNDERTAKEN HIS TRANSLATION, IT WAS JACQUES BENOIST-MECHIN WHO HAD COURAGEOUSLY ATTACKED THESE FIRST FRAGMENTS; AND LEON-PAUL FARGUE HAD BEEN ESPECIALLY CONSULTED FOR THE ADAPTATION OF THE MOST DARING PASSAGES," WROTE ADRIENNE MONNIER, AS TRANSLATED, IN THE BOOK, "THE VERY RICH HOURS OF ADRIENNE MONNIER," PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS OF NEW YORK.

     "JOYCE WAS THEN UNKNOWN TO THE FRENCH PUBLIC. IT WAS NOT HERE, HOWEVER, AT LA MAISON DES AMIS DES LIVRES, NOR WITH VALERY LARBAUD, THAT HE FOUND HIS FIRST WELCOME. A LITTLE WHILE AFTER HIS ARRIVAL FROM TRIESTE, HIS FRIEND THE AMERICAN POET, EZRA POUND HAD TAKEN HIM TO THE HOUSE OF ANDRE SPIRE, WHO HAD RECEIVED HIM WITH HIS CUSTOMARY KINDNESS. IT WAS AT ANDRE SPIRE'S HOUSE THAT SYLVIA AND I MET HIM, IN THE COURSE OF A RECEPTION AT WHICH MANY LITERARY PEOPLE WERE PRESENT," SHE WRITES OF MEETING THE AUTHOR. "I HAD A LITTLE DISCUSSION WITH JUSTIN BENDA; HE MAINTAINED THAT THERE DID NOT EXIST IN FRANCE, FOR THE MOMENT, ANY WRITER CAPABLE OF GREAT FLIGHTS. WHILE WE WERE DELIBERATING, MR. JOYCE, WHO WAS SITTING IN A CORNER, REMAINED SILENT, HIS WINGS FOLDED. SYLVIA BEACH, WHO HAD READ HIS BOOKS AND EVEN THE CHAPTERS OF 'ULYSSES,' THAT APPEARED IN NEW YORK, IN THE 'LITTLE REVIEW, 'AND WHO ADMIRED HIM PASSIONATELY, HAD IN THE COURSE OF THE EVENING SUMMONED UP HER COURAGE TO APPROACH HIM. FOR IT WAS AN EXTREMELY CONGENIAL RECEPTION; SPIRE OFFERED US TEA AND SUPPER AT THE SAME TIME. THERE WAS NO LACK OF TIME TO TALK AND EVEN TO THINK A BIT ABOUT ONE MEANT TO SAY. THIS IS THE WAY THEN, THAT OUR RELATIONS WITH JOYCE BEGAN.

     "WHEN ONE RECOGNIZES THE IMPORTANCE OF THE SYMBOL IN JOYCE'S WORK AND THE CONSTANT CARE THAT HE TAKES TO ESTABLISH MYSTICAL CORRESPONDENCES, ONE IS STRUCT BY THE FACT THAT THE FIRST PERSON WHO RECEIVED HIM IN FRANCE, AND PUT HIM IN CONTACT WITH HIS FUTURE PUBLISHERS, IS A JEWISH POET - FOR JOYCE HAD CREATED IN ULYSSES A GREAT TYPE OF JEWISH HUMANITY, AND HE WAS TO FIND WITH US A PLACE FAVORABLE TO THE APPEARANCE OF HIS WORK AND THE ESTABLISHMENT OF HIS REPUTATION." MONNIER WRITES, "SO, IN 1921, VALERY LARBAUD (WRITER) SPOKE IN MY BOOKSHOP ABOUT JAMES JOYCE, AND ABOVE ALL ABOUT HIS 'ULYSSES,' WHICH HAD NOT YET APPEARED IN BOOK FORM. THIS LECTURE, WHICH WAS PUBLISHED AFTERWARD IN THE 'NOUVELLE REVUE FRANCOISE,' AND WHICH PRESENTLY SERVES AS THE PREFACE TO THE TRANSLATION OF 'DUBLINERS,' IS A UNIQUE ACHIEVEMENT IN THE HISTORY CRITICISM. IT IS CERTAINLY THE FIRST TIME, I BELIEVE, THAT A WORK IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE HAS BEEN STUDIED IN FRANCE, BY A FRENCH WRITER, BEFORE BEING STUDIED IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA. CERTAINLY THE PRESENCE OF JOYCE AMONG US HAD PROVOKED THIS PHENOMENON, BUT IF ONE THINKS ABOUT THE DIFFICULTIES OF A TEXT LIKE ULYSSES, ONE IS ASTOUNDED BY THE TOUR DE FORCE THAT LARBAUD BROUGHT OFF. ALL THE MORE SO BECAUSE HIS STUDY IS AND WILL NO DOUBT REMAIN THE MOST PERFECT, THE MOST UNDERSTANDING ANALYSIS THAT COULD BE MADE OF JOYCE'S WORK. HOW LARBAUD WAS ABLE TO EXTRACT FROM IT A SUBSTANCE SO CLEAR, SO COMPACT, SO PLEASING, IN SO LITTLE TIME AND WITHOUT THE HELP OF AN EARLIER WORK - THIS IS WHAT WILL NEVER CEASE TO AMAZE US."

THE PERKS OF OWNING A FAMOUS BOOK SHOP IN PARIS

     ADRIENNE MONNIER, WRITES OF ANOTHER EXCITING MEETING, THAT WAS CONNECTED TO HER PARIS BOOKSHOP.

     The bookstore proprietor records that, "Upon our arrival in London, Sylvia (Beach, owner of the bookshop, Shakespeare and Co., also in Paris) had telephone T.S. Eliot to ask if it would be possible to pay him a visit. He at once proposed that we come dine with him, which charmed and flattered us very much. In english letters, Eliot enjoys an almost royal prestige - not without giving rise to a certain amount of grumbling. Here, in spite of his Nobel Prize, he is only a poor, translated poet. I do not say this to belittle him: Dante, Shakespeare, and Milton are also poor, translated poets. It is a terrible trial for a poet (spared the musician and the painter) that he must undergo translation if he wants to be read outside of this country. In no case can he emerge from this trial to his advantage; the fruit of his labor is spoiled, he is stripped of his most precious possessions, he becomes like an emigrant, who must start his life over again upon hostile soil, with means that are often uncertain. (Eliott has such a liking for penitence that it is possible that these hardships give him a kind of pleasure.) And that is so whatever talent of the translator may be. A Baudelaire, a Mallarme crown with a halo the foreign poet, whom they strive to transplant among us, but they do not communicate their genius to him - if they wish to remain translators. As Baudelaire says in the notice that precedes his translation of 'The Raven,': In the mold of prose when it is applied to poetry, there is necessarily a frightful imperfection; but the harm would be still greater in rhymed mimicry."

     She writes of the poet that, "On a visit to Paris in 1936, T.S. Eliott gave a poetry reading at Shakespeare and Company. On this occasion we had the pleasure of having him to dinner at our place in the company of (French authors) Gide, Jean Schlumberger, and Francois Valery. In the course of this dinner Gide tried to tear apart the spirit of the Orient completely, and in particular certain works that Eliott, Schlumberger, and I myself said that we liked. The 'Bhagavad-gita,' for example, or Milarepa (I have a very amusing letter from him on the subject of Milarepa). Schlumberger let him speak, then he said to him gently, 'All the same there is one Orient work that you have loved very much,' - and as Gide looked at him with a questioning air, he added, "the Gospels.' Following that I tried rather wickedly to prove that Buddha had had a particular attachment to his disciple Ananda, and that it was after a disappointment in love caused by him, that he had decided to leave the earth."

     In 1928, the author of The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald met with Adrienne Monnier, and there is a picture of the bookshop owner and the writer, in the text of, "The Very Rich Hours of Adrienne Monnier," sitting on the doorstep of Sylvia Beach's "Shakespeare and Company." There are several photographs of T.S. Eliot, and James Joyce, with Adrienne's mother and father. There is a terrific image of Joyce sitting with Beach and Monnier inside Shakespeare and Company, and another wonderful streetscape, where Joyce and Monnier are walking down the Rue de L' Odeon, where the two famous book shops were situated.

     Richard McDougall, translator and author of the book's introduction, offers this insight at the end of Monnier's life. "In the final weeks of her life, Adrienne Monnier had secretly and with great difficulty arranged her personal papers. Her final note which she wrote in May, was found at the head of these after her death. In Monnier's words, "I am penning an end to my days, no longer able to support the noises that have been martyrizing me for eight months, with continuing fatigue and the suffering that I have endured these recent years. I am going to death without fear, knowing that I found a mother on being born here, and that I shall likewise find a mother in the other life."

     "The news of her passing, in France, and abroad, was greeted with reverence, sorrow and love," writes McDougall in his overview of her life. "Alone, Sylvia Beach in her own last years received the honors that go to survivors, the official consecrations that must always seem in spirit to be somewhat at odds with the spirit of obscure beginnings. From March 11 to April 25, 1959, the cultural section of the United States Embassy in Paris, sponsored an exhibition, 'Les Annees Vingt: Les Ecrivains Americains a Paris et leers amis,' (The Twenties; American Writers in Paris and Their Friends') at the headquarters of the American Cultural Center in the Rue du Dragon, near the Pace St. Germain-des-Pres. Because most of the items on display - some six hundred photographs, letters, page proofs, first editions, and the like, belonged to Sylvia Beach and collectively signified her central position in the life of the decade, the show was as much a tribute to her as it was a retrospective survey. In the same year, Harcourt, Brace published her memoirs, 'Shakespeare and Company,' and in June, during the course of a visit to the United States, she received an honorary doctorate of letters from the University of Buffalo, to which she donated material from her Joyce Collection. On June 16, 1962, Bloomsday, the anniversary of the day of which the action of Ulysses takes place, she was in Dublin to participate in the dedication of the Martello Tower, at Sandycove, the setting for the opening of the novel, as a memorial to James Joyce.

     He notes that, "In Paris, Sylvia Beach continued to live in her apartment at 12 Rue de L'Odeon above the premises that Shakespeare and Company had once occupied. Here, On October 6, 1962, she was found dead, apparently of a heart attack, 'kneeling but not brought down,' as the friend who found her said; she had died a day or two before. Her body was cremated at Pere Lachaise cemetery and her ashes were sent to Princeton, where they now rest. Her funeral service, which took place in the chapel of the Columbarium in the cemetery, was attended by crowds of mourners, many of them neighbors in her quarter who knew her not as a literary personality but simply as a friend whose kindness was unfailing. And of Adrienne Monnier herself, what more is there that need or can be said here. Her own life, simple and profound, simple in its purpose, profound in its motives - has the configuration of a heroic legend and even a legend of saintliness. Her simplicity was that of an undivided mind and a whole heart that followed from girlhood on, in the direction of a calling that she seems never to have doubted. We can trace this direction but the act, simple in itself, of describing the outward achievements of her vocation. As for the motives of her 'whose life was so mysteriously moving,' as Katherine Anne Porter has said, those motives that came 'from such depths of feeling and intelligence they were hardly fathomable…..but always to be believed in and loved,' to these her work alone will bear witness. For the rest, all one has attempted has been to give back to Adrienne Monnier, in the words of another language the gift that she gave so fully in the words of her own."

THE FASCINATING FOLKS WE MEET IN RETAIL EVERY DAY

     Ever since I began writing professionally, and retailing antiques and old books, at virtually the same time in my life, (late 1970's), I have needed my sources of inspiration. I have found both occupations profoundly difficult at times, demanding a vigor I sometimes can't muster. I have called upon books, like I have just reviewed, so many times, that my fingerprints and folded-over page tops, indicated all the best locations for seeking out inspirational passages, and chapters, that will help me on either a difficult writing project (that I may not be looking forward to); or having to spend a month or so manning the retail component of our antique business, which for me, is hugely limiting, seeing as I'm usually the official "on the road everyday picker," where I am the happiest to roam freely. I look up at my shelf of poor condition reference books, and other texts I keep for special occasions, of low ambition, and thank all the authors, including Richard McDougall, for his fine work on Adrienne Monnier, which has been my source of joy for many years…….as well as all the other researchers and writers, who without knowing it, have kicked me into place, with a few well chosen words, and insightful revelations, about the milestone achievements of others.

     There is a lot of interesting stuff that happens in an antique shop (that also sells old books), and while I will never have the rich stories, as told by Ms. Monnier, from her Paris bookshop, there are some tidbits of information, and actuality I've experienced, that seem entirely worthy of a little exploration. Connections that I've made with historians, writers, and oh so many fascinating collectors, just because they happened to wander in, to a little shop known as Birch Hollow Antiques. This was my own beginning, and it was fabulous.

     As far as literature goes, and for those reading this blog, who don't know our area of Ontario, Canada very well,……. our Town of Gravenhurst, where we are situated as a main street business, was named in the year 1862, by a Canadian Postal Authority, who moonlighted as a literary critic for publications throughout North America. To name our new post office, he borrowed a name from a book written by British poet / philosopher, William Henry Smith, entitled "Gravenhurst; or Thoughts on Good and Evil." You can archive this, if interested, back to the first of August 2012, where I have written five special feature blogs on our literary provenance, on the occasion of the 150th anniversary of its naming. Our previous antique shop, was located in Bracebridge, ten miles north of Gravenhurst, and that town was named, in 1864, by the same Postal Authority, William Dawson LeSueur, after a book written by American author, Washington Irving, entitled "Bracebridge Hall." Irving was of course famous for his stories, 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," and "Rip Van Winkle." So, while we can't say we entertained James Joyce, T.S. Eliot, F. Scott Fitzgerald or Ezra Pound, we were named after two very astute authors from abroad. Thanks so much for taking the time out of your busy schedule, to sit down with me, for this visit to old Paris, and the shops made famous by Adrienne Monnier and Sylvia Beach. Please visit again soon, as we continue our antique and collecting series of stories to educate, titillate, and always….to entertain.

Muskoka Antiques; Something Wonderful About Friends and Associates In The Old World of Antiques

IT CAN NEVER BE JUST ABOUT THE MONEY - OR THE TITLE OF THE FINAL CHAPTER WILL READ "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?"

MAYBE ONLY A MILLION DOLLARS IN MEMORIES - BUT THAT WILL TIDE YOU OVER

     I DON'T WANT ANYONE TO THINK I WOULDN'T LIKE TO HAVE A MILLION DOLLAR BUSINESS. IT WOULD BE ENORMOUSLY HYPOCRITICAL TO SAY THAT KIND OF THING, CONSIDERING I HAVE SPENT MOST OF MY LIFE HUNTING FOR THE HOLY GRAIL OF ANTIQUES. YOU KNOW, THE MILLION DOLLAR WORK OF ART. OR THE ORIGINAL HENRY MOORE SCULPTURE, FOUND AT A LOCAL ESTATE AUCTION. GEEZ, WHAT GREAT ASPIRATIONS WE HAVE AS ANTIQUE AND OLD BOOK DEALERS. ON OCCASION, IT DOES HAPPEN. SMART DEALERS MAKE SMART ACQUISITIONS. BUT JUST BECAUSE I HAVEN'T MADE MY FIRST MILLION DOLLARS YET, DOESN'T MEAN I HAVEN'T BEEN SUCCESSFUL AT THE ANTIQUE DEALER THING. SINCE I BOUGHT MY FIRST OIL LAMP, AT AN ESTATE AUCTION, IN BRACEBRIDgE, IN AND AROUND THE FALL OF 1974, I'VE LIVED THE LIFE OF AN ANTIQUE DEALER. IT HAS BEEN EXACTLY AS I HAD HOPED FOR, WHEN I STARTED OUT WITH A FEW VINTAGE CHAIRS, AND A COUPLE OF OTHER PRIMITIVE PINE PIECES; HAVING JUST ENOUGH MONEY TO INVEST IN A SHINGLE WITH MY NAME PAINTED ON, TO ADORN THE FRONT DOOR OF A SMALL SHOP ON THE MAIN STREET OF BRACEBRIDGE. THE BEST PART OF THE MULTI-DECADE ADVENTURE, HAS BEEN THE COMPANY SUZANNE AND I HAVE KEPT, AND HONESTLY, IT HAS BEEN THE SINGLE MOST COMPELLING REASON, FOR US TO PLAN OUR RETIREMENT, ON THE NO-FRILLS PLATFORM OF THE ANTIQUE BUSINESS WE CREATED IN 1986. AS MUCH AS IT APPEARS LIKE WORK, IT'S A PAYING HOBBY WITH FRINGE BENEFITS. WHAT'S NOT TO LIKE ABOUT A LIFE AS SUCH. WE DON'T JET OFF TO THE SOUTH SEAS. WE DON'T FEEL WE NEED TO FIND PARADISE WHEN WE ALREADY LIVE IN IT....AND OUR SHOP IS REALLY JUST AN EXTENSION OF OUR HOUSE ANYWAY. BUT THIS WAS THE PLAN, AND WHEN WE TALKED ABOUT IT, THIS MORNING OVER COFFEE, SUZANNE AND I AGREED ABOUT ONE THING ABOVE ALL ELSE; WE LIKE THE SOCIAL SIDE OF THE BUSINESS. WE DON'T THROW LAVISH PARTIES, AND WE DON'T ENTERTAIN AT HOME. THIS PLACE IS DIFFERENT. IT'S ALWAYS AN OPEN HOUSE. I'LL BE SITTING HERE, WORKING ON THE LAP-TOP, AND ALL OF A SUDDEN, SOMEBODY WILL HAVE PLOPPED THEMSELVES DOWN BESIDE ME, AND BEGUN PLAYING ONE OF THE STUDIO GUITARS. WE NOD AT ONE ANOTHER, AND THE SAME SITUATION MAY HAPPEN THREE TIMES THROUGH THE DAY. IT'S KIND OF NEAT. ESPECIALLY IF IT'S ONE OF OUR WELL KNOWN MUSICIAN FRIENDS, AND I RECOGNIZE THE SONG THEY'RE PLAYING....BECAUSE THEY ALSO WROTE IT. THEY TAKE ONE OF SUZANNE'S FRESHLY BAKED COOKIES FROM THE TIN ON THE TABLE, AND CRUNCH THEIR WAY BACK INTO THE HALL. "SEE YOU LATER," THEY YELL BACK AT ME, AND WELL.....IT'S JUST SO MUCH FUN, I PROMISE TO WRITE ABOUT IT SOME DAY.
      WE NEED OUR PROFIT MARGIN, TO PAY RENT AND BUY GROCERIES, AND OF COURSE REPLENISH OUR STOCK; BUT WE LIKE THE FACT WE HAVE SO MANY REGULARS WHO DROP BY FOR A VISIT. THIS IS OUR IDEA OF A SMALL TOWN BUSINESS. A FAMILY BUSINESS, LIKE THE TELEVISION "WALTONS" HAD WITH THEIR MOUNTAIN TOP SAWMILL. WE GET TO KNOW OUR CUSTOMERS INTIMATELY, OR CLOSE TO, AND WE SHARE STORIES AND SIP COFFEE, AND QUITE ENJOY THEIR COMPANY. WHEN I'M ASKED WHY I CHOSE THIS BUSINESS, THERE IS NO SIMPLE ANSWER. BUT I DO KNOW IT REVOLVES AROUND A LOVE FOR HISTORY, AND A FONDNESS FOR NOSTALGIA; SOME OF IT OUR OWN. WHILE ONLY A SMALL PERCENTAGE OF THE POPULATION CARE ABOUT ANTIQUES, A LARGE NUMBER ARE SENTIMENTAL.....AND LIKE THE IDEA OF RECLAIMING SOME OF THEIR PAST FOR THE POSTERITY OF THE FUTURE. THESE ARE ALSO OUR CUSTOMERS. AND DO THEY EVER LOVE TO TALK ABOUT THE PAST.....BUT ON THEIR TERMS. WE LIKE TO LISTEN TO THEIR OPINIONS, BECAUSE THEY OFTEN GIVE US INSIGHTS WE NEED. WE LISTEN TO ALL OUR CUSTOMERS, BECAUSE THEY ARE, AS MUCH, OUR TUTORS. YOU'D BE SURPRISED HOW MANY EXPERTS IN COLLECTING, WE ENTERTAIN HERE IN GRAVENHURST, AND IT'S A FABULOUS WAY TO GET AN ENHANCED EDUCATION AND MAKE MONEY AT THE SAME TIME. A WHILE BACK, I GOT AN HOUR LONG TUTORIAL ON MARBLE COLLECTING. I CONFESS, I ONLY KNEW ABOUT MARBLES, FROM HAVING PLAYED WITH THEM IN THE SCHOOL YARD. THE TUTORIAL WAS FREE.

PULLING YOUR LEG? THAT MIGHT HURT, AND I WOULDN'T DO SUCH A THING

     The difference today, with the popularity of antique malls, (not that there's anything wrong with them), is the reduction  overall, of the traditional "mom and pop" store-fronts, and house-shops, that were the ladder rungs of the profession, since the beginning of re-sale history. Even from the early 1970's, when I began buying my first antiques, part of the fascination was going into these enchanting old shops, and visiting with the keen proprietors....always willing to mentor a fellow collectors. My girlfriend, Gail, and I, used to travel all over Southern Ontario, to find unusual and cluttered antique shops, like the one Charles Dickens wrote about. The more "curious" they appeared, from the outside, the more we wanted to explore. I've only had two ladies in my life, who could tolerate the pursuit of the holy grail. Gail and Suzanne. Gail's father was an admirer of vintage oil lamps, and I got my first taste of coal oil, back then.....something that has been continuous throughout my collecting years. No, I don't mean I drank coal oil. Just kept my lamps filled with it. I will even write these blogs, if I'm at home, that is, with an oil lamp at my side. Gail liked going to auctions, although she hated when I'd buy things, that were too large for her Volkswagon Beetle. "Did you buy that jam cupboard Ted," she'd ask, as I studied the back seat, to see how much wiggle room there was to work with. I once stuffed twelve oil paintings I was given, by an artist friend, into the back seat of her car, and in so doing, ripped a small portion of the ceiling fabric. Gail was scared to death of telling her father, who did all the maintenance on her car. Oh, was I in crap. I did everything she wanted for the next month, and agreed to arrange alternate transportation for anything I purchased, beyond the size and weight of an oil lamp or a crockery jug. I never went to an auction with the idea of buying a dining room set, including buffet (sideboard) and hutch. It just happened. Now, if you happen to be in this profession, or consider yourself a collector....a tad on the obsessive side, you know exactly what I mean. Happenstance has its own chapter in the profession's handbook.
     Suzanne is a good sport, and like Gail, has shown me enormous patience, while I do the antique thing. One day, at an auction held at South Muskoka Memorial Hospital, (to clear out some old stuff from the nurse's residence), I purchased a neat 1960's kitchen cabinet, that stood about eight feet tall. I was driving a Chevette in those days, and although it had a hatchback, there was no way I could safely haul the cupboard home. So I hauled it home unsafely. But I put a red flag on the cupboard, for the three block drive home. Halfway there, Suzanne hit me on the arm, and said she was having problems with her vision. "Does it seem like the car is bouncing up and down," I asked. She nodded. "Well, that's because it is." The cupboard was too heavy and was actually causing the front wheels to leave the tarmac. Oh boy! I'm not proud of this, and it was the last time I ever did anything like this. But it was part of the disease I had, of buying based on bargain prices....not on sensible proportion. The point of this little confessional, is that the way I began in the profession, is not at all like I turned out....thankfully. I stopped worrying so much about making the big scores, at bargain prices, and instead, concentrated on achieving a more balanced approach to buying and selling....and that forced me to deal with the excesses, I assumed would always be part of the lifestyle. The change was hard, and driving past an auction sale, was like turning my head away from a jug of draft, on a hot summer day. But I eventually learned to focus, and I even stopped drinking. So Suzanne has had a lot better relationship with the antique-dealer-me, and we have far fewer fights, and she only throws me out five or six times a month, instead of every other day.
     I can't claim to have the perfect relationship with one of the oldest professions in the world, or that we have the best shop amongst our contemporaries. What we can claim however, is that we've found our level ground, and a workable commonplace, which allows us to pursue antiques and collectables without the associated stresses, of trying to make a million bucks; or sharing the misery of not achieving our goal, because we were dawdling when we should have been hustling. While us old geezers of the profession, can hustle if we need to, there really isn't anything, in a business sense, that causes us too much chagrin these days. We meet together each morning, for our first coffee and cookie, with our boys, who run their music business up front; share some laughs, argue a little bit about hockey or politics, and when it comes time to open the door....we're ready to welcome our mates. When I think back to the final hours of our Bracebridge shop, it was like the last episode of "Cheers," and "MASH." It was then that I finally got the whole picture about what it had all meant. It was only our business, by the simple fact our name was written on the lease, and it had been our mandate to pay the rent. The essence of the business, was as much their investment in us as kindred spirits.
     After we were all loaded up, the lads fastened in the car, Suzanne wiping away her own tears in the passenger seat, I went back for one last look. Sure there had been some long and lonely days; lots of wishful thinking, and discouraging moments, when we'd have to dip into our personal funds to meet rent obligations. But when it came right down to it, gosh, it was revealed to me, in only a few moments of recollection, just how important the social side of the business had been to our whole family. Asgar Thrane coming in with a nice winter coat, his son had grown out of, thinking Andrew could benefit from something a little warmer than what he was wearing. Just about every day we were open, one of our regulars had arrived at the shop, with a chocolate bar for Robert, a coffee for me, but most endearing of all, was their willingness to help out, if that's what I needed most. Brian Milne decided that he had to fix the shop phone for me, to provide some extra reach around the counter. He knew about this kind of thing from his previous technical profession. I just wasn't expecting an extension that would allow me to go upstairs to the bathroom, while still on the phone. We shared a lot of laughs, and talked through a fair number of personal dilemmas, but the mood of the place never changed. We were all embraced by the strange comforts of old stuff. I can't explain this, but maybe you know the feeling. The antiques and collectables had survived through a lot of world history to get to this contemporary stage. So, it was fitting then, that they were just as much a part of the trials of modern life as well. When I turned back, on the way up the stairs, I could swear that I heard the spirits of the old building, offering a hale and hardy, "thanks for the memories," and well sir, it was that last whisper and scent of the shop, that welled up the tears. Our boys had arrived at the store, at a very young age, and had been very much influenced by what went on here....and some of it was pretty remarkable. So if any one was to question where Andrew and Robert got their start in the second hand trade, I'm sure they would proudly rekindle their days spent in the basement digs, of the original Birch Hollow Antiques.
     So as far as becoming millionaires in the antique trade....., we would be hard pressed to become any richer than we   are at present. It's not everyone who gets to work at their hobby and call it a profession.

THE LITERARY ALLURE OF BOOK SHOPS ……A HAVEN FOR BUYERS AND READERS…..A PORTAL FOR CREATORS

MEETING PLACES FOR THE PASSIONATE - A RESPITE FOR THE UNINSPIRED TO REJUVENATE

     I MET ONE OF ONTARIO'S WELL KNOWN OUTDOOR EDUCATORS, AND BOOK COLLECTORS, IN OUR FORMER ANTIQUE SHOP IN BRACEBRIDGE. ACTUALLY, OUR FIRST MEETING, WAS IN THE SHOP PARKING LOT, AND ALL I SAW, AT FIRST GLACE, WERE HIS LEGS AND RATHER LARGE BEHIND, PROTRUDING FROM THE OPEN TRUNK OF OUR CAR. SUZANNE HAD GIVEN MR. BROWN PERMISSION, TO LOOK INTO THE BOXES I HAD JUST DELIVERED TO OUR MANITOBA STREET SHOP. BIBLIOMANIACS AREN'T REALLY WORRIED ABOUT OUTWARD APPEARANCES, AND I SUPPOSE ON THAT DAY, IT WAS JUST FATE AND KARMA ROLLING TOGETHER, TO FORM A DOUGHY, CRAZY KIND OF FRIENDSHIP THAT LASTED FOR QUITE A FEW YEARS…..AND DOZENS UPON DOZENS OF PROFESSIONAL DISAGREEMENTS. IT WAS THE MOMENT WHEN DAVE WOULD DECIDE THE CURRIES WERE THE KIND OF PEOPLE A COLLECTOR SHOULD GET TO KNOW…..ASSOCIATE BOOK LOVERS…..AND I HAD ALREADY ANTICIPATED THAT THIS GUY, BULGING WITH RIPPED SHORTS, FROM THE TRUNK, WASN'T THE KIND OF CHARACTER YOU'D WANT TO DISMISS CASUALLY. SO WHAT ELSE WAS I GOING TO DO BUT BECOME HIS BIOGRAPHER; ALL FOR GOSH SAKES, BECAUSE OF HIS FRIENDLY INTRUSION THAT SUMMER DAY, THE DIRECT RESULT OF OUR MUTUAL INTERESTS IN OLD BOOKS. NON-FICTION OF COURSE. DAVE WOULD GO ON QUITE A TIRADE IF THE DISCUSSION ROLLED AROUND TO LITERATURE. HE ALSO HATED WITH A PASSION, ANY RELIGIOUS BOOKS, AND WARNED ME AGAINST BUYING THEM FOR THEIR ANTIQUARIAN VALUE. THEY APPARENTLY OVER-PRINTED MOST OF THEM, SO RARITY NEVER BECOMES AN ISSUE. HE BELIEVED THE "NOVEL," AND "NOVELISTS" IN GENERAL, WERE ALL THAT WAS WRONG WITH THE WORLD. YET YOU WOULDN'T HAVE DARED TO QUESTION THE WORK OF CHILDRENS' AUTHOR, THORNTON BURGESS, BECAUSE THESE WERE THE KIND OF BOOKS THAT GOT DAVE THROUGH THE DRUDGERY OF CHILDHOOD. DAVE HAD ONE WISH AS A CHILD…….AND IT WAS TO BE AN ADULT.

     THROUGH DAVE BROWN, I BECAME FAMILIAR WITH MANY BIBLIOPHILES, BOOK DEALERS, ANTIQUE COLLECTORS, AND HISTORIANS, LIKE ARCHIVIST AND WRITER, ED PHELPS, AND HUGH MACMILLAN, ONE OF THIS COUNTRY'S REVERED FREE LANCE (FREE RANGE) ARCHIVISTS, WHO HAD SO MANY INCREDIBLE STORIES,…..THAT WELL, HE SIMPLY HAD TO WRITE A BOOK TO CATALOGUE AND VARIFY THEY WERE ALL TRUE ACCOUNTS OF HERITAGE ACQUISITIONS. IT'S ENTITLED "ADVENTURES OF A PAPER SLEUTH," AND MY AUTOGRAPHED COPY SITS ABOVE MY DESK, WHERE HIS PORTRAIT LOOKS DOWN UPON ME EACH AND EVERY BLOG SESSION. OF ALL THE PEOPLE WHO HAVE HAD AN INFLUENCE ON ME, AS BOTH A WRITER, HISTORIAN, AND BOOK SELLER, IT IS CURIOUS THAT EACH, WITHOUT MY KNOWING IT, KNEW AND RESPECTED EACH OTHER. DAVE BROWN KNEW WAYLAND "BUSTER" DREW AND ADMIRED HIS WORK ON THE AUTHORSHIP OF "SUPERIOR; THE HAUNTED SHORE," AND HUGH MACMILLAN WAS GOOD FRIENDS WITH BOTH GENTS, GOING WAY BACK I BELIEVE, TO THE HERITAGE OF BIRCH BARK CANOES; COMPANIONING WITH CANOE AUTHORITY, KIRK WIPPER, AND HIS FORMER CAMP CANDALORE, NEAR DORSET. THESE WERE JUST SOME OF THE MANY CONNECTIONS MADE THROUGH OUR LITTLE ANTIQUE SHOP AND BOOK STORE, FORMERLY ON UPPER MANITOBA STREET, IN BRACEBRIDGE. BY THE WAY, THE NEXT BOOK I WANT TO HIGHLIGHT, WILL BE HUGH'S OUTSTANDING BIOGRAPHY, WHICH WILL GIVE YOU AN ENHANCED OVERVIEW OF "HISTORIC PAPER," IN CANADA…..AND WHY YOU SHOULD HANG ONTO THOSE WAR-TIME LETTERS FROM YOUR RELATIVES.

     AS I HAVE STRESSED, IN THIS SERIES OF BLOGS ABOUT THE ANTIQUE AND COLLECTIBLE BUSINESS, FROM MANY YEARS OF IMMERSION, I BEGAN THE BUSINESS, ORIGINALLY WITH MY FAMILY, AS A MEANS OF PUTTING MY DEGREE IN CANADIAN HISTORY TO WORK. I HAD NO EXPECTATIONS OF MAKING LOTS OF MONEY, AND IN FACT, I KNEW IT WAS GOING TO BE A STRUGGLE TO MAKE A YEAR ROUND BUSINESS WORK IN A SEASONAL ECONOMY. MANY SIMILAR VENTURES HAD, AND CONTINUE TO FAIL, BECAUSE THEY DON'T PREPARE PROPERLY FOR THE DOWNTURN OF BUSINESS, AFTER THE BUSY SUMMER SEASON HERE IN THE ONTARIO HINTERLAND. WHAT I DID KNOW, EARLY ON, WAS THAT I LIKED THE ASSOCIATION WITH OLD THINGS……AND THE OLD THINGS OF CHOICE, WERE ANTIQUES, COLLECTIBLES, AND OF COURSE, OLD AND OUT OF PRINT BOOKS. I LIKED THE LIFESTYLE. I ENJOYED THE SENTIMENTALITY, NOSTALGIA, AND HISTORY OF EACH OUTING, TO VISIT ESTATES AND ANTIQUE SHOPS, AND EVEN AFTER JUST A FEW YEARS HUNTING AND GATHERING, I HAD MET MANY FASCINATING FOLKS CONNECTED TO THE PROFESSION. IN REALITY, IT WAS THE PEOPLE-CONNECTION MOST OF ALL, THAT WAS THE ALLURE OF SPENDING ONE'S LIFE SELLING WHAT OTHER PEOPLE HAD CAST-OFF AS SURPLUS. EVEN TODAY, THE SAME HOLDS, AND IF I WAS DOING THIS ANTIQUE THING, JUST FOR THE MONEY, THERE WOULDN'T BE ANY POINT OPENING LATER THIS MORNING, OR TOMORROW, OR ALL THE DAYS AFTER THAT…..BECAUSE TRUTH IS, VERY FEW ANTIQUE DEALERS BECOME WEALTHY, UNTIL THEY CLOSE UP SHOP, AND HAVE TO INSURE THE LEFTOVERS. THEN ON PAPER, AT LEAST, THEY BECOME WORTH A CONSIDERABLE AMOUNT OF MONEY.

     EVEN NOW, ALTHOUGH I DON'T ADVERTISE THIS AS THE REASON YOU SHOULD VISIT OUR FAMILY SHOP, IT'S THE COLLECTION OF FOLKS, OUR EVER-GROWING CUSTOMER BASE, THAT MAKES OUR DAYS, WEEKS AND MONTHS ENJOYABLE AND INTERESTING. WHILE IT'S CERTAINLY IMPERATIVE TO MAKE RENT, AND A LITTLE PROFIT IN ORDER TO CONTINUE THE SHOP AS A GOING-CONCERN, AS IT WAS IN THE BEGINNING, SO IS IT THE SAME TODAY. EVEN IN THE FIRST YEAR IN THIS NEW LOCATION, IN THE FORMER MUSKOKA THEATRE BUILDING, ON THE MAIN STREET OF GRAVENHURST, WE HAVE BEEN MAKING GREAT PERSONAL CONTACTS, AND ALREADY WE HAVE RECONNECTED TO MANY OF OUR FORMER CUSTOMERS, WHO MADE BIRCH HOLLOW A SORT OF HANG-OUT, SOMEWHAT IN THE SPIRIT OF ADRIENNE MONNIER'S PARIS BOOKSHOP, THAT WE DISCUSSED IN YESTERDAY'S COLUMN. WHILE IT IS NOT THE CASE, THAT WE HAVE WORLD RENOWNED ARTISTS AND AUTHORS DROPPING IN DAILY, TO SIP TEA, AND CONVERSE, WE DO HAVE SOME VERY FASCINATING FOLKS WALKING THROUGH THAT FRONT DOOR, AND OFFERING SUZANNE AND I SOME VERY INTERESTING BIOGRAPHIES AND HISTORIES……BUT THEN THAT'S WHAT OUR BUSINESS IS FAMOUS FOR……AND IT IS ALL HAPPENING HERE IN THIS PLEASANT BURG IN SOUTH MUSKOKA. BUT IT'S NOT SOMETHING YOU ADVERTISE……AS A PLACE TO COME AND SHARE YOUR STORIES……BECAUSE IT ISN'T NECESSARY. IT'S IMPLIED BY THE FACT WE ALSO SELL OLD BOOKS. THERE'S THE STARTER FOR MEANINGFUL DIALOGUE. SO LET'S GO BACK TO WHERE WE LEFT OFF, IN THE FIRST WORLD WAR YEARS, OF PARIS, FRANCE, AND THE BOOKSELLERS AND AUTHORS WHO DEFIED THE TERROR OF CONFLICT, TO INSPIRE THE LIFE AND GROWTH OF LITERATURE……AND THE ONGOING INSPIRATION OF THE AUTHORS WHO HALF-RESIDED THERE, WITH THEIR PROPRIETOR FRIENDS.

THE VERY RICH HOURS OF ADRIENNE MONNIER IN PARIS

     Adrienne Monnier the owner of the bookshop, "La Maison des Amis des Livres, and Sylvia Beach, proprietor of the legendary book store, "Shakespeare and Company," across the road from one another in Paris, France, were champions of literature, in their own country, and abroad. They were considered kindred spirits to well accomplished authors, and their shops were havens to escape the burdens of two wars and the Great Depression. They housed, encouraged, supported, financed, and promoted the writers they came to know, and they provided sustenance, to those who were rich in accomplishment but low on funds, and shared the meagre provisions they had, with those who would help them build their respective businesses; by offering their newly published books for the collection. There is an overview that was written by Adrienne Monnier, about the nature and intent of her business enterprise, and it is so eloquently and effectively written, that it summarizes what most of us, who sell old and new books every day, feel about the shop atmosphere, and the importance of offering books to "the eager and the passionate amongst us." Now in her words:

     "We founded La Maison des Amis des Livres with faith; each one of its details seems to us to correspond to a feeling, to a thought. Business, for us, has a moving and profound meaning," Monnier writes. The description of the business, translated from French, is included in the text produced by Richard McDougall, entitled "The Very Rich Hours of Adrienne Monnier," published by Charles Scribner's Sons, of New York, in 1976.

     "A shop seems to us to be a true magic chamber; at that instant when the passer-by crosses the threshold of the door that everyone can open, when he penetrates into that apparently impersonal place, nothing disguises the look of his face, the tone of his words; he accomplishes with a feeling of complete freedom an act that he believes to be without unforeseen consequences; there is a perfect correspondence between his external attitude and his profound self, and if we know how to observe him at that instant when he is only a stranger, we are able not and forever, to know him in his truth; he reveals all the good will with which he is endowed, that is to say, the degree to which he is accessible to the world, what he can give and receive, the exact rapport that exists between himself and other men." Mennier notes that, "This immediate and intuitive understanding, this private fixing of the soul, how easy they are in a shop, a place of transition between street and house! And what discoveries are possible in a bookshop, through which inevitably pass, amid the innumerable passers-by, the Pleiades, those among us who already seem a bit to be 'great blue persons,' and who, with a smile, give the justification for what we call our best hopes. Selling books, that seems to some people as banal as selling any sort of object or commodity, and based upon the same routine tradition that demands of the seller and the buyer only the gesture of exchanging money against the merchandise, a gesture that is accompanied generally, by a few phrases of politeness.

     "We think, first of all, that the faith we put into selling books can be put into all daily acts, one can carry on no matter what business, no matter what profession, with a satisfaction that at certain moments has a real lyricism. The human being who is perfectly adapted to his function, and who works in harmony with others, experiences a fullness of feeling that easily becomes exaltation when his is in rapport with people situated upon the same level of life as himself; once he can communicate and cause what he experiences to be felt, he is multiplied, he rises above himself and strives to be as much of a poet as he can; that elevation, that tenderness, is it not the state of grace in which everything is illuminated by an eternal meaning? But if every conscious person can be exalted upon his every thought of gain and work that is based upon books, have loved them with rapture and have believed in the infinite power of the most beautiful."

     The bookshop owner reports that, "Some mornings alone in our bookshop, surrounded only be books arranged in their cases, we have remained contemplating them for moments on end. After a moment our eyes, fixed upon them, saw only the vertical and oblique lines marking the edges of their backs, discreet lines set against the gray wall like the straight strokes drawn by the hand of a child. Before this elementary appearance that is charged with a should made up of all ideas and all images, we were pierced through by an emotion so powerful that it sometimes seemed to us that to write, to express our thoughts, would solace us; but at the moment when our hand sought for pen and paper - somebody entered, other people came afterward, and the faces of the day absorbed the great ardor of the morning. We have often felt that 'all grace of labor, and all honor, and genius,' as Claudel says in 'La Ville (The City),' were granted to us; in that work there are many other words besides that seem written for us, and we can say with Lala….'As gold is the sign of merchandise, merchandise is also a sign…..Of the need that summons it, of the effort that creates it,……And what you call exchange I call communion'."

     "When we found our house (shop) in November 1915, we had no business experience whatsoever, we did not even know bookkeeping, and along with that we were so afraid of passing for paltry tradespeople, that we pretended without end, to neglect our own interests, which was childishness besides," records Monnier. "It is ordinarily believed that life extinguishes enthusiasm, disappoints dreams, distorts first conceptions, and realizes a bit at random what has been offered to it. Neveretheless, we can declare that at the beginning of our undertaking, our faith and our enthusiasm were much less great than they are today. Our first idea was very modest; we sought only to start off a bookshop and a reading room devoted above all to modern works. We had very little money, and it was that detail that drove us to specialize in modern literature; if we had had a lot of money, it is certain that we would have wanted to buy everything that existed in respect to printed works and to realize a kind of National Library; we were convinced that the public demands a great quantity of books above all, and we thought that we had much audacity in daring to establish ourselves with hardly three thousand volumes, when some reading-room catalogs announced twenty-thousand volumes, fifty thousand, and even a hundred thousand of them! Truth is that only one of our walls was furnished with books; the others were decorated with pictures, with a large old desk; and with a chest of drawers in which we kept wrapping paper, string, and everything we did not know where to put; our chairs were old chairs from the country that we still have. This bookshop hardly had the look of a shop, and that was not on purpose; we were far from suspecting that people would congratulate us so much in the future for what seemed to us an unfortunate makeshift. We counted upon our first profits to increase our stock without end. These first profits were above all based upon the sale of new and secondhand books, for we did not dare to hope to find subscribers to our reading room until after several months."

     She suggests, "One of the great problems of our commercial beginnings was the construction of an outside display stand for the secondhand sale. This operation required our presence for more than five minutes, during which we were exposed to the looks of the passers-by; we had to carry outside the trestles, the case, then the books and the reviews, which were old things that had come for the most part from family libraries. The first time that we made that display we were aroused to the point of anxiety, and when the last pile had been arranged, we escaped hurriedly into the back room of the shop, just as if we had played a bad trick on the passers-by; we looked through a gap in the curtain at what was for us an extraordinary spectacle, the formation of a little group in front of the books; the faces that appeared behind the shop window sometimes made us burst out laughing, sometimes shiver with apprehensions; if those people were to come in, address words to us! And here was an old lady who took a volume from the display and prepared herself to accomplish that grave act of becoming our first purchaser; one of us decided to emerge from the back room and stammered a ceremonious good day to the lady, who, with a very natural manner, showed what she had chosen - it was Henry Greville's 'L'Avenir d' Aline (The Future of Aline)' marked at seventy-five centimes; she had the kindness not to haggle; if she had haggled the situation would have become painful; we would have been torn between the temptation to give her the volume so that the deal might be more quickly settled and the duty of maintaining our really very modest price to show her that we were serious booksellers who did not charge too much. It was necessary all the same to wrap the book, tie it up with string, take the money, give the change out of a franc; thank effusively. That old lady, at last perceived the extraordinary emotion that she was provoking; she went away more troubled than she wished to let it appear and did not come back."

     I will make another return visit to see Adrienne Monnier, in tomorrow's blog, and I would like to highlight some of the meetings she and Sylvia Beach had with famous writers like F. Scott Fitzgerald, T.S. Eliott, and James Joyce. It's enough to make you want to open your own bookshop.

     There are times these days, when it seems the printed hard copy book is on the way out, so to speak. I am a loyalist, who while embracing the advances of technology, will never, ever, abandon a real book for an electronic device that claims to be its equal. Like a real Christmas tree…..there's a beautiful aroma of print, paper and binding, that just doesn't emit from an electronic device. My favorite book related movie, of course, was "84 Charing Cross," and to be in the book shop that was depicted in that movie……the dream of dreams. To be the proprietor of a shop of that calibre……well, a fellow can ponder the possibility…..can't he? Hope you can find some time to visit again tomorrow, as we make another visit to La Maison des Amis des Livres, in Paris, via the words of shop owner, Adrienne Monnier.

     Thanks for showing your support for book sellers, antique dealers, collectors and all the others, who love history and all the wonderful relics it leaves behind to cheerfully hunt and gather. Books? Just the tip of the proverbial iceberg? There's just so darn much to collect.

Muskoka Antiques; The Gathering of Friends At The Old Bookshop

January in Muskoka by Richard Karon

THE CROWD OF FRIENDS AND CUSTOMERS WHO MAKE THE SHOP EXPERIENCE SOCIAL AND CULTURAL

THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT OLD STUFF THAT INSPIRES CONVERSATION AND DEBATE

     FOR SOME OF THE READERS, WHO HAVE JUST RECENTLY JOINED THIS BLOG-SITE, I PLAN ON RE-RUNNING A MULIT-PART SERIES, FROM A YEAR AGO, ABOUT TWO HISTORIC BOOKSHOPS IN PARIS, FRANCE, THAT OPERATED FROM THE EARLY 1900'S. THEY REPRESENT A CORNERSTONE OF THE WORLD'S LITERARY HERITAGE, YET THEY WERE SIMPLY APPOINTED, TO MEET THE BASIC AND "SPECIALTY" BOOK NEEDS OF READERS. INCLUDED IN THOSE READERS, HOWEVER, WERE SOME OF THE MOST REVERED AUTHORS IN EUROPE, AT THE TIME, AND STILL THE NAME JAMES JOYCE REVERBERATES AMONGST THE STUDENTS OF LITERATURE. HE WAS JUST ONE OF THE MANY IMPORTANT AND CURIOUS GUESTS, WHO HAUNTED THESE STORIED BOOKSHOPS.

     From our first antique shop, in Bracebridge, back in the 1990's, to the present store-front here in Gravenhurst, we have always been enthralled by the folks who have found them safe havens; places to pass the time, browse, and engage us in interesting conversation. In Bracebridge, on winter days like this, full of snow and bluster, I used to enjoy it so much, when some of my cronies would drop by for a visit in the afternoon. Asgar Thrane would even bring me soup, and Jack Kiernan would grab me a coffee. Brian Milne would come in and see if I had broken anything, so he could repair it, and Dick Ivy would engage us all in a tutorial on the Second World War. I can't compare this to the two historic bookshops mentioned above, but in a small town sense, it was remarkable for what it produced in discovery. Each of us had our layers of experience, and when we got deep in discussion, it was all pretty insightful amidst the relics of the past.....that being of course, the antique collection in the background. What would happen then, over the course of the afternoon, was that other customers would wander in, for a gad-about, and inevitably add their opinions and experience to the mix...and that might have included historians, authors, collectors, artists, politicians, house mothers and fathers, candlestick makers and all kinds of trades folk, who also dabbled in antiques and collectables. I can remember one day, having a store full of customers and hangers-on, while there was a blizzard blowing outside, and you know, it was just one of those contenting moments that made me quite happy, to be the proprietor of such a happening place. No one really wanted to go out in the storm, so we just had a really big conversation, about all kinds of things, including debates on local and national politics, and of course, about the horrible weather. I think I even sold a few pieces as well. On a day like this, I was just happy to have some company. I was seldom alone in that former shop, and it was almost impossible to get complacent. Then one of my pickers, would pick that time of day and year, to deliver a truck-full of antiques. My guests would help with the load-in. They'd run the shop if I had to step out. Brian Milne would go over to Bracebridge Public School, to pick up Andrew and Robert; or help me with a delivery. Great folks I couldn't have done without. I have a new crew these days, but they are just as willing to help out, as that old gang of mine.
     Today, in random, exciting, insightful conversation, it's just about the same; although sadly, I don't get many from those days of the mid-1990's, and I'm sorry to say, a few have passed away. But we operate on pretty much the same standard, and that includes the interest in what our patrons have to say. Now that our antique business, has come to companion with Andrew and Robert's Vintage Music business, (which always seems to be crowded with friends and neighbors), we seldom have to worry about the sound of silence driving us nuts. It is that "place out of the cold," and we quite enjoy having some good company. The antique business has always attracted story-spinners and folklorists, and we can match anything we hear, with stories from our own years of antique adventures, motoring all over this region. We like talking about regional history, and always enjoy discussing antiques and collectables. The conversations however, often stray far beyond what we might predict, when we welcome you to the shop. It's all very spontaneous, and what we call, socially-cultural. We could write a book about it, but hey, these conversations are in-house and private. Well, sort of, because inevitably, before one debate is finished, another one as started, and before long, we might have five or six different participants. It's all very casual and homespun, and no one has to be an expert, to cast an opinion.
     As we continue to develop the vintage and out-of-print portion of our Gravenhurst business, we expect to entertain a more scholarly grouping, as we did in our Bracebridge shop, particularly because we had a large regional heritage selection...and the fact I was using the shop as my writing studio as well. I used to conduct interviews for historical features, for my regular column, published in a weekend paper, known then as "The Muskoka Advance," and I wrote manuscripts for four books in between customers. I had a lot more time between customers in the winter months obviously. I'm doing much the same here in Gravenhurst, although to this point, we have been low-key on the Muskoka component of our books and historic paper. It's not that I don't have it, because I've got boxes full. Truth is, we've just been trying to work our way into the routine of running a shop again, after an 18 year hiatus. From doing antique shows and sales, and selling vintage wares online, back to a shop, has taken a little getting used to....especially finding inventory to satisfy a very general audience. In the past few decades, we've concentrated on books and ephemera, versus furnishings, for more convenient shipping and handling for our online buyers. We've had to re-write our game plan a couple of times already, because we're a little rusty guageing the demands of the walk-in trade. But one thing has stayed the same, wherever our shop has been located; and that's the audience of folks who like to shop, but also enjoy some old fashioned conversation. It's always interesting to hear the diverse opinions and information being exchanged, from one side of the counter to the other, and I can't tell you how charming it is, to be handed a hot cup of coffee, someone has brought for us; or a box of cookies to share with our customers. I don't think of it as a meeting place, but I would never object to anyone saying it was.....because of what they experienced here, during their visit.
     In my own years as an antique shop clerk, I have talked with well known and accomplished writers, historians, bibliophiles of note, actors, musicians, hockey players and antique dealers who by the way, literally wrote the book. I've had these authors take pictures of items in our collection, to be included in their guidebooks. Now that's always flattering. I can't reveal these people, because their privacy is guaranteed when they shop here. It hasn't stopped me from asking for autographs, at the end of our conversation or transaction, and I've never had one of these folks, reject my request. If the conversation gets comfortable enough, I usually congratulate them on their television and movie work, or let them know I either have their book, or their record, of which I have garnered much pleasure. I have been given informal lectures by Canadian historians, who happened to drop in, and tutorials from major art dealers and book collectors, who enjoyed the opportunity to share information. I've talked with hundreds of artists and crafters, some with legendary reputations in their field, and have occasionally chatted, with clenched jaw, to political candidates stumping prior to an election. You see, we've got a store full of conversation-starters, and the same goes for our lads, up front in the shop. We'd be awfully disappointed if our collection didn't inspire some dialogue; along with the opportunity to handle the artifacts, play the guitars and banjos, and pound on the drums. It's all part of the daily mosaic, that is the life of an antique shop attendant.
     It isn't a fair comparison, to offer our antique shop, as a parallel to the two books shops you will read about in today's blog. We hardly fall into the social, cultural, literary league of these internationally known book shops. Yet even as a smattering of similarity, we do share the good graces, of being a gathering place for the exchange of ideas, a platform for the expression of opinion, and a modest stage, to address issues, past, present and future. There is no demand, placed upon the visitor, to converse with fervor, or is there any requirement for accuracy, when spinning a story for our benefit. It is our pleasure, to have guests, who feel so comfortable within, that they adopt the casual approach, and plop themselves down on one of our couches. We are better, for having shared with others. We hope our guests feel the same upon leaving; not thinking we have been too judgmental or too forward.
     There's something inspiring about such informal meetings, in the midst of our collected history, that over-rides the negatives and deficits of everyday labours and frustrations. If you would rather just browse, and enjoy the solitude...with a side of Mozart, then we hope you will feel free to ignore those of us, who have initiated a friendly debate about municipal taxes; or about the price of groceries. We're not locked on history or literature, for something to talk about. We're free range debaters.
     I hope you will enjoy the next few editions of this blog, featuring some insights about these two well known book shops.....as much a part of literature, as the books they had on their shelves.

THE OLD BOOKSHOP AS A MEETING PLACE OF AUTHORS, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIANS, POETS AND PHILOSOPHERS

THE REAL HAUNTED BOOK SHOP, AND PLEASANTLY SO……

     AS A MATTER OF CURIOSITY, AS IT DOES RELATE SOMEWHAT TO THIS BLOG, AN ARTICLE PUBLISHED IN THE TORONTO STAR TODAY, JANUARY 31ST, ENTITLED "FINNEGANS WAKE SELLS OUT IN CHINA," SEEMED WORTH INCLUDING, IF JUST A MENTION. IT SEEMS IRISH WRITER JAMES JOYCE, IS STILL POPULAR AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, ESPECIALLY SO IN CHINA. IT WAS THE FIRST CHINESE TRANSLATION, AND 8,000 COPIES WERE SOLD. ISN'T IT GREAT TO KNOW THAT WE STILL HAVE RESPECT FOR BOOKS AND GREAT AUTHORS…..DESPITE THE FACT, A STORY IN THE STAR EARLIER IN THE WEEK, WAS DEALING WITH BOOKS AS "DECORATOR ITEMS," IN THIS MODERN ERA OF ELECTRONIC READERS…..BUT BIG INTEREST IN MAKING THE DIGS LOOK GREAT. SO READING THIS STORY ABOUT JOYCE TODAY, WARMS A BIBLIOPHILE'S HEART. EVEN THOUGH I'M NOT MUCH FOR FICTION, I STILL HAVE A SOFT SPOT FOR THE CLASSICS, AND THE MOST REVERED AUTHORS IN HISTORY, OF WHICH JOYCE IS WELL UP THERE. THE BLOG TODAY WILL PUT JAMES JOYCE, BACK QUITE A FEW DECADES, AT TWO VERY IMPORTANT BOOKSHOPS IN PARIS, FRANCE……ONE OF THE TWO SHOPS, WHICH ACTUALLY FINANCED PRINTING COSTS OF "ULLYSES," ANOTHER OF JOYCE'S WORKS

     MY HARDCOVER COPY OF "THE VERY RICH HOURS OF ADRIENNE MONNIER," THE TRANSLATED ENGLISH COPY (ORIGINAL IN FRENCH) BY RICHARD MCDOUGALL, IS PRETTY BEAT-UP AND THE DUSTJACKET IS TORN TO SHREDS, BUT IT IS ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT REFERENCE BOOKS I OWN. IT IS THE BOOK, PUBLISHED IN 1976, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, NEW YORK, THAT I ROUTINELY CALL UPON WHEN I START QUESTIONING MY RELATIONSHIP WITH OLD BOOKS AND WELL, THE OLD WAYS OF PACKAGED PRINT. THE BOOK JACKET, SHOWING A CASUAL ADRIENE MONNIER, AT HER DINING TABLE, IS, AS IT CLAIMS, A BIOGRAPHY OFFERING "AN INTIMATE PORTRAIT OF THE LITERARY AND ARTISTIC LIFE IN PARIS BETWEEN THE WARS."

     IT IS ANOTHER BIOGRAPHY EVERY BOOKSELLER SHOULD OWN, AND HOLD CLOSE, AS IT OFFERS SO MUCH INSPIRATION, WHETHER YOU ARE A MAJOR SELLER, OR JUST A HOBBYIST WITH A BOOTH IN AN ANTIQUE MALL. IT'S THE PROFESSION THAT IS SO WONDERFULLY ADDRESSED IN THIS BIOGRAPHY. IT'S THE COMPANY THAT MISS MONNIER KEPT, THAT IS WHAT COMPELS ME TO COME BACK TO THE BOOK, TIME AND AGAIN; AND WHAT INSPIRES ME TO NEVER TAKE A DAY FOR GRANTED IN THE ANTIQUE BUSINESS. I LOOK UP EAGERLY, FROM BEHIND OUR SHOP COUNTER, WHENEVER THE DOOR OPENS, AND ANOTHER INTERESTING SOUL WANDERS INTO OUR COLLECTION OF BOOKS, AND EVERYTHING ELSE THAT KEEPS AN ANTIQUE DEALER IN BUSINESS. WHILE I'M A MILLION MILES FROM THE CALIBRE OF THE PARIS BOOKSELLERs, AND MY GUESTS HAVEN'T BEEN INTERNATIONALLY ACCLAIMED AUTHORS, OR SO I SUSPECT, I HAVE NONE THE LESS, MET SOME FABULOUSLY INTERESTING FOLKS…..AND THE BOOK BUSINESS IN PARTICULAR, IS FAMOUS FOR THIS. BUT IF I COULD TIME TRAVEL, FOLKS, I'D WANT TO BE IN EITHER OF THESE HISTORIC BOOK SHOPS, WITH MY HAND OUTSTRETCHED, AS A VOLUNTEER GREETER, BECAUSE THEY HAD SUCH A FABULOUS ALLURE EVEN THEN…..FOR SOME OF THE GREATEST WRITERS IN HISTORY. SO LET'S NOT BEAT ABOUT THE BUSH ANY LONGER. WE'LL CATCH A TIME WARP FOR A LITTLE VISIT OF OUR OWN…..TO PARIS, FRANCE AT AROUND 1915.

     "ADRIENNE MONNIER WAS THE OWNER OF THE BOOKSHOP, LA MAISON DES AMIS LIVRES, IN PARIS, A CENTER FOR THE BEST CONTEMPORARY FRENCH WRITING AND FOR ITS AUTHORS; ANDREW BRETON, GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE, JULES ROMAINS, ADRE GIDE. THROUGH HER FRIEND SYLVIA BEACH, WHOSE SHAKESPEARE AND COMPANY WAS JUST ACROSS THE STREET, SHE BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH HEMINGWAY, FITZGERALD AND OTHER AMERICANS IN PARIS. ABOUT THE WORK AND LIVES OF THE WRITERS OF THE PAST AS WELL, SHE WROTE WITH GRACE AND THE INSIGHT OF ONE WHO WAS PERFECTLY AT HOME IN LITERATURE. THE THEATRE HAD FOR HER AN ALMOST MAGIC CHARM (SHE REMEMBERS MAETERLINCK, DE MAX, AND BERNHARDT), AS DID THE CIRCUS, THE FOLIES-BERGERE, AND ALL THE SPECTACLES OF PARIS. SHE PUBLISHED PAUL VALERY, SPONSORED JAMES JOYCE IN FRANCE, AND PAID T.S. ELIOT A RETURN VISIT TO LONDON, SHE REMAINED VERY MUCH A COUNTRY PERSON, SURE OF HER ROOTS IN SAVOY WHERE EVERY SUMMER WITH SYLVIA BEACH, SHE RETURNED. HER CHRONICLE FAITHFULLY ILLUMINATES AN ERA."

     IN THE INTRODUCTION, AS WRITTEN BY RICHARD MCDOUGALL, HE WRITES, "BUT WE ARE CONCERNED WITH A MUCH LATER ERA, ONE THAT BEGAN IN THE SECOND YEAR OF WORLD WAR I, IN NOVEMBER, 1915, WHEN AS A YOUNG WOMAN OF TWENTY-THREE, ADRIENNE MONNIER, THE FOUNDER AND CHRONICLER OF ODEONIA, THE NAME IS HER OWN INVENTION, OPENED HER BOOKSHOP, LATER TO BE CALLED LA MAISON DES AMIS DES LIVRES, AT NUMBER 7 RUE DE L'ODIEN, ON THE LEFT SIDE OF THE STREET GOING UP TOWARD THE PLACE DE L'ODEON. 'BUILT IN A TIME OF DESTRUCTION,' AS SHE SAYS IN HER ARTICLE THAT TAKES ITS NAME, THE BOOKSHOP, THROUGH WHAT COULD ONLY HAVE BEEN THE SHEER COURAGE AND INTELLIGENCE OF ITS OWNER, ENDURED THROUGH THE WAR AS ONE OF THE FEW INTELLECTUAL CENTERS OF THE BESIEGED CITY, A PLACE WHERE WRITERS, SOME OF THEM, LIKE ANDRE BRETON AND GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE, IN UNIFORM - COULD GATHER AND, AT MEETINGS, ARRANGED BY ADRIENNE MONNIER, READ FROM THEIR OWN WORKS. AND IT WAS HERE ONE DAY TOWARD THE END OF THE WAR, THAT SHE WAS PROVIDENTIALLY VISITED BY THE AMERICAN, SYLVIA BEACH, WHO WITH MONNIER'S ENCOURAGEMENT FOUNDED HER ENGLISH-LANGUAGE BOOKSHOP, SHAKESPEARE AND COMPANY IN 1919 - ANOTHER SIGNIFICANT DATE IN THE HISTORY OF ODEONIA - AT 8 RUE DUPUYTREN, JUST AROUND THE CORNER FROM ADRIENNE MONNIER.

     "IN THE SUMMER OF 1921, WHEN THE TWO WOMEN WERE ALREADY CLOSE FRIENDS, WHEN SYLVIA BEACH HAD ALREADY UNDERTAKEN THE PUBLISHING OF JAMES JOYCE'S ULYSSES, THE PROUDEST ADVENTURE OF HER CAREER, SHAKESPEARE AND COMPANY MOVED TO NUMBER 12 RUE DE L'ODEON, ACROSS THE STREET FROM LA MAISON DES AMIS DES LIVRES. THE MOVE WAS AS SYMBOLIC AS IT WAS PRACTICAL, FOR THE CLOSENESS OF THE TWO SHOPS WAS TO STAND FOR AS WELL, AS TO FURTHER CONTACTS BETWEEN THE FRENCH WRITERS WHO FREQUENTED ADRIENNE MONNIER AND THE ENGLISH SPEAKING PATRONS OF SYLVIA BEACH; IT REPRESENTED AS WELL THE ENDURING FRIENDSHIP BETWEEN THE TWO WOMEN AND CONSOLIDATED THE PHYSICAL REGION OF THAT COUNTRY OF THE SPIRIT."

AN OVERVIEW OF RUE DE L'ODEON THROUGH THE EYES OF JUSTIN O'BRIEN

     THE BOOK CONTAINS AN OVERVIEW SECTION, WRITTEN BY JUSTIN O'BRIEN, "THE SCHOLAR AND TRANSLATOR OF FRENCH LITERATURE. ALTHOUGH HE WAS RELATIVELY A LATECOMER TO THE STREET, HIS IMPRESSIONS HOLD TRUE FOR THE ENTIRE PERIOD BETWEEN THE TWO WARS," WRITES RICHARD MCDOUGALL. THE ARTICLE BY O'BRIEN WAS PUBLISHED IN JANUARY 1956, IN THE MERCURE DE FRANCE, AND WAS WRITTEN IN HOMAGE TO ADRIENNE MONIER:

     "For the young American in the thirties, the Rue de l'Odeon was the intellectual centre of Paris. On the right side going up the street, he stopped first before the narrow shop window of Shakespeare and Company, which was filled with books in his language, but most often in editions that he had not encountered anywhere else. The volumes by T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, Virginia Woolf stood near limited Parisian editions and the enormous paperbound 'Ulysses'….Almost opposite Shakespeare and Company, La Maison de Amis des Liveres, perhaps even more attractive for him who had everything to know about the French domain, revealed to him the latest Gide, the latest Valery, the latest Fargue, along with the avant-garde reviews and books thirty, or fifty years old, but for him absolutely new.

     "From time to time, entering one or the other of those welcoming houses, he could see up close - what he used to dream about in New York - some of this gods. James Joyce in dark glasses and with a light-colored moustache, Gide arrayed in his flowing cape, Cocteau with his prestidigitator's hands. Even those whom he did not see there were present, thanks to the fascinating pictures hung on the walls."

     O'Brien writes, "Le Maison des Amis des Liveres, was well named, for Adrienne Monnier received there with an equal goodwill all those who really loved books. There was only, in the matter of hierarchy, those who knew from farm back, the mistress of that salon covered with books and with who she conversed at length, sitting in front of a big table spread with papers. From the day when she invited the young American to take a place near her, between the table and the stove, her rosy race with its mauve-blue eyes became the symbol of that friendly house. Those conversations by fits and starts, in the course of which Adrienne Monnier informed herself about his readings and suggested others to him with that so communicative enthusiasm, of which she had the secret, were precious initiation for him to all the best that modern literature offers."

     In the same issue of the mercer de France, German writer, Siegfried Kracauer, noted of Adrienne Monnier, that " She listened more than she spoke and looked at you often, attentive, before answering or drawing your attention to an idea that had come into her mind while she was listening. Her eyes, were they blue?  I know only that her look came from a depth that seemed to me to be not easily accessible. The brightness of her outer aspect, of the room, and even of her voice, was not an ordinary brightness, but the covering of the form of an inner self that was lost in the shadows. Perhaps it was this interference of a foreground and a background, of a luminous exterior and a secret spiritual ground that thus drew me to her.

     "I made myself a precise image of her. The character trait to which my veneration and my love went out, it remains forever engraved in my heart - was that mixture of rusticity and aristocracy that Proust never wearied of praising in the old Francoise and the Duchesse de Guermantes. Around these characters there is still the good smell of French soil, and as they personify in their bearing and their language, centuries of ancestral traditions, how would it be possible that they were not of an authentic distinction. It is thus that I see Adrienne Monnier before me."

     We will return to Le Maison des Amis des Livres, and both Sylvia Beach and Adrienne Monnier again tomorrow…..two bookshops that extend well beyond the definition of legend. Thanks for joining me today for this little bookshop adventure. Much more to come in future blogs.