My Changing Bibliophile Ways, No Longer Buying Books By The Dump Truck Load; Two Paris Book Shops Visited By James Joyce Part 1

BOOKS BY SENSIBLE PROPORTION - NO LONGER BY THE TRUCK FULL

IT'S MUCH MORE ENJOYABLE HUNTING BOOKS ONE AT A TIME

     To start today's editorial offering, I just wanted to attach one deeply etched explanation (to this blog); the text which is actually the rough draft biography of a regional "antique-head," which could well make it to print, in book form, sometime down the old road. That would be me. The antique-head part, like when I travelled with the "Grateful Dead," and hunted antiques between gigs. Only kidding.
     I began in this time honored, tradition-laden profession, just about as old as time itself, as a general antiques dealer; way, way back in the late 1970's, and I will leave this mortal coil exactly the same as I began. A million bucks shy of being a millionaire. But I've had a million bucks worth of fun hunting and gathering these treasures of the past. I am a purist in the antique and collectable profession, which means I don't re-purpose stuff. Antiques and collectables, that still have their original integrity, can often, with a little care and patience, be brought back to use as was intended by its maker or craftsman. I have seen lamps made from things that upset me, as a very conservative, uptight, general antique dealer. We don't generally ask our customers intrusive questions, about what they intend to do with the items they purchase from us, which could well include making them into lamps; from old typewriters I sell, or outboard engines we keep in reserve, in the hopes someone will wish to restore them back to operation once again. In other words, we don't bring them out in he shop, until we have someone pop up at the counter, or come to us on referral, who specializes in refurbishing these marine treasures. We have been known to pull items out of the shop, when a customer ruminates about how nice an historic church pew, for example, would look like, cut up, and refashioned instead into a freaking, stupid looking table. We can't do much about what happens once someone leaves the shop with an antique piece, but it would break our hearts, to know that a beautiful harvest table, or victorian flat-to-the-wall cupboard, with antique value, was destroyed to make a fashion statement.
     I grew up in the antique and collectable business with purist mentors, who felt the same. I'm not going to tell you I never met an antique dealer, from my early years, who didn't distress pine, to make replacement pine, look like an old table-top, to substitute one that had been rotted away. I insist when this happens, that the repair is duly noted on the piece's written provenance. We sell original pieces without serious alterations, and honestly, I would quit the business, if re-purposing was the only way to make a buck. I don't want to know that the old hockey sticks someone purchased from us, were drilled onto a wall, as bracing for shelves, even if it was the Hockey Hall of Fame that did it. My passion is to preserve antique and collectable pieces as far as possible, including books; when the very last detail, of a failing text, is to finally harvest the graphics, because nothing can be done to save the book itself. I've had this happen, and it sickens me every time. That's the bibliophile part of my profession.
     I was at a country auction one afternoon, when a couple of bound "Picturesque Canada" volumes came up for sale. I didn't have a lot of money on that occasion, but I really wanted those books. For books' sake, not to yank out the graphics to frame them separately. This was my introduction to re-purposing, and it sucked. The guy, an antique dealer from the northern part of the region, won the bid for both books, and when he got them, while I was looking over his shoulder, the arsehole began tearing "Muskoka" graphics out of one book, indicating to a friend, how he would make far more money selling off the prints, than if he was to put prices on the two texts, as is, which were in pretty fair condition. I wanted to punch the guy. Honestly, I wanted to put him in a Bulgarian headlock, and take the books away from him. This of course, works on a hockey rink, but not at an auction sale. I will never compromise the integrity of a book, that can be saved, and conserved, just to yank out some graphics that can be framed and sold separately. A book has to be in pretty bad shape for me to attack it, in this brutal fashion. I have sold hundreds of books in damaged condition, with an appropriate notice attached to each, about the "as is" condition. If the new owners decide to rip out the graphics, I just don't want them to tell me about it;  unless that is, they wish to have a quickie tutorial about historical preservation. I've had my hand in three regional museum collections, in the past, and I won't offer any apology for my adherence to the "save it at all cost" point of view.
     Once a lady purchased a beautiful little Victorian era zither from our Bracebridge antique shop, and after she had paid me, and the instrument was wrapped up, and bagged, she informed me that it would soon be painted purple, and be hung above a purple mini grand piano in a Toronto condominium. I felt sick to my stomach. Andrew in his vintage music enterprise, would do cartwheels up the wall, and across the ceiling, if a customer purchased an upright bass, for example, to make it into a floor lamp. If that's what the purchaser wants to do, and they don't indicate this in advance, the only thing they have to do is pay our price. If they give us any warning, that this is the intention, before they've paid, none of us will offer any apology, for putting a "sold" sign on the subject piece, and refusing outright, to have it leave the shop in their company. We will explain our purist perspective if you wish to listen to counterpoint. Our vintage instruments, you see, are for playing, not for nailing to a wall, as an art piece, or as a mood enhancer shelf-unit. Find it somewhere else. We want business, but we wouldn't be able to look at ourselves in the mirror, let alone open the shop door every morning, if we betrayed our own mission statement. We actually rescue antiques and collectables, that have been re-purposed, and try whenever possible to bring them back to near original condition. I can't calculate how many "hanger" guitars, Andrew and Robert have rescued from wall displays, to be restored back to playing condition. If the instrument can't be saved, then the parts (like human organs) can be harvested, to do service on other guitars in better condition, serving a vital purpose in continuing music.
     Before we go too far, in this new collection of blogs, I wanted to make this declaration up front, so I'm never mistaken as one who would sacrifice antique value, to only please a home or cottage decorator. Call me old fashioned, please! Suzanne is the same, and would never, ever destroy a vintage wool blanket, to make a pillow cover, unless it was so badly stained, that it couldn't be saved any other way. Same goes with table clothes and even vintage clothing. It just isn't in our nature, to sacrifice what has provenance and investment value as an antique, to make a frivolous decorator piece. I wish I could stop the practice entirely, but apparently some folks like outboard engine lamps. I like outboard engines on the back of old boats, and to hear them churn up the water, which, by golly, is a much more nostalgic experience.
     THE NIGHT BEFORE. I've just come in from more than two hours shoveling snow, here at Birch Hollow. It was not the Saturday night I was hoping for, when we arrived home after work at the shop, but it was a beautiful night despite the blowing snow. I'd get the entire length of driveway and sidewalk clean, and then have to do it a second time when I retreated back where I had started. I actually shoveled the whole works three times, but I'm the only one counting. Suzanne was working inside, getting the house ready for our soon-to-be-adopted pet dog, through the Ontario Humane Society's, Muskoka Animal Shelter, in Bracebridge. There is still some processing to do in the coming week, but we have to be ready just in case she comes here, a little earlier than later. I hate the sound of the vacuum, especially during the NFL playoffs. I chose shoveling snow over both. I caught the last five minutes of the game and the vacuuming, so it wasn't a total loss of recreational viewing. I looked out the window a few minutes ago, and gosh, I think we'll have to shovel a half foot of snow again by morning. And then there are the portable sheds we have on the side yard, that have to be cleaned after every snow, to avoid collapse. Last year, with the heavy snow almost daily, we had one collapse under the weight of both snow and water. It took us two hours, with three people, to free the canopy of an ice block the size of a small car. This year, snow removal has been much easier, with smaller amounts even during the several storms, as compared to last year's dumping on Muskoka, from about a dozen major events. Also, our neighbor's snow removal crew is no longer blowing his snow onto the shed roofs, as happened last season. I hate complaining but I hate collapsed sheds even more. I could hear kids laughing while sledding down the neighborhood slopes, and a number of families were out for winter walks, with kids and pets in tow, and it all seemed very pleasant, despite the fact I was covered in snow and pretty tired. If Suzanne was to read this, she'd start laughing, because she thinks I'm more of a Pa Kettle, shirking work whenever possible. I would accuse her of the same, but she does, and I've watched her, the work of three people; and only admits to be tired, a few minutes before bed each night.
     I was thinking about the way I used to buy books, the Dave Brown way; or better stated, the antique dealer way. Dave Brown was my bibliophile mentor, (see yesterday's blog), outdoor education instructor, who used to buy old books by the box load, and sometimes that could represent twenty or thirty loaded bins from auction sales, where they were sold as a large lot. While Dave would have studied the boxes of books early in the sale, he knew that sale-goers interested in old texts, would create "super boxes" of the books they gathered from the lot, jamming them into one that they would bid on most vigorously. It's done all the time, and you have to keep watch, which box is being manipulated most, and what has been placed within, that someone wants very badly. Dave Brown knew most of the auctioneers in the Hamilton area of Southern Ontario, and they would often comply to his requests, to sell by the lot instead of by individual boxes. This used to drive his competitors nuts, and it may have seemed smart on his part, to buy a thousand books at a time; his mistake was to make bidding, and winning, a grudge match at almost every auction he attended. Thus he would fill the back of his pick-up truck with books and assorted auction purchases, and then haul them back to his already jammed Hamilton bungalow, and be faced with the dilemma of where to put them out of the weather. He would only want about one box of books out of twenty or so, and they were usually in less than good condition. The other books he would run past me, or offer them as trade bait, to a variety of book sellers he knew in the area. Point is, studying under Dave Brown, and thinking his way was savvy, and profitable, I began doing the same thing at auctions and estate sales. I acquired thousands upon thousands of books, that I didn't want, in order to get the few that I did. A folly of epic proportion. I followed this protocol for years, and it almost swallowed us here at Birch Hollow. Books I didn't want, that didn't have any investment value to speak of (we didn't have a shop at this point, but sold through online auctions), but I couldn't see my way to recycle them. I had subtly become Dave Brown. Suzanne reminded me that the biographer had become part of the biography. What I had written about Dave Brown's excesses, and a ruined marriage the result of too many books in the house, had become my burden in the contemporary sense. Suzanne demanded to have her house back or else. Apparently there were about thirty thousand books in the way. As he couldn't throw books out, neither could I, and upon realization of my dilemma, it took a total of four years to backtrack, and pare down my collection, to books I actually wanted, and could sell in a shop setting. I had a lot of regrets about having purchased old books in bulk for so many years. This was the biggest change I had to employ to regain my sense of proportion, in a field I was particularly well suited. I loved books, just a little too much for my own good, and everyone else who had to live amongst the clutter at Birch Hollow. When a book pile collapsed it would take three other stacks, and it could represent a heap of about two hundred texts piled in a pyramid shaped sculpture on the floor.
     I have reformed myself, these days, to hunt one book at a time. Not that I head out on the road, with a list of books I want from this mission, but rather, I take my time, at old book haunts, to carefully examine the quality and subject matter of those texts I do come across, that I believe would appeal to our customers. We do sell a lot of used and old books each year. I don't have the same zeal for antiquarian books, as I once did, and I have adjusted to purchase books that appeal to the wider audience, than just to a few bibliophiles and collectors, who may or may not ever visit our store. I actually feel pretty good these days, and my averages are pretty good, according to the shop accountant, who doubles as my significant other. I am selling far more books, because I have finally learned that there's something more important than just pleasing my own book interests. Being specific is what book collectors and bibliophiles do; dealers have to be aware that in order to stay in business, they have to know what is in demand and what isn't. I will never forget the time, a shopper came into our Bracebridge shop, and purchased fifty books in one shot. They weren't hugely valuable books, but they were vintage, and nicely bound copies. I made a lot of money that day, but with what I have already declared in this blog, imagine my chagrin when my book buddy, Dave Brown, came in the next day, on a trip north from Hamilton, to enquire whether or not his friend had been in to buy some books for his new condominium. I told him about a nice chap who had purchased fifty books the day before, and Dave said, well, that was John, and I sent him up to see you. (The fellow lived in Orillia, I believe. He told me, the man had recently been divorced, and his wife got ninety percent of the contents of their house, and that included all the books. He wanted enough books to fill one vintage book case, that had belonged to his family, and his wife had begrudgingly surrendered. I just stood there with my mouth open, knowing that I had just sold the biggest single book purchased in my shop history, to a guy who had no intention of reading a single one, but felt that books made his new digs look dignified and lived-in. Gads, the horror of re-purposed collectables. At that time, which I think was the late spring, I was broke and the sale looked good on the books. I don't think, as a matter of some personal hypocrisy, that I would have declined to sell the man the books, just because they were to be used as ornaments; afterall, it's not like he was going to craft them into lamp bases, which reminds me of something else I hate to see.
     Thanks for joining me today. I have included some archives material, that has been previously published at times over the past four years, regarding the many adventures our family has enjoyed, hunting and gathering antiques in this beautiful, alluring region of Ontario.

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.

Bibliomania In France Circa. 1892; Books and Bookmen, A Story About Collecting

BIBLIOMANIA CIRCA 1892 - THE OVERVIEW FROM A VICTORIAN ISSUE OF "BOOKS AND BOOKMEN"

I'VE WRITTEN MUCH ABOUT BOOK COLLECTING, BUT HERE'S A MUCH MORE LEARNED OPINION ON THE MATTER FROM ANOTHER CENTURY


     I've spent a good portion of my life, trying to reclaim history; as both an antique dealer and as an historian. Sometimes it's elusive and often, with some disappointment, I have to live with failure in this regard. The likelihood, I may never understand it, or come to own a portion of its antiquity. No matter how many times I might feel thwarted in these pursuits, I am never overwhelmed by the adventure, and will often move on to the next project, without a trace amount of remorse all the ends weren't tied-up. Of course, it means I don't give up either, believing that a day and time will come, when a greater clarity will exist, in order to re-activate my original mission. I've spent the same amount of time, hunting and gathering, in the company of many of our region's most ardent collectors, and veteran antique dealers, and shared openly, our mutual interests in certain periods of history, and physical antiquity. It happens you see, when you have to spend hours at auction and estate sales, to bid and pick through the large inventories of items placed for sale. When I write these blogs, based on antique hunting, for example, I do so as a Muskoka dealer, who has had good company from others in the profession for all these years; many still operating decades after we first met out on the hustings, trying to build unique and interesting inventories for our respective shops, or online sites (which many have resorted to in this modern era). We all have distinct specialities, (not to mention peculiarities) and our own shops reflect these interests. We network as much as possible, because although we're competitors in the business sense, we are collectors in heart, so there is an embedded sensitivity to help one another in the chase. They know my specialties are books, art and Muskoka memorabilia, and I am clearly aware that these collector / dealers, as an example, desire silver, china, vintage glass, pottery, Canadiana, primitives and old toys. We often sell to each other, and extend dealer courtesies frequently, to promote ongoing friendships amongst those, who admittedly, sometimes get lost, and turned around, in the history they love to explore. We are frequently reminded that there is strength in numbers, and how it never hurts to have friends in the profession, when old fashioned advice is needed.

     There is something so wonderfully alluring about the feel of a finely bound old book, when caressed by a bibliophile's outstretched fingers, that is almost impossible to relate, to someone who has no interest in books whatsoever. Antiquarian and rare books, released in the period of time its author was still writing, puts 'the possessor,' at that precise moment, in touch with the spirit of creativity, as it was generated from the printed word, and respectfully bound into a strikingly handsome text. There have been many times in my years working as a collector of old relics, that I had to choose between investing limited funds in books, or general antiques; and nine times out of every ten, as a young book buyer / seller, I would invest in the printed word as a good return for my money.
     I first became interested in books, because of my desire to write them as a budding author. I had a chance, as an editor, working for a small publisher in Muskoka, to see printing presses in action, putting an author's work into book form. I watched as our newspaper came off the giant presses, and never tired of following the process through to completion, when the weekly publication was ready for news-stands. I watched as printers worked the manual presses, at Colonial Williamsburg, in Virginia, and fell in love with the print process generally, whether for newspapers, magazines, or for the publication of books. I have a written five so far, of modest proportion, without fancy binding, and have enjoyed many years of being published in newsprint in Canada. Writing and being published is addictive, without question. When it comes to collecting print heritage and antiquarian books, it comes rather naturally at this point; that seeing as I've been in print myself, for many years, I should want to acquire the creative and scholarly work of others. As a bibliophile, however, most of the books I purchase, are for their content, more so than their attractive packaging, or binding. There are many reasons to collect books, going back through the centuries, and here are a few examples, of what bibliophiles have, and continue to look for, in the books they most covet above all else.
     "The love of books for their own sake, for their paper, print, binding, and for their associations, as distinct from the love of literature, is a stronger and more universal passion in France than elsewhere in Europe. In England publishers are men of business; in France they aspire to be artists. In England people borrow what they read from the libraries, and take what gaudy cloth-binding chance chooses to send them. In France people buy books, and bind them to their heart's desire with quaint and dainty devices on the morocco covers. Books are lifelong friends in that country; in England they are the guests of a week or a fortnight." (""Books and Bookmen," by Andrew Lang, Longmans, Green & Co., 1892 - a new edition)

     "The greatest French writers have been collectors of curious editions; they have devoted whole treatises to the love of books. The literature and history of France are full of anecdotes of the good and bad fortunes of bibliophiles, of their bargains, discoveries, disappointments. There lies before us at this moment a small library of books about books - 'Bibliophile Francais,' in seven large volumes, 'Les Sonnets d'un Bibliophile,' 'La Bibliomanie en 1878,' and a dozen other works of Janin, Nodier, Beraldi, Picters, Didot, great collectors who have written for the instruction of beginners and the pleasure of every one who takes delight in printed paper," wrote Andrew Lang in his popular book, "Books and Bookmen," in the closing years of the Victorian era.
     "The passion for books, like other forms of desire, has its changes of fashion. It is not always easy to justify the caprices of taste. The presence or absence of half an inch of paper in the uncut margin of a book makes a difference of value, that ranges from five shillings to a hundred pounds. Some books are run after because they are beautifully bound; some are competed for with equal eagerness because they never have been bound at all. The uninitiated often make absurd mistakes about these distinctions. Some time ago the 'Daily Telegraph,' reproached a collector because his books were uncut, whence, argued the journalist, it was clear he had never read them. 'Uncut,' of course, only means that the margins have not been curtailed by the binder's plough. It is a point of sentiment to like books just as they left the hands of the old printers, of Estienne, Aldus, or Louis Elzevir.
     "It is because the passion for books is a sentimental passion that people who have not felt it, always fail to understand it. Sentiment is not an easy thing to explain. Englishmen especially find it impossible to understand tastes and emotions that are not their own; the wars of Ireland (till quite recently), the aspirations of Eastern Roumelia, the demands of Greece. If we are to understand the book hunter, we must never forget that to him books are, in the first place, relics. He likes to think that the great writers whom he admires, handled just such pages and saw such arrangement of type as he now beholds. Moliere, for example, corrected the proofs for this edition of the 'Precieuses Ridicules,' when he first discovered 'what a labour it is to publish a book, and how green an author is the first time they print him.' Or it may be that Campanella turned over, with hands unstrung, and still broken by the torture, these leaves that contain his passionate sonnets. Here again is the copy of Theocritus from which some pretty page may have been read aloud to charm the pagan and pontifical leisure of Leo X. The Gargantua is the counterpart of that which the martyred Dolet printed for (or pirated from, alas) Maitre Francois Rabelais. The woeful ballade with the woodcut of three thieves hanging from one gallows, came near being the 'Last Dying Speech and Confession of Francois Villon.' This shabby copy of 'The Eye of St. Agnes,' is precisely like that which Shelley doubled up, and thrust into his pocket when the prow of the piratical felucca crashed into the timbers of the Don Juan. Some rare books have these associations, and they bring you nearer to the authors than do the modern reprints. Bibliophiles will tell you that it is the early readings they care for, - the author's first fancies, and those more hurried expressions which he afterwards corrected. These readings have their literary value, especially in the masterpieces of the great; but the sentimental after all is the main thing."
     The author notes, "Other books come to be relics in another way. They are the copies which belonged to illustrious people, - to the famous collectors who make a kind of catena (a golden chain of bibliophiles) through the centuries since printing was invented. There are Grolier (1479-1565), - not a bookbinder, as an English newspaper supposed (probably when Mr. Sala was on his travels), - De Thou (1553-1617), the Great Colbert, the Duc de la Valliere (1708-1780), Charles Nodier, a man of yesterday, M. Didot, and the rest, too numerous to name." Mr. Lang adds to this, "Surely in all these things there is a human interest, and our fingers are faintly thrilled, as we touch these books, with the far-off contact of the hands of kings and cardinals, scholars and coquettes, pendants, poets and precicuses, the people who are unforgotten in the mob that inhabited dead centuries. So universal and ardent has the love of magnificent books been in France, that it would be possible to write a kind of bibliomaniac history of that country. All the rulers, kings, cardinals, and ladies have had time to spare for collecting. Without going too far back, to the time when Bertha span Charlemagne was an amateur, we may give a few specimens of an anecdotal history of the French biblioltary, beginning, as is courteous with a lady. 'Can a woman be a bibliophile?' is a question which was once discussed at the weekly breakfast party of Guilbert de Pixerecourt, the famous booklover and playwright, the "Corneille of the Boulevards.' The controversy glided into a discussion as to 'how many books a man can love at one time,' but historical examples prove that French women (and Italian, witness the Princess d'Este) may be bibliophiles of the true strain."
      Andrew Lang, in his book on "bookmen" and "women", writes that "when Napoleon became Emperor, he strove in vain to make the troubled and feverish years of his power produce a literature. He himself was one of the most voracious readers of novels that ever lived. He was always asking for the newest of the new, and, unfortunately, even the new romances of the period were hopelessly bad. Barbier, his librarian, had orders to send parcels of fresh fiction to his majesty wherever he might happen to be, and great loads of novels followed Napoleon to Germany, Spain, Italy, Russia. The conqueror was very hard to please. He read in his travelling carriage, and, after skimming a few pages, would throw a volume that bored him out of the window into the highway. He might have been tracked by his trail of romances, as was Hop-o-my-Thumb,' in the fairy tale, by the white stones he dropped behind him. Poor Barbier, who ministered to a passion for novels that demanded twenty volumes a day, was at his wit's end. He tried to foist on the Emperor the romances of the year before last; but these Napoleon had generally read, and he refused with imperial scorn, to look at them again. He ordered a travelling library of three thousand volumes to be made for him, but it was proved that the task could not be accomplished in less than six years. The expense, if only fifty copies of each example had been printed, would have amounted to more than six million francs. A Roman emperor would not have allowed these considerations to stand in his way; but Napoleon after all, was a modern. He contented himself with a selection of books, conveniently small in shape, and packed in sumptuous cases. The classical writers of france could never content Napoleon and even from Moscow, in 1812, he wrote to Barbier clamorous for new books and good ones."
     "Napoleon was the last of the book-lovers who governed France," wrote Andrew Lang in summation. He concluded his chapter on the Bibliophiles of France, by suggesting that, "Let the enthusiast, in conclusion, throw a handful of lilies on the grave of the martyr of the love of books, - the poet Albert Glatigny. Poor Glatigny was the son of a garde champetre; his education was accidental and his poetic taste and skill extraordinarily fine and delicate. In his life of starvation (he had often to sleep in omnibuses and railway stations), he frequently spent the price of a dinner on a new book. He lived to read and to dream, and if he bought books he had not the wherewithall to live. Still, he bought them, and he died! His own poems were beautifully printed by Lemerre, and it may be a joy to him, if he knows it, that they are now so highly valued that the price of a copy would have kept the author alive and happy for a month."
     My book collector colleague, David Brown, of Hamilton, was a case in point. He had such a mania for what he called "good" books, that he neglected his personal and residential needs, in order to finance his collecting passion. As his biographer, as he had appointed me, shortly before his death, I had a great deal of inside information on David Brown, that I didn't use, primarily because the book was mostly about Dave's years of service as an Outdoor Education Instructor; having mentored hundreds of thousands of regional students, over his long career in teaching. Dave's off-hours interest, was to pursue old books wherever he could find them, and this is where our paths crossed, at our former antique shop, on the main street of Bracebridge. One day I came back to the shop after being downtown with Andrew and Robert, and I saw bare legs protruding from the hatchback of our small car. Before I spoke to the chap digging through my boxes of old books, I asked Suzanne for an explanation first. "That's they guy I've been telling you about, who comes in regularly and wants to see any old books we've got." It was true, she had mentioned this to me in the past. "I told him about the boxes of books we just brought in, that were still in the car; so I just let him have a look to see if there was anything he might be interested in." This was how I met Dave Brown. He would have buried himself in anyone's trunk, even if there were alligators in the same space, if he thought he could snag a good book for a decent price. But I will never forget my first sighting of the legendary Dave Brown, hanging out of the back of my car, with his bare legs swinging in the summer sun. Yes, he found some books, and I made a profit that day, of which I was grateful.
     I've written volumes about Dave Brown, so you can, at your leisure, archive back and read some or all of the blogs written over the past four years. My point here, now, in relation to the last paragraph offered by Andrew Lang, is that I too, have known, quite intimately, a man of this same character; who was prepared to sacrifice in order to get the antiquarian books he desired; even at the expense of his own health and home comforts. On one hot summer day, for all of Ontario, Dave phoned me in quite a panic, that his refrigerator had just quit, and he didn't know what he should do about it. I made the rookie mistake, of not understanding Dave's actual living conditions. He was living in a small bungalow in the urban area of Hamilton, jammed with more than 100,000 books, which were actually, in the basement, "load bearing," stacked up to meet the floor joist. The executors found out how significant this was, when they began taking books out of the basement first, without appreciating how much support was needed, to handle the many thousands of books stacked on the floor above. The snap and shift of the floor all of a sudden, made them realize the floor to ceiling stacks of books below, were keeping the first floor where it was situated. There could have been a deadly collapse into the basement, of a huge volume of books and household appliances from the first floor. So when Dave angrily explained, that he would have to move thousands upon thousands of books, this day, in order to get the older refrigerator out of the kitchen, I should have shown more sensitivity. I was trying to imagine this household debacle; but gradually understanding of course, at this point, why his wife had given him an option when they were still relative newlyweds; "the books or marriage." Dave obviously then, took the books as being a better lifelong companion.
     Dave mortgaged his house, late in his teaching career, just to finance more books. When his water system began to fail in the kitchen, Dave just began washing his dirty dishes in the bathtub, and that's what the executors found, when they tried to assess the breadth of work to settle the estate. Dave ate at restaurants frequently, and refused to eat vegetables. He was sick for quite a period of time, and most of his friends, close to him on a daily or weekly basis, saw the changes in his physical prowess, but he refused to see a doctor until it was too late, leukemia having ravaged his body. He had poor eyesight but would never go to an optometrist, and his teeth were broken off and undoubtedly abscessed, but he wouldn't afford a trip to the dentist to get the matter resolved. His father, by the way, was a doctor, in charge of Hamilton's General Hospital, and his mother, a long time secretary at McMaster University, was generally happy to loan him money. Dave had a good pension as a retired teacher, and had few serious bills, other than the typical property taxes, hydro expenses, fuel needs for his truck, and general living costs which weren't staggering by any means. But he would take every penny he had, to invest in books, and sometimes didn't make the best investment; or look after them properly once he did bring his finds home. When he stored them in his bungalow, he didn't pay a lot of attention to the inherent risks of environmental contamination, and improper storage, which damaged spines, and may, because of stacks, caused a stagnation of the air, mold growth due to dampness and poor air circulation. For a man of his intelligence, and knowledge of nature, science and biology, he did not practice what he was preaching, with his own living circumstance, which it can be said, was grossly compromised by his passion for books.
     I remember Dave telling me about a near dust-up he had, with a book seller at a large show, of antiquarian and rare texts, and heritage paper, when the vendor refused to let him handle a very old book, profiling the whaling industry; as written about, in the early 1800's. The reason? Dave's appearance made the man suspect he was a bum, who somehow had snuck into the show for whatever reason. While one shouldn't judge a book by its cover, it's also true that he did have the appearance of someone down on their luck, who couldn't afford a change of clothes or the occasional bath. It is known that Dave would where his clothes into the bathtub, thus killing two birds with one stone. His running shoes always smelled, and he thought nothing of wearing camping attire to attend community events. He knew when to wear a suit and tie, but for most of his interactions and business transactions he didn't feel compelled to doll himself up that's for sure. So he immediately reacted to the book vendor's refusal to let him see the book, by explaining who he was, and that he had friends in high places, in the old book profession. He wasn't kidding about this either, as this gentleman would soon find out.
     The bookseller finally relented, but wouldn't take his eyes off Dave and the book, making my good friend feel rather uncomfortable and singled out (Dave hated to be singled out in any fashion); which was a giant mistake on the vendor's part. When Dave decided to buy the book, the vendor was going to apply a tax fee on top, something that Dave hated with an equal passion. When the bookman became indignant and uncooperative, at least to Dave's way of thinking, he handed the book back, and suggested that he was appalled by the his inconsideration to a collector of his stature. I felt kind of sorry for the dealer, because Dave wanted to be recognized as an astute and accomplished collector, but he didn't dress, or act the part; his eccentricities getting the best of him. Before he left the man's booth, Dave let him have it with both barrels, and threatened him with a boycott of gigantic proportion. Dave followed through, as he knew other dealers and book scouts who dealt with the booth vendor. Dave poisoned quite a few of the man's sources for old books, just as he warned would be the outcome. The only thing that would have spared the bookseller at this point, would have been, to present the subject book to Mr. Brown, as a gift, with a hearty apology for earlier treatment, as someone unworthy of handling such a rare book. Dave had thousands of rare books, and many on natural history and whaling. Instead of upgrading his wardrobe, and general appearance, Dave put his money into what he thought was a better, sounder investment. Yet many small time book dealers felt the same about his shabby appearance; but according to Dave, he felt most vendors would just feel sorry for him, judging his hobo attire as meaning he was penniless, and give him a good price on what he wanted to purchase from them, in the way of old books. I saw this happen in front of my face, when I met Dave at a second hand shop in Washago, that I had recommended to him, as having a selection of books of which he might be interested. He arrived at the shop before me, and when I arrived at the business, and greeted the owner, who I knew from many visits in the past, she asked me if I could help her keep an eye on the "bum" was roaming around the back of the building, looking at the books. I had seen Dave's red truck out front, so I knew it had to be my old friend. I think she was worried he was going to steal something, or pull a knife on her. I didn't explain Dave's situation at that moment, and refrained from having much to do with him until he had checked out with the books he wanted. She gave him a good deal, and with a modest overview, he had found five hundred dollars in antiquarian books, but paid no more than twenty bucks for the box load. I introduced him to the vendor, after the transaction was complete, as "my book collector friend from Hamilton." I used to love seeing their mouths hanging open, when I'd make these introductions, as we travelled together looking for old books at yard and estate sales. The introductions were never to be made before the books were found and paid for! There were dozens of situations like this, when the vendor would be shocked to silence, finding out the man in the dirty shirt and shorts, with smelly shoes, was a major and well connected book collector. A fellow, who would invest every nickel he had, to buy books he wanted, even if it meant he had to bum lunch and dinner off his friends. Suzanne and I knew all about his friendly mooching, and he never left Birch Hollow (our Gravenhurst residence) without being well fed for the next leg of his book hunting journey.
     Collectors are a strange lot, no doubt about it. And I count myself amongst the most eccentric of the lot. But I have a hell of a lot of fun; that certainly has to count for something. The difference between myself and the good Mr. Brown, is that I have my own accountant, my wife, who has no reservation about telling me, when I've over-spent my book buying budget. Or telling me, my books must never cross the threshold of her kitchen, or else!
     Thanks for visiting with me today, during a period of considerable adverse weather bringing freezing rain across the region, best suited sitting in a comfortable chair, in a cozy environs, in company of a good book. See you again soon.

Collecting Elzevirs? A Few Things To Know About Investing In Old Books From An 1892 Advisory

The first is a sphere, an ill cut, ill drawn sphere, which is not Elzevirian at all. The mark was used in the seventeenth century by many other booksellers and printers. The second, on the other hand, is a true Elzevirian sphere, from a play of Moliere's, printed in 1675. Observe the comparatively neat drawing of the second sphere, and be not led away after spurious imitations.

OLD BOOKS? WHEN WERE THE FIRST BOOKSHOPS OPENED? WE REALLY SHOULD KNOW THIS, AS A MATTER OF GENERAL KNOWLEDGE - IN HOLLAND, 1580

AS COLLECTORS, WE HAVE TO BURY OURSELVES IN READING MATERIAL; THE OLDER THE BETTER

     The only sure way to commence collecting sensibly, intelligently and profitably (with mitigated risk), is to prepare well in advance of making heavy and targeted investments, by reading as much about the field of interest, as possible, including some of the oldest reference material available. I make a point of acquiring the earliest books written on the subject (any subject) of which I'm interested. I don't want summarized versions or interpretations from the modernists; which of course, harshly critiques what I am doing with this blog. At least I am using one of the very old, and well researched texts, that was available for book collectors in 1892.
     New guidebooks and hobby overviews are, of course, sensible acquisitions, as long as they are companioned by those of considerable vintage, preferably first or revised editions, that are not obviously abbreviated for space, to meet publisher demands. There was a little more flexibility in the early days of publishing, than today, when word counts and pages to be printed, can even kill a project before it hits the presses. I have been an assistant on two regional histories, that were eventually published, but not before cost became such a factor, that many fine, and historically important photographs, had to be pulled to bring the page count down. The point I want to make, is that getting reading material, on your collecting interests, should be all-encompassing, and span the ages, to include the first publications right up to the most recent. Then you can judge for yourself what is missing in the newer editions, and what shortfalls are contained in the earliest. This isn't just about price-guides. A collector needs a thorough and balanced overview, and loads of inside knowledge, about what they plan, or are already collecting. Many hobby collectors mess up early on, because they believe it is possible to learn by immersion. That's often too late to avoid making serious investment errors in judgement. As you will read in this blog, as reference, even minute differences, in size and cut of books during the printing and publishing process, can devalue each according to the precise nature of the flaw. Like stamps, or hockey and baseball cards. If you don't know how to grade what you are collecting, you must upgrade as quickly as possible. Your investment will not be what you think it is, when one day, you decided to cash in your chips. I have seen this a thousand or more times, when collectors bring me their prized possessions, and I have to give them bad news about valuation according to condition. A book, for example, can lose up to seventy-five percent of its appraised value, because it is missing its dustjacket, and somewhat similar if it has an inscription that wasn't written in by the author. A written-in book is no longer a fine condition copy, even if it has never been read through!
     I would like to lead with an example about antiquarian and rare books, but if you were to read between the lines, you would appreciate that all collectors need to know everything possible, about the origins of their type of collectable; or the antiques they wish to have multiples of, down the road. As a book collector and seller, for most of the past twenty years, I have never missed an opportunity to read as much as possible, in terms of the biographies of revered dealers, who ran shops around the world. I have always wanted to know what their opinions were, and why they chose the books they did, as specialties of their shops; which by the way, often became legendary landmarks even for tourists in general, who might never afford one of the old books, but felt they had to visit regardless. These are fascinating tales, of literature and history, and there are many embedded stories about world famous authors like James Joyce haunting these new and used book shops, dating well back in the 1900's. There is a rich social / cultural history to be derived from these stories, of old books shops and their illustrious proprietors.
     I found a new edition of the 1892 text, entitled "Books and Bookmen," by Andrew Lang, published by Longman, Green & Company, and it's the perfect antiquarian text about "book collecting," to begin this launch of my newly refurbished blog, entitled "Ted Currie - Antique Head." There is material in this book that is relevant to many other fields of collecting, and its advisories can be applied to just about any antique interest where condition is the end-all; being beyond just the printed and bound words this author addresses. I have read hundreds of texts about collecting books, and yet this one by Andrew Lang, corrected a half dozen misconceptions I've had about the industry of publishing books; and, for example, when the first book shops began appearing on the urban landscapes. For the next few editions of this blog, I'd like to present material from this important book, which by the way, Suzanne, my business partner, bought me as a Christmas present, from a bookshop in Orillia, Ontario. You don't have to be a book collector to benefit from this collector's wisdom. You don't have to be a collector at all, to find this information useful, and enlightening, in regards to investing generally in antiques, even just one piece. If you didn't know when the first bookshops of this world were opened, then you will learn something from the text of "Books and Bookmen." The title of the opening chapter is "Elzevirs." Ever heard of them? Well, I hadn't until I started reading this book, so join me for a little re-education about the earliest years of books and collecting them.

BOOKS AND BOOKMEN - ELZEVIRS

     "The Countryman - 'You know how much, for some time past, the editions of the Elzevirs have been in demand. The fancy for them has even penetrated into the country. I am acquainted with a man there who denies himself necessaries for the sake of collecting into a library (where other books are scarce enough) as many little Elzevirs as he can lay his hands upon. He is dying of hunger and his consolation is to be able to say, 'I have all the poets whom the Elzevirs printed. I have ten examples of each of them, all with red letters, and all of the right date'. This, no doubt, is a craze, for, good as the books are, if he kept them to read them, one example would be enough.' The Parisian. 'If he had wanted to read them, I would not have advised him to buy Elzevirs. The editions of minor authors which these booksellers published, even editions 'of the right date,' as you say, are not too correct. Nothing is good in the books but the type and the paper. Your friend would have done better to use the editions of Gryphius or Estienne'."
     "This fragment of a literary dialogue I translate from, 'Entretiens sur les Contes de Fees,' a book which contains more of old talk about books and booksellers than about fairies and folk-lore. The 'Entretiens' were published in 1699, about sixteen years after the Elzevirs ceased to be publishers. The fragment is valuable: first, because it shows us how early the taste for collecting Elzevirs was fully developed, and secondly, because it contains very sound criticism of the mania. Already, in the seventeenth century, lovers of the tiny Elzevirian books, waxed pathetic over dates, already they knew that a 'Caesar' of 1635, was the right 'Caesar,' passages, as in the first edition of 'Virgil,' of 1636. As early as 1699, too, the Parisian critic, knew that the editions were not very correct, and that the paper, type, ornaments, and format were their main attractions. To these we must now add the rarity of really good Elzevirs. Though Elzevirs have been more fashionable than at present (1890's), they are still regarded by novelists as the great prize of the book collector. You read in novels about 'priceless little Elzevirs,' about books, 'as rare as an old Elzevir.' I have met, in the works of a lady novelist, (but not elsewhere), with an Elzevir 'Theocritus.' The late Mr. Hepworth Dixon introduced into one of his romances, a romantic Elzevir Greek Testament,' worth its weight in gold. Casual remarks of this kind encourage a popular delusion, that all Elzevirs are pearls of considerable price. When a man is first smitten with the pleasant fever of book-collecting, it is for Elzevirs that he searches. At first he thinks himself in amazing luck. In Booksellers' Row and in Castle Street, he 'picks up,' for a shilling or two, Elzevirs, real or supposed. To the beginner, any book with a sphere on the title-page is an Elzevir. For the beginner's instruction, two copies of spheres are printed here (above). The first is a sphere, an ill cut, ill drawn sphere, which is not Elzevirian at all. The mark was used in the seventeenth century by many other booksellers and printers. The second, on the other hand, is a true Elzevirian sphere, from a play of Moliere's, printed in 1675. Observe the comparatively neat drawing of the second sphere, and be not led away after spurious imitations.
     "Beware, too, of the vulgar error of fancying that little duodecimos, with the mark of the fox and the bee's nest, and the motto 'Quaerendo,' come from the press of the Elzevirs. The mark is that of Abraham Wolfgang, which name is not a pseudonym for Elzevir. There are three sorts of Elzevir pseudonyms. First, they occasionally reprinted the full title-page, publisher's name and all, of the book they printed. Secondly, when they printed books of a 'dangerous' sort, Jansenist pamphlets and so forth, they used pseudonyms like 'Nic Schouten,' on the 'Lettres Provinciales' of Pascal. Thirdly, there are real pseudonyms employed by the Elzevirs. John and Daniel, printing at Leyden (1652-1655), used the false name, 'Jean Sambix.' The Elzevirs of Amsterdam, often placed the name 'Jacques le Jeune,' on their title pages. The collector who remembers these things must also see that his purchases have the right ornaments at the heads of chapters, the right tailpieces at the ends. Two of the most frequently recurring ornaments are the so-called 'Tete de Buffle,' and the 'Sirene.' More or less clumsy copies of these and other Elzevirian ornaments, are common enough in books of the period, even among those printed out of the Low Countries; for example, in books published in Paris."
     The author goes on to point out "a brief sketch of the history of the Elzevirs." "The founder of the family, a Flemish bookbinder, Louis, left Louvain and settled in Leyden in 1580. He bought a house opposite the university, and opened a book shop. Another shop, on college ground, was opened in 1587. Louis was a good bookseller, but a very ordinary publisher. It was not till shortly before his death, in 1617, that his grandson Isaac bought a set of types and other material. Louis left six sons. Two of these, Matthew and Bonaventure, kept on the business, dating ex-officina Elzeviriana. In 1625, Bonaventure and Abraham (son of Matthew), became partners. The 'good dates,' of Elzevirian books began in 1626. The two Elzevirs chose excellent types, and after nine years' endeavours, turned out the beautiful 'Caesar' of 1635. Their classical series in petit format, was opened with 'Horace," and 'Ovid' in 1629. In 1641, they began their elegant piracies of French plays, and poetry with 'Le Cid.' It was worth while being pirated by the Elzevirs, who turned you out like a gentleman, with fleurons and red letters, and a pretty frontispiece. The modern pirate dresses you in rags, prints you murderously, and binds you, if he binds you at all, in some hideous example of 'cloth extra,' all gilt, like archaic gingerbread.
     "Bonaventure and Abraham both died in 1652. They did not depart before publishing (in 1628), in grand format, a desirable work on fencing. Thibault's 'Academi de l'Espee.' The Tibbald also killed by the book. John and Daniel Elzevir came next. They brought out the 'Imitation,' (Thomae a Kempis canonici regularis ord. S. Augustini De Imitatione Christi, libri iv); I wish by taking thought I could add eight milimetres to the stature of my copy. In 1655 Daniel joined a cousin, Louis, in Amsterdam, and John stayed in Leyden. John died in 1661; his widow struggled on, but her son, Abraham (1681), let it fall into ruins. Abraham died in 1712. The Elzevirs of Amsterdam lasted till 1680, when Daniel died, and the business was wound up. The type, by Christopher Van Dyck, was sold in 1681, by Daniel's widow."
     Andrew Lang, author of the text, writes, "After he has learned all these matters, the amateur has still a great deal to acquire. He may now know a real Elzevir from a book, which is not an Elzevir at all. But there are enormous differences of value, rarity, and excellence among the productions of the Elzevirian press. The bookstalls teem with small 'cropped,' dingy, dirty, battered Elzevirian editions of the classics, not 'of the good date.' On these it is not worth while to expend a couple of shillings, especially as Elzevirian type is too small, to be read with comfort, by most modern eyes. No, let the collector save his money; avoid littering his shelves with what he will soon find to be rubbish, and let him wait the chance of acquiring a really beautiful and rare Elzevir.
     Meantime, and before we come to describe Elzevirs of the first flight, let it be remembered that the 'taller' the copy, the less harmed and nipped by the binder's shears the better. 'Men scarcely know how beautiful fire is,' says Shelley; and we may say that most men hardly know how beautiful an Elzevir was, in its uncut and original form. The Elzevirs we have may be 'dear,' but they are certainly 'dumpy twelves'. Their fair proportions have been docked by the binder. At the Beckford sale, there was a pearl of a book, a 'Marot;' not an Elzevir, indeed, but a book published by Wetstein, a follower of the Elzevirs. This exquisite pair of volumes bound in blue morocco, was absolutely unimpaired, and was a sight to bring happy tears into the eyes of the amateur of Elzevirs. There was a gracious svelte elegance about these tomes, an appealing and exquisite delicacy of proportion, that linger like sweet music in the memory. I have a copy, though murderously bound in that ecclesiastical sort of brown calf antique, which goes well with hymn books, and reminds one of cakes of chocolate. But my copy is only some 128 milometres in height, wheras the uncut Beckford copy (it had belonged to the great Pixerecourt) was at least 130 milimetres high. Beside the uncut example, mine looks like Cinderalla's plain sister, beside the beauty of the family. Now the moral is that only tall Elzevirs are beautiful, only tall Elzevirs preserve their ancient proportions, only tall Elzevirs are worth collecting. Dr. Lemuel Gulliver remarks that the King of Lilliput was taller than any of his court by almost the breadth of a nail, and that his attitude filled the minds of all with awe. Well, the Philistine may think a few millimetres more or less, in the height of an Elzevir, are of little importance. When he comes to sell, he will discover the difference. An uncut, or almost uncut copy of a good Elzevir, may be worth fifty to sixty pounds or more (1892); an ordinary copy may bring fewer pence. The binders usually pare down the top and bottom, more than the sides. I have a 'Rabelais,' of good date, with the red title (1663), and some of the pages have never been opened at the sides. But the height is only some 122 millimetres, a mere dwarf. Therefore the collector of Elzevirs should have one of those useful ivory-handled knives, on which the French measures are marked, and thus he will at once be able to satisfy himself, as to the exact height of any example which he encounters."
     Since I began collecting books, as a rather modestly proportioned buyer, with mere coins jingling in my pocket, I have worried less about these conditions, of maximum valuation, based on appearances, and more about the content that is appealing to the modern old book enthusiast. I buy the best quality vintage non-fiction texts I can, for resale, at the lowest possible prices I can afford to offer, and still make a profit. But in my profession, especially as relates to books, I still have to know the levels of collecting from the top-down, because it is always potential, especially dealing with estates, that an original, and sized perfectly, Elzevir, might be found in the collection.
     "The nature of the collector's craze, which compels rich men and poor men to desire the very same books, has made it inevitable that the rich shall set the fashion. The fashion for rare books, like the market price and the state of the odds on the Turf, 'follows the money.' A wealthy sportsman could make the darkest horse in his stable, a favorite, if he only backed him largely enough, and probably a millionaire could set up a taste for the first editions, of Mrs. Hannah More's works, if he went about paying large sums for them. There are a few exceptions to this general rule, that the fashion follows the money. Sometimes the money follows what (still to use the sporting metaphor) we may call, 'the talent.' A clever man writes a bibliography of a certain author (having first carefully provided himself with that author's works), and then the rich collector loses his head and invests heavily, perhaps in Restif de la Bretonne. Nodier sometimes made efforts of this kind, but Nodier was often before his age. He possessed a beautiful example of Perrault's 'Contes de ma Mere l'Oye" (Paris 1697), and he tried to write it into reputation. But in Nodier's time, it did not sell for more than six or seven pounds. The price of this pleasant fountain-head of fairy tales, is now, literally beyond rubies. In recent catalogues (old books) of M. Danascene Morgand, and M. Fontaine, one finds no example of Perrault's first Paris editions. Both merchants offer the Dutch reprint at prices varying from sixty pounds to eighty pounds. Brunet says, but perhaps too hastily, that the Amsterdam is as rare as the original Paris edition. I have only seen one copy of the latter, in the private collection of a London Bookseller. Nodier did not succeed in making it fashionable in his own day; he was less fortunate than Motteley, who found a quantity of uncut Elzevirs lurking in Hungary, and then wrote on them till they became a treasure." The above passage was, of course, taken from the same book by good Mr. Lang, author of "Books and Bookmen."
     This book was not written for those who didn't have at least, a basic understanding of books, and rare first editions; and how they were printed and bound, as related to what makes them most desirable by collectors, for their investment value. It is a little tricky to follow, but it does make a pretty clear point; that collecting books is not just about content, and like collecting stamps and coins, and even todays sports cards, printing and production, including cutting, are very integral to the valuations placed on each product. If a stamp isn't perfect, even in mint condition, it will be rated accordingly in terms of cash value. Perfection is a pretty big deal to ardent, and purist collectors, of which I am only one of two. As a dealer, who occasionally has to veer into this domain, of "mint" condition collectables, versus less than perfect examples, I have no choice but to appreciate descriptions, such as what Mr. Lang has written about in the passage above. I like toys that have been loved and played with by former owners. Many toy collectors will only buy mint examples, and despite what I think, as being kind of sad, that these toys have never been played with, I must surrender to their, the collector's convictions to the contrary; these are the only ones they are willing to purchase. So I avoid these terms and conditions, and bring in toys that have been previously enjoyed and celebrated, and I'm usually able to find buyers who don't care about the number of scratches, or the fact it doesn't come with an original box. The same holds for me, when I buy and sell books. I am respectful of pristine copies, but seeing as I very seldom buy one at its appraised value, to re-sell, I am easily satisfied, by an old book that has its physical integrity, intact, yet shows that it has been read with great enthusiasm and care. I can buy these copies affordably, and pass them on to book lovers, with a modest mark-up. But we have no choice as antique dealers, to know as much as possible, about the grading of the items we purchase, and then offer for sale; and that can include such items today as vintage vinyl (records) which have to be graded on the same scale of wear and play-quality. I have watched son Robert, spend hour upon hour, examining the vintage vinyl he has purchased from customers, to make sure he can adjust the asking prices, to reflect the wear on each. He grades them severely, and prices them according to the way each record plays, and appears, including the condition of the album covers. It's not done by all vintage vinyl sellers, but he insists on putting in the extra effort, to ensure customers are aware of the differences in condition, that will affect play on a turn-table.
     When you see an art admirer in a shop like ours, or a silver sleuth, with a magnifying glass, examining a piece of inventory, it shows a determination to uncover details of the subject items, find previous repairs, damage, flaws, wear, that will affect their potential investment. We always have a number of small magnifying glasses with us, when we travel shop to shop, because inevitably, we will find something that requires a much closer inspection, afforded only by such devices. And yes, it can make all the difference, especially with hallmarks on silver, signatures and other identifying marks on art pieces. I look for brush hairs, dried in paintings, that confirm originality. Others look for the competence of brush strokes and palete knife imprints, because they know the methods employed by artists they happen to collect. Being persnickety and studious, is the fail-safe, you won't be duped, but instead buy genuine articles. There are a lot of hazards for collectors out there, and as far as frauds and reproductions, they are getting better all the time, and sometimes even fool the collectors and dealers.
     A customer brought me in an original painting, he said was the work of a master, and potentially worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. In less than five seconds, I had to inform him that he had brought in a print, and not an original, signed art piece. He wouldn't believe me, until I managed to loosen some fasteners on the back, and removed the print to show him. Crest-fallen is a pretty good description of the chap, on the way out of the store. Another lady brought in an antique map, that was a modern era reprint, and in fact, it said so in the fine print, on the bottom of the graphics. We have people who visit the local thrift shop, and bring us back china they believe to be worth a lot of money. I point out to them, that if it has "dishwasher safe," or "detergent safe," or something similar, it is a cheap, valueless reproduction of an original china design. Flow blue china is being so heavily reproduced, and we've seen so many pieces come in, over the counter, that we can save these folks the effort of hauling them out of the box, as soon as we see the first plate or cup, and the blue that has been used in the design. Repros, so very many, and some folks are understandably confused, between modern day adaptations and original, and valuable flow-blue dinnerware.
     The little text, written about books and bookmen, from 1892, offers good advice about avoiding poor copies of originals, and as this trend goes back centuries, there really isn't any excuse for making investment mistakes today, with this much reference material available.
     Please join me tomorrow, for another chapter of advice about old books and their valuations.

Antiques and Collectibles and The Fun Of Treasure Hunting and Questing For Pirate Booty

STARTING THE NEW YEAR WITH GUSTO - IT'S TIME TO HAVE SOME FUN OUT THERE AND MAKE 2015 A TURN-AROUND YEAR

SUZANNE REMINDS ME HOW SERIOUS I AM - WHICH SIMPLY HAS TO BE LANCED OF ITS IMPLICATIONS

     By the magical stroke of midnight, that brought about the New Year, I have been resolute about having more fun this year than last. I want to have fun without any necessity of playing silly ass pranks on the folks near and dear to me, even though it makes me very happy to do so. Suzanne hates them, and the boys just brush them off now, as just being the curious "eccentricities of father". The next most significant venture for the maintenance of my good humour, is to play around at this antique hunting and gathering thing, but I have never explained this very well in the past, that folks like you would suddenly, and enthusiastically, join me as new and hardy collector-kind. Robert said to me, an hour ago, that my story of antique and art adventures, reminded him of the movie, the "The Grand Budapest Hotel," and just as whacky, which, crazy enough, was what we happened to be watching during our New Year's dinner, of Suzanne's famous Windermere lasagna. I don't think I have attributes of the main character of the movie, but what the heck, I know what the lad means. The movie's plot revolves around the hotel, but most definitely, a famous painting that arrived via inheritance. I'm not going to explain the whole movie, but, hey, it's a fun story about unique characters, historic events, and a coveted and valuable piece of art. There is a lot of intrigue and strange goings-on in our profession, admittedly, but with this comes a goodly amount of entertainment. So I don't need to employ a dribble glass, or a fly-in-the-icecube prank, to get my fun out of this life. I hope you will decide to come along for the ride. If not, it's been a pleasure thus far, to have you as daily company. The explanation below covers somewhat, my evolution from happenstance bully and practical joker, to antique-head, which is a less controversial way through life. The fact I may have once put a dog turd in my buddy's cigar, that he very much seemed to enjoy, is the past I regretfully, but knowingly, exposed myself to the disadvantage of others. I am a rogue by the fact I have been too happy to inflict random craziness on my friends. But I am not a rogue antique dealer, at least according to my colleagues.  Quite the opposite. A fun-loving dealer, yes! Maybe I have too much fun to be a successful dealer. I don't care. I like what I do, and I want to share this with you, if you're interested in this unfolding story in the form of biography.
     I never considered myself a bully. I suppose that happens when you've been bullied yourself, and anything less than what you got, was acceptable conduct to impose upon others. In other words, a half bully. I was generally a good kid, and a student that never got into serious trouble at school, except when we stuffed poor George down the coal chute at Lakeshore Public School, in Burlington. Ray Green and I might have gotten away with it, because we were able to pull George free eventually, but seeing as we were all contaminated with coal dust by this point, it wasn't really possible to get past Principal Shantz. The penalty was pretty light on that occasion, and I suppose school administration was just pleased they didn't have to call home to report a medical emergency instead. We could recover from limited exposure to coal dust, with a liberal amount of soap and hot water. It did give the Principal cause to look at the security of the coal chute door, to make sure it didn't happen again, so hey, I guess we exposed a serious breach in the safety protocol.
     I got bullied quite a bit during my public school years in Bracebridge, and a little bit in high school, but mostly I was one of the offenders. I thought it was funny to step on the back of Al "Weasel" Hillman's shoes, and knock his books out his hand, walking down the hall, or going up the stairs, simply by pulling down on the upper part of a binder, sending it to the floor; losing all its papers amongst the hundred feet stepping all over the loose sheets. When I was living in a boarding house in Toronto, during the time I was in my first two years of university, I used to hide the toilet paper at least three times a day, to the chagrin of my apartment mates, and when I spent my third year staying at Winter's College, at York University, I confess to having put fiberglass shavings on a black toilet seat, to irritate the arse of a friend of mine; just about to head on a lengthy bus ride back to his home, in Huntsville. Oh boy, did I hear about that one. I may have taken a few house-coats a few times, when my buddy Ross Smith was having a shower in the public washroom of the residence, and it's probably true we gave a loosening amount of bowel enabler, to a student we called "The Space Cowboy," because of his enjoyment of marijuana; and then we "pennied" his door; which meant he couldn't get out (really bad idea in case of a fire), and had to use a big container to relieve himself regularly that afternoon. We didn't abandon him. We were recording his pleading from the other side of the door, and related sounds that were pretty wild. He never again asked if we had any munchies after smoking a couple of joints. I also may have put black shoe polish on the black toilet seats in the women's washroom, as well as some cellophane under the seats to well, cause some splashing. So upon reflection, gosh, I think I may have been a bully myself and never took responsibility. Like the time I was flicking a butane lighter beneath an elaborate jute hanging planter, trendy 1970's interior design, and although just fooling, the flame from the lighter hit the decorative strands at the bottom, and honest to God, I've never seen anything, outside of what might be considered science fiction from the movies, immediately vaporize in a flicker of flame and puff of smoke. The glass platform in the middle of the hanger, and the plant, kind of hung there momentarily, as if a cartoon frame, before they fell with a crack and splatter and shattered all over my friend's room. There weren't even jute fibres left to identify what had been hanging there a moment before, and there was a black mark caused by the soot on the ceiling. I could have burned the whole residence down, by this stupid and ill-timed practical joke, that went way too far.
     When Suzanne said to me this fall, quite seriously in fact, that I am far too serious for my own good, I began a several month period of self examination and reflection, wondering if the prank and bully period, had somehow backfired as a sort of bastardized, hurry-up maturity, of being a parent and both senior businessman and writer. Where had all the fun gone from my life. I'd blame it on Gravenhurst Council but I promised I wouldn't in 2015. I'm giving them a year off. I guess I just felt bad about the practical jokes that went bad, like the time my girlfriend and I went parking (you know what I mean), with another couple from school, in an old gravel pit in Muskoka Lakes, and I intentionally tossed my buddy's new shirt, (he had removed) out the car window. Left in the middle of a dirt road coming back to Bracebridge. Hey, it was a hot night in July, so when we got closer to town, he asked where his shirt had gone. My girlfriend at the time, said "Ted threw it out the window a couple of miles back." We had to turn around and as it turned out, he ran over it twice, before he retrieved it off the loose gravel. His mother had just got him the shirt and his only hope, was that she wouldn't still be up when he tried to get back into the house. She busted him, seeing the tire marks down the back of the shirt. I heard about that prank for a long time after that, and he may or may not have tossed my shirt out, on a similar venture a year later.
     As for being light-hearted, I always related it to something that made me feel good, and pranks did that in spades. Take for example, the university-learned trick, of inflicting maximum damage with shaving cream. Now here's a fun and very clean, smooth way to get a laugh at someone else's expense. A large brown envelope first, has to be filled with shaving cream. When it's tight with foam, while keeping the mouth open, the prankster shoves the unsealed end under the door, of the resident apartment, you are "punking" I suppose you might say. When this is done, the next step is to take a lunch tray (borrowed from the nearest cafeteria), and angle it gently, on top of the full envelope. When you are ready, knock at the door, announcing "special delivery," and when the occupant sees the edge of the envelope coming under the door, and instinctively bends over to grab it, there's a big surprise a flicker of a second later. Timing is everything. Jumping on the tray at the precise time, as the occupant's face is a few feet from the bottom of the door, means that the contents of the envelope will explode into the room, and be the television template of a shaving cream pie in the face, for the curious apartment dweller. Now, look folks, this was the old me. I haven't played a practical joke in years, except for some very minor ones, and for some reason, it must have been the result of my waining "fun" reserve. It's hard to admit this, but I think inflicting my jokes on others, was another form of bullying; and from a fellow who did suffer frequently at the hands of hardass bullies, it is a little shocking to see this for what it was! I'm not proud of myself but it's worth keeping in mind, that my buddies were still pretty brutal in return; so rest assured, I did suffer pay-back.
     When it comes to New Year's resolutions, I have vowed to have more fun in 2015, but not at the expense of others. Oh sure, there will be pranks around our shop, like when I put banana peels in Robert's boots, and cookie portions at the tips of his winter mitts; or turn lights off that Andrew has just turned on, to the point he begins to think a ghost is following him through the building. Generally, however, I want to pursue fun the old fashioned way. This will be through the antique and collectable enterprise, which I have to explain, has always been my way out of serious situations. You may not believe this, but I have, since my late teens, got out of funks, and work related bouts of anger, by hunting and gathering old stuff. When I got into scraps with management at Muskoka Publications, I'd spend my free time on weekends, attending either auctions, estate sales, church fundraisers and antique shop hopping around the region. It worked then to lighten the emotional burden, and thirty years later, it is still the great elixir to what ails me, and us, because our entire family finds hunting treasure a hundred times less stressful than running our actual shop; which by the way, is also a joy to the spirit. You can probably gather then, that our immersion in the antique and collectable profession for all these years, has been self-perpetuating in its intrigue; and this would be correct. Imagine any recreation that you find restorative to body and spirit, and the distinct possibility you can turn it into a career as well. Most antique hunters began as hobbyists, and for a significant percentage, grew in intensity and interest, to the point, it was morphed into a business reality, even from the tiny beginning of online sales, onto flea market participation, then antique mall rental booths, to the full monty of small mom and pop antique and collectable shops. We wouldn't become antique dealers, if we hadn't thoroughly enjoyed the hobby aspects in the fledgling years. When we hit the open road, with high expectations, and a lot of experience in tow, we never think of it as a work day, as having any burdens other than who's turn it is to buy lunch at New York Fries, one of our respites along our Magical Mystery tours. Let me explain why good humour comes in tandem, with what we do, and routinely get up to, on our weekly treasure hunts. I think a lot can be ascertained by the reality, we get a buzz from finding treasure; not pirates' treasure, but what we see as bounty in the definition of our being of the humble proportion, of "generalist" dealers. We have a sliding scale of what that day's treasure could be; depending on a lot of outside circumstances, wants and needs for our own collections, and for the shop; most to be sold to other collector clients.

What Constitutes Treasure in the Eyes of a Collector

     We don't as a family of collectors, treasure hunt by diving into the murky depths of seas and oceans, to find sunken ships that have never been located. We have never once snuck into the royal tombs to raid stashes of silver and gold, set out as memorials for the deceased; and we have never relied on hand-drawn maps, to lead us to buried treasure and stashed-away loot from robberies. We didn't buy Oak Island, so that any of the treasure which might be found in future excavations, will be ours to exploit. We will satisfy ourselves, by watching and reading anything we can, about others, who do pursue all of the above with great fervor, and on occasion, score some really big finds. Generally, we are a band of generalist collector / dealers, who have a more conservative, and much safer approach to acquisition, that doesn't involve employing a backhoe, or submarine to conduct the search and recovery.
     What we employ instead, is the deeply embedded knowledge, that some very interesting "treasure," is offered up every day of the week, in thousands upon thousands of charity, thrift, and second hand shops all over the world, where the vendor(s) have misidentified or under-recognized the worth of items, they have placed for sale in their booths, shops and co-operative markets; this can include online auctions, although it is much harder to make the same treasure discoveries, for low prices, simply because of the millions of viewers with online access; versus only the "hundreds" at second hand shops. As I've written about many times before, do not take seriously, anyone, no matter what their level of experience or accomplishment, if they ever state to you, or in conversation around you, that, "No, there's all the best finds have already been made," or "There's nothing left out there for us!" This is absolute nonsense, spoken for lack of anything else to say, or to clear the way of others, to pursue antique hunting unobstructed. There are lots of valuable pieces from all periods of history, that are donated and sold off without proper identification and serious evaluation work completed. This means the creation of a class of antiques and collectables, known to our profession, as "Sleepers." These are pieces, whether art, silver, gold, pottery, china, stamps, coins, art and books, plus a billion other examples, that are given cursory examination, and then priced to be set on the floor of second hand shops. (Even antique dealers often under recognize the treasures and historic relics in their possession, and under-price them to our general advantage) All is fair in this regard. The trick here, and it's not really a trick at all, is to be as experienced in general antiques and collectables, as possible, in all areas of your own particular, major buy-sell interests, no matter what it is, to know that a piece is grossly under-valued; and could be bought and sold at a sizable profit. This is the business component that is also a heck of a lot of fun. It's a way for us to make money doing what we love to do, and in a profession we feel most comfortable and recreational, at the same time. I can't tell you the utter celebration of the mind, that unclenches, when you find a "sleeper" painting, of an artist you recognize, worth ten to a hundred times more than the asking price? What about the matters of conscience? Shouldn't we tell the vendor they have made a mistake in pricing? Let a thrift or charity shop know they have made a goof in valuation? No! But this has changed in the past ten years, from a time, when I used to provide this assistance to these shops as a volunteer appraiser. Here's why things have changed.
     Today, a majority of these charity shops have antique and collectable consultants they call in, to look at specific pieces. They have access to online resources, the same as we do, and many keep price guides and identification books behind the counters for quickie evaluations. One of the ways they get around worrying about values, of items they're sure are high quality and rare, is that they put them in monthly auctions, which probably will generate more money per item, than if placed on the shop floor, with a guessed price. The silent auctions are only as worthy for making more money, as the crowd of bidders is large and savvy, in what is being offered for sale. I have cherry picked many items from silent auctions, for pieces that went way under value, because of a shortfall in the way they were promoted, displayed, cleaned-up (or not), and the time of the rolling year they were offered for sale. For example, putting a major regional painting up for auction in January, versus in July or August. The painting therefore, becomes an auction sleeper generally, if it is put up out of season, meaning that lesser bidders are available to run up the selling price.
     All the thrift and charity shop managers, have the same access as antique dealers, to seek out appraisers if they're concerned about a subject article. If they don't seek out expertise, when they have the opportunity, then they must certainly accept that dealers like us, snapping up the bargains, are just doing our own due diligence and making big finds. A number of large charity shops have an online selling division of their businesses, which is perfectly fine, and gives much greater exposure for certain pieces, such as major art works. We have access to their auctions as well, so it's not like they've caused us any real obstacle to acquisition. If those who are listing on ebay, for example, make mistakes in identification or description, they might well lose the potential of the item selling for a profitable amount. It all comes down to due diligence, and accurate, detailed descriptions, no matter where and how one chooses to sell off antiques and collectables. There are sharks like us awaiting the "sleepers," which by the way, we find on every one of our adventures. We find them because we know where to look, and who, by tradition, traditionally serves up the best deals with low pricing. Not every vendor cares about this reality, and is happy to have turn-over of inventory.     Dealers especially, are welcome customers at antique shops and malls, and are usually afforded a standard ten percent dealer courtesy. If you're a dealer and you don't do this as a matter of routine, then you should smarten up, and start offering it today. Dealers can help dealers through the slow months, that's for sure. And yes, we always give dealers a discount, even if they don't reciprocate at their shops. In fact, I've been doing this as a dealer, since my first shop in Bracebridge, circa 1977. It's a show of respect for the internal welfare of this historic profession, of which I have been a 35 year member.
     If you are even marginally interested in treasure hunting, and recall those grand childhood adventures in quest of pirate's booty, (like the movie "The Goonies"), I hope to be able to show you, just how interesting the antique and collectable business can be, beyond what, on the surface, looks like a pretty dull pursuit of old and musty stuff long past its prime. Short of being a treasure hunter who digs, or dives, or quests otherwise all over the earth, or down into the great depths of ocean for relics of our past, I have never been disappointed by what exists out there of major prizes, rewarded to those who hunt well, and hunt often. This is what I want to share in my newly revitalized blog, "Ted Currie - Antique Head," starting tomorrow evening. I want to dispel the myth that antique hunting involves immersing in history, as if climbing through a portal, and staying there, until there is reason to pop out. This is all very contemporary, and our mission is to find items, new or old, that have a greater investment value, than the sticker price applied by shop, market, or mall vendors. It's why, part of our recreation, is to read and read, and read some more; in books and during online searches, to brush up on what we don't know as well as we should.    As I've written about many times in the past, there is no learning curve in the antique profession. Just ongoing re-education, and broadening of appreciation, that expands to meet modernist realities of art and antique valuations in the contemporary market place. Just because we are antique dealers, doesn't mean we won't speculate on something else, of material value, that we can buy and sell for a significant profit, including vintage vehicles, fire engines, funeral home hearses, or bits and pieces of aircraft we happen to come across. It's what makes the profession so unpredictably delicious day after day. This is what I want to share with you; and believe me, you don't have to be a lover of antiques, to appreciate the joy of discovery; and the electric adventure of hunting for treasure; which might be as close as the nearest thrift shop. If you're prepared to invest some time and effort to hunt and gather the old fashioned way. No scuba gear, or garden shovels required.
     Hope you will join me tomorrow, for the beginning of a year long treasure hunt, all of it based in our home district, of South Muskoka.