The joy of second hand book collecting

(from 2011)

It was Virginia Wolfe who said "Second hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack."

Partly down to budget, but also with a nod to Wolfe’s philosophy, second hand book collecting has been a major part of my life. Since the advent of the internet I’ve obtained so many items that I never thought would have been possible. And yet there is something lost from the experience of scrabbling amongst dusty shelves and precarious stacks, and secret back rooms where real treasures might be found. More and more shops in Britain have gone to the wall. Even a place like the “town of books” Hay on Wye (everything you could never possibly want) seemed sparser last time I visited. The comforting jumble of the periodicals department in one huge building (where once I picked up originals of Overland Monthly) now replaced by a modern cafe.

So here are a two highlights and one lowlight of one person’s book collecting over the years.

First there was Newcome’s Improved New Testament, the first edition of 1808. Newcome was the Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of All Ireland who produced his own NT translation in the late 18^th century. Copyright wasn’t too hot at the time, and in 1808 the Unitarians got hold of it and “improved” it. Their version used the Anglicised Jehovah for the name of God in a number of OT quotations, and also had an untraditional rendering for John 1:1 where the last clause became “the Word was a god”. (It started a trend. The Universalist Abner Kneeland ran with this for his own translation in 1822, and the baton was picked up by the interlinear rendering in Benjamin Wilson’s Emphatic Diaglott in the mid-1860s – which strays into the historical area of this blog). Leaving aside linguistic and theological arguments – one can’t imagine the Archbish being too pleased with what happened to his baby.

At the time – and this was a good number of years ago - a pristine first edition could go for about 200 GBP. But there I was – in the one shop that always looked down on the rabble who bought “second hand” as opposed to pricey “antiquarian”. And there was gold – languishing on the shelf. They should have known better. I feigned as much bored indifference to match that of the person behind the counter, paid just a couple of GBP and left. Back in the car - “Yes!” That volume is still mine, although currently out on loan for an exhibition.

Then there was the bound volume of a Victorian periodical called “The Idler”. Edited by Jerome K Jerome, it was in beautiful condition in publisher’s cloth - the one volume I was missing. A perfect match, and going for a song. My daughter still remembers the occasion when I picked out the volume – made a fist and, according to her, danced around the second hand bookshop in Penzance. At the age of 12 she was used to her father doing strange things, but I am sure I didn’t actually dance. To this day, she insists I did! I blame the bad memory on her advancing years.

Of course there have been less successful experiences along the way. I used to advertise regularly in trade journals for publications of a certain religious group – a key one was called The Watchtower that started in 1879. A dealer contacted me to offer an original volume for 1901-1903. It was very expensive, and I was doing religious work away from home with a companion of similar age at the time. And we were broke. Really, really broke. But I had to have it. Money from necessities was diverted to obtain the prize. Then each day I waited impatiently for the parcel to come.

Finally it did. I ripped open the paper, and there it was – the Watchtower on the spine. Not quite the size I expected, but hey – how much did I know at that time about the shape and size of its past years? I opened the book wide, and there on a full page spread were the immortal words:

BILE BEANS FOR BILIOUSNESS

Those who may know the journal in question will understand how incongruous that was. I flipped through the pages and – aaagh - this wasn’t MY Watchtower, this was ANOTHER Watchtower – a literary journal published by the Broughton Baptist Church - full of life enhancing anecdotes, and advertisements for patent remedies for the ailing Baptist community of Greater Manchester.

My working partner behaved with true Christian charity.

How much did you pay for it?

HOW MUCH??

HAWHAWHAWHAWHAW!!!

Well over forty years have gone by since then, but I can still remember as he curled up and pounded the floor in hysterics, as I looked aghast at my prize and thought what I could have spent the money on.

That volume is still on my shelves today. (As is another volume called Awake - a bound volume from the Church Missionary Society from 1902 – and that date really should have been a give-away).

I keep them there as a lesson.

I’m just not sure of what.