Thursday, December 24, 2009

Hertzog Award for Excellence in Book Design

Chester River Press is pleased to announce that our letterpress limited edition of Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness has been named the 2010 recipient of the Carl Hertzog Award for Excellence in Book Design. The book's designers and printers, James Dissette and Chad Pastotnik, will receive the award at a ceremony in February. The award is presented by the Friends of the University Library of the University of Texas at El Paso, and is the most prestigious award of its kind.

Well deserved congratulations to Jim and Chad for a superb labor of love and art. The books were printed at Chad's Deep Wood Press and bound at Bessenberg Bindery, both in Michigan. Our partnership with Chad on this project was truly extraordinary. For information on this fine edition of Conrad visit our website.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Scaling the Walls of Troy - Part Three.

This concludes the story of the design, printing and publishing of the Chester River Press edition of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey. We just received our advance copy of the set and we are very pleased indeed. Two folio volumes, in slipcase, black cloth binding with gold foil design and spine titles, top edge gilt, ribbon markers, text in Greek and English, and over fifty full-page, tipped-in original art pieces in the Greek vase styles. The art is stunning, and these modern books have the look and feel of classic folios.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Dystopia Revisited

I’ve been on a trip to the land of Dystopia, wandering down a few of its many side roads, re-reading standard works and discovering unfamiliar ones. It was a refreshing exercise to read several of the classics of this genre in sequence over a limited period of time. The production of worthy dystopian novels and stories numbers in the hundreds and continues each year. I offer here a brief survey of some classics of the genre, for your consideration.

To begin with, certain themes recur in dystopia land, including: the status of the intellectual and the free thinking person; the various futuristic visions of architecture or ruin; the social norms, living conditions and personal interrelationships; and the inevitable divisions of society into the powerful and the less-powerful classes. These plot nuances are often a product of an author’s attempt to interject political and social views based on contemporary society. These all become recognizable markers for the reader’s journey through the genre. Also, there is a post-apocalyptic nature to many plots, whether clearly stated or implied. In fact, there seems to be a friendly rivalry in literati circles with the “true” dystopians on one side, the post-apocalyptics on the other.

I started my tour with H.G. Wells. Being one of the ‘fathers of science fiction’, Wells has some claim to writing one of the first dystopian novels, The Time Machine, in 1895. The concept of time travel was not invented by Wells, but he infused the Time Traveller’s journey into the very distant future with a glimpse of a civilization evolved into a divided two class structure. The Time Machine is written in the form of a second hand narrator relating the exploits of the Time Traveller who invents the machine which makes travel to the future and past possible. This plot line is not generally followed in other dystopian works as most are straightforward narratives assuming place, time, and events to be cohesive in their telling. But Wells uses this format in some of his other tales, most notably in When the Sleeper Awakes.

Most of the standard elements of dystopian fiction are present in The Time Machine. The architecture plays a prominent role, with the landscape dotted with ruined buildings and monuments, and an underground network of cavernous tunnels. The societal structure is based on power where the underground species has evolved as strong, brutish, and animal-like, but in control of the apparatus of the world, preying on the gentle, simple minded surface civilization for sustenance.

The Time Machine continues to fascinate readers, viewers and listeners. It has been filmed several times, most recently in 2002, was performed as a radio dramatization by the BBC in 2009, and Penguin Classics has released a new paperback series of Wells’ novels. The Time Machine was first published in serialization and stands as an example of Wells’ early writing in the genre, as the first popularization of the time travel concept, and as a clue to themes to be developed in his later work.

Wells’ When the Sleeper Awakes, 1899, (revised in 1910 as The Sleeper Awakes) is a more intense dystopian offering covering the full range of themes, but also written from the perspective of a visitor from the past finding himself in the future. Graham, “The Sleeper”, wakes after a 200 year nap to find himself in a future London. By a rather convoluted sequence of events, he is now the richest man in the world. The plot basically involves Graham assuming his “responsibility” as the master of the world and aligning with the enlightened visionaries to thwart the evil power elite.

Wells did some intriguing writing here regarding futuristic architecture in particular, with London depicted as a giant covered mall with massive halls, passageways, factories, living quarters, and entertainment centers. He returns to the theme of the underground masses versus the above ground society. His vision of airplanes and aerodromes add to the prophetic nature of the writing. More solidly dystopian than The Time Machine, some readers see Sleeper as a logical ‘fleshing out’ of the ideas briefly explored in the previous novel, and many critics have termed Sleeper “the first dystopian novel”.

Wells was a socialist, wrote fiction and non-fiction, and was concerned with society’s structure, its problems, and its future. His early works were termed “scientific romances”,
many of which were concerned with the utopian possibilities for the “World State”. He envisioned an end to nationalism and the advancement of science and a planned society. Reading these two works of Wells is an exercise in theme development. Written just four years apart, Sleeper is a giant leap from The Time Machine in terms of dystopian elements and development of plot. The later and more seriously regarded dystopians such as Zamyatin, Huxley and Orwell owe a great debt to Wells’ imagination.

One of the first works I revisited was the short story “The Machine Stops” by E.M. Forster, published in 1909. This can be found in Forster’s volume of short stories titled The Eternal Moment and Other Stories. It tells the tale of a future dependent on “The Machine” to control the personal and public affairs of the citizenry. The dependency has allowed ‘humans’ to evolve into a soft culture where the basic state of living is isolation in small apartments, and the main concern is communication of ideas. This is accomplished in a huge subterranean metropolis or ‘condominium’ environment where the Machine provides the essential needs of the citizens, and provides the means of communication and learning through video conferencing. Travel to the outside world is prohibited, but one is permitted to use an air ship to be transported to other similar subterranean locations on the Earth. The inevitable happens when gradually the Machine develops problems, begins to falter, and then stops altogether. There are definite post-apocalyptic hints to the plot, especially concerning the surface world and the possibility of life existing there.

Clearly dystopian in nature, most readers today readily identify the Machine with our computer driven society, easily bringing to mind our apprehension at the turn of the millennium, when airplanes would fall from the sky and the infrastructure of the globe would shut down. But this story was written a hundred years ago, seventy years before the internet, and was most probably a reaction of sorts to Wells’ writings as well as a statement of concern with the development of technology in general. No matter how conceived, "The Machine Stops" is staggering in its prophetic perception of the tendency to devise artificial solutions to human problems and needs, and today’s reliance on computers, systems, video and data transmission underlines the significance of Forster’s warnings. Vonnegut’s Player Piano echoes this theme. "The Machine Stops" should be required reading for all of us.

Yevgeny Zamyatin’s novel We, written in 1921, has been considered the first dystopian novel of the” modern era”. It is a prototype of sorts for the novels of Huxley and Orwell, the similarities being too obvious to ignore. Here we have the complete scenario of a future society forming after a war that destroyed most of the world’s population. The locale is a glassed-in One State led by the Benefactor with a totally controlled, always visible society. Each minute of life is accounted for, and the plot centers on a rebellious group which favors imagination and individual freedom over order and efficiency. The narrator of the tale, D-503, is the designer of a space ship named The Integral, which is designed to travel the universe to spread the One State philosophy.

Zamyatin was a Bolshevik and experienced the Russian revolutions of 1905 and 1917. He was a naval engineer and writer, and was arrested and exiled at least twice in his lifetime. He became a critic of the Communist government in Russia, mainly because of what he saw as censorship and extreme regimentation. He was also the author of an essay titled "Herbert Wells" and supervised several translations of H.G. Wells’ works. The influence of Wells is clear. George Orwell was clearly influenced by Zamyatin; he read We in the French translation and published a review. Aldous Huxley maintained that he had not known of We until after he had written Brave New World, but most critics, including Orwell, doubted that claim. When asked about the influences on his novel Player Piano, Kurt Vonnegut is quoted as saying that he “cheerfully ripped off the plot of Brave New World, whose plot had been cheerfully ripped off from Eugene Zamyatin’s We.”

Wherever the trail of influences begins and ends, reading Zamyatin’s We is essential to a studious reading of the subsequent novels of the genre. All of the ‘elements’ of dystopian fiction are present, including not so veiled references to Christianity, surgical procedures to eliminate the ‘imagination’, numbers instead of names, the inevitable attraction of the sexes outside of regimented unions, the ‘underground’ revolutionaries, and an intriguing take on architecture involving glass buildings and living quarters. Interestingly for this period of dystopian writing, We includes space travel, or at least the preparation for it, as a background plot device. This is not repeated by Orwell or Huxley, but is featured at the conclusion of Miller’s A Canticle for Leibowitz.

Huxley’s Brave New World was published in 1932, eleven years after Zamyatin’s We. Huxley has stated that his decision to write the novel was inspired by his visit to a state of the art chemical plant. His concern with the future of industrial advances, especially genetic engineering, is clearly evident in this novel, where the society of the New World State has transcended natural sexual attraction and birth to substitute engineered and controlled reproduction. At the novel’s start we are included in a tour of the Hatchery and Conditioning Centre, where much pride is taken in the number of fetuses which are able to be produced by a single egg, and the manipulation of these into the various castes of society. Everyone is programmed by birth to be a member of a particular class, bred to occupations, housing, diet, etc., thus eliminating competition and promoting contentment. Life in The New World State has eliminated romantic relationships, idleness, professional competitiveness, religion, and books.

Unlike the closed society described in We, the New World State, centered in ‘London’, includes outlying population centers which are semi-controlled. These are used as tourist diversions and exile destinations. One of these, the so-called Savage Reservation is located in New Mexico, and plays an important role as the plot develops. An exiled mother and son are returned to ‘London’ and their fate, and their interaction with members of the higher castes and the populace forms the scenario for the conclusion of the novel.

The similarities between Zamyatin’s We and Huxley’s Brave New World are significant. They in fact have much more in common than does Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four, published in 1949. Orwell’s dystopia is a grittier work, the setting of which resembles Eastern Europe under totalitarianism, right down to the grim apartment buildings and dark streets. Here we have government surveillance, information control, rewriting history, a one party structure, mutual distrust, lack of basic freedoms, and the inevitable revolutionary group. We seem to identify more with Winston Smith than any other central character in the previous dystopian novels because he faces what we have been taught to fear in our own society. His occupation is to change and falsify past documents, news items, literature and other records. It’s a small leap for us to recollect the similar activities of the Soviets, such as brushing a Beria or a Khrushchev out of a photo, or removing an enemy of the state from all mention in history books. We are familiar with the real life specter of citizens being spied on, turned over to the Party authorities by neighbors, and locked away convicted of a trumped up political crime.

Nineteen Eighty-Four has transcended literature and entered the zone of common social concepts. We use it and learn from it in ways that are not possible with the others. We recognize its terms and warnings in our present society: Big Brother, doublethink, newspeak, war is peace, love is hate, room 101, thought police, and of course ‘Orwellian’. At times we use these terms too loosely, and at other times we ignore their rightful application. The themes are universal, and that is the special power of this book.

Vonnegut’s Player Piano, 1952, is a treatise on automation and capitalism. It focuses on the replacement of human skilled labor with machines, in this case the pre-computer era punch card operated ‘boxes’. The theory is that humans make mistakes, are slow, and are concerned with other things in their lives, thereby hampering constant attention and focus to the making of products, tools, etc. In fact, most routine chores are susceptible to ‘automation’. The consequence is a population of lower class workers having nothing meaningful to do all day, except to ponder how much better things would be if they were gainfully employed. The resentment of the working class for the elite managers and engineers is intense, and builds to a mini ‘revolution’. Vonnegut has given us a dystopian world much simpler in scope than Zamyatin, Huxley or Orwell, but in many ways a world more directly relevant to modern day work methods and theories of production, all centered on the computer, and the consequences for society of devaluing manual skilled and unskilled labor.

Walter Miller’s A Canticle for Leibowitz, 1960, is an essential book for any reading survey of the dystopian genre. Post-apocalyptic in nature, it covers a period of thousands of years, in three cycles, centering on a Roman Catholic monastery in the United States where the monks have been preserving written documents and artifacts especially of a scientific nature. Miller originally wrote three short stories for The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction in the 1950’s, and subsequently reworked the stories into a three part novel. Heavily influenced by Roman Catholicism and the Judeo-Christian traditions, the novel can be challenging to readers unfamiliar with religious doctrine and the Bible, however the sheer power of the writing and the plot fully compensate for this.

The cyclical structure of the novel takes us through the aftermath of a nuclear war, the survival of the Church, and in particular the Abbey of St. Leibowitz in the southwestern United States, the preservation of knowledge for future generations, the barbarian existence of the remaining population, and finally the resurgence of scientific and technological knowledge and experiment leading to the certainty of a new desolation. Man’s seemingly endless ability to strive toward self destruction is reaffirmed. Canticle is not to be missed by the first-time traveler to dystopia , and is an even greater pleasure the second or third time around.

Our fascination with these tales of the possible and probable continues, and in many ways grows stronger, in the decades following 1960. There have been many worthy entries in the field of dystopian literature since Miller’s Canticle, and I intend to include them in a future reading project. We remain students of this genre because each work teaches us something different about how human beings react to desolation, control, loneliness, intrusion, security, war, peace, love and hate. These stories shed light on the eternal struggle between our individual needs and desires and those of society. They enunciate our unspoken fears about current events and allow us to question the validity of what we see and hear. They justify our doubts and sharpen our vigilance. They provide warning and comfort, and renew our faith in the human desire for intellectual and physical freedom. They question the very fabric of our governments, our society, our religious institutions, and our history. They challenge us, entertain us, frighten us, and soothe us. And they deserve to be read, and revisited.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Scaling the Walls of Troy - Part Two.

To continue, Chester River Press is planning a new presentation of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey. The initial task was to locate acceptable electronic texts of Alexander Pope’s translation of the Iliad and Odyssey, and the classic Greek text. As we found during our preparation of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, what at first seems simple enough turns into a complicated process. In essence, on line texts are a wonderful convenience, the alternative being a retyping of printed texts into a workable electronic format. However, the methods used to produce an on line text are fraught with problems and oversights. If they are to be used for anything but reading, they require careful editing and comparison with published editions and, even then, errors, omissions, and author changes from edition to edition have to be accounted for. And in this case, we were dealing with Greek and English.

While we were pondering the textual problems, we decided to contact Steven Shankman to ascertain his interest in our project. Professor Shankman teaches at the University of Oregon, and is Distinguished Professor, College or Arts and Sciences, and also UNESCO Chair in Transcultural Studies. He has authored many books and numerous articles on Homeric studies, is well known for his scholarship on Alexander Pope, and edited an Alexander Pope translation of the Iliad for Penguin Books in 1996. We wrote to Professor Shankman explaining and presenting our project, asking if he would consider writing an introduction for the publication. We were ecstatic to receive not only a favorable response but a strong endorsement of our project. He agreed to prepare an original introduction for what, in his words, would be “a magnificent edition” of Homer.

Our plans for the illustrations of the Iliad and Odyssey were centered on Greek vase painting of the Homeric period. We envisioned using the classic Greek vase shapes illustrated with original art depicting chosen scenes from the Iliad and Odyssey, at least one scene from each of the 48 books. Using the internet, we sent out an “artists call”, describing the project and emphasizing the classical Greek nature of the planned drawings. Over the period of several weeks we received more than 150 responses, all of which were noteworthy in their professionalism and artistic talent, but unfortunately very few demonstrated the classical style of art we were seeking.

Our disappointment turned to excitement when one morning a young artist named Avery Lawrence came into our bookshop, opened his portfolio and showed us his just completed drawings of Greek vases with two scenes from the Iliad. We were amazed. They were exactly what we envisioned. Over the next six months Bill Frank worked with Avery on scene and vase selections, fine tuning the drawings and matching them with couplets from the Pope translation. The final result would be more than fifty full page art pieces accompanied by catalogue entries.

There are, of course, many editions of Pope’s translations of the Iliad and Odyssey. Some significant changes were made over time, a most noteworthy one in 1736 when Pope changed the first two lines of his Iliad from the 1720 first edition. The lines originally read as follows:

The Wrath of Peleus’ Son, the direful spring
Of all the Grecian Woes, O Goddess, sing!

Pope changed them to the now familiar:

Achilles’ wrath, to Greece the direful spring
Of woes unnumber’d, heav’nly Goddess, sing!

Pope made other changes over the years, dealing mostly with spelling, hyphenation, punctuation, and the use and non-use of italics. After his death in 1744, the changes to Pope’s text rested with the various editors who prepared later publications of his work. By the mid-nineteenth century fairly standardized texts of the Pope translations were in use. Even so, the electronic versions we reviewed contained several variations which proved inconsistent with specific published editions of Pope we studied. We finally settled on the edition introduced by Theodore Buckley in the 1890’s. This edition incorporated not only Pope’s major changes but the smaller revisions to the text we were comfortable with.

The standard Greek text of the Iliad and Odyssey is the Monro-Allen edition of 1920. This edition was available to us electronically, but posed the problem of ascertaining the accuracy of a classical Greek electronic copy. We would need to edit the Greek. Bill Frank reads and studies classical Greek, but attempting to proof the entire Iliad and Odyssey was a mountain a bit too high to climb, for Bill or any of us at Chester River Press. We decided to seek both an editor for the Greek, and to be on the safe side, an editor for the English text, to bring the Pope electronic version in line with the Buckley edition.

Jim Dissette made contact with Professor Barry B. Powell, University of Wisconsin, who is a renowned Greek scholar. His books include: Homer and the Origin of the Greek Alphabet, 1991; Writings and the Origins of Greek Literature, 2002; and most recently Writing: Theory and History of the Technology of Civilization, 2009. To our great fortune Professor Powell agreed to proof the electronic Greek text, and considered it a ‘fun’ project! In the course of our work he became an invaluable resource for us, going far beyond what we asked him to do.

Professor Shankman put us in touch with Steven Shurtleff, a Pope scholar who had assisted him in the research for the Penguin edition of the Iliad. Mr. Shurtleff agreed to edit the electronic text of Pope’s Homer to correspond with the Buckley edition. This was monumental, since the editing covered spelling, punctuation, and all of the minor differences in the two versions. He knew Pope’s Homer intimately, was a pleasure to work with, and his expertise and diligence were crucial to our effort.

Thus far, at least, the Greek gods were smiling upon us. Designing the book itself promised to be a challenge. This was Jim Dissette’s expertise and he prepared several mockups of the page layouts, title pages, dust jackets, and typefaces. A basic decision was how to present the Greek and English texts. We knew we would need to publish in two volumes, but the Iliad and Odyssey are lengthy books and, depending on the font size, running Greek on one page and English on the facing page could prove unworkable. Jim designed a two column page, placing the Greek in one, the English in the other. He designed each page in a wide lateral format to accommodate the text with generous margins. It was definitely not your standard book shape, but a practical one, and very elegant too.

Jim designed Avery’s full page art pieces to be ‘tipped in’ as opposed to bound into the book. We would use a heavier stock coated paper for the fifty-plus art pages, which would enhance the magnificent colors in the printing process. Each volume would have a vase art frontispiece, with the title pages printed in gold Greek lettering on a black background. The dust jackets would mirror the title pages.

At last came the day when the introduction was completed, the proofing and editing of Greek and English finished, all art pieces and catalogue entries ready, and Jim was working on the delicate and lengthy process of adjusting the texts to the pages to accommodate the shorter Greek text with the longer Pope text. We each read the text carefully again to ensure there were no lines dropped, no Greek fonts erroneously transmitted from computer to computer, no pages out of sequence, and all of the detail checking that comes along just when you think the layout is completed. And then we were finished, and it actually looked like we had a book, two in fact. The files were off to the printer and we awaited the galleys, when the proofing process would begin all over again.

So we take a deep breath, begin planning our marketing campaign, and wait, gripping tightly to the Walls of Troy.

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Scaling the Walls of Troy - Part One.

From the Renaissance to the present time, there have been over five thousand printed editions of Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey. The Homeric texts trace back to oral poetry of perhaps the eighth century BCE, which coincides with the traditionally accepted time period of Homer’s life. As we have all learned, questions and theories abound concerning the very existence of a man named Homer, and whether the written texts from the sixth century BCE bear any resemblance to the oral epics of the eighth century. What we do know is the standardization of left to right written Greek traces to ca. 600 BCE, and by that time there were many written versions of the Homeric texts available. Aristotle studied the written text in the fourth century BCE.

The first translation of Homer into English took place in 1581 when Arthur Hall published the first ten Books of the Iliad. Interestingly, he translated from a French translation of 1555 by Hugues Salel, not directly from Greek or Latin. The most well known of these early translations was by George Chapman, who’s Iliad was finished in 1611, and his Odyssey in 1616. Chapman’s translation has been in steady use right up to the present time. Subsequent noteworthy translations were: Ogilby, 1669; Hobbes, 1673-77 (at the age of 85); Dryden, 1700; and significantly, Anne LeFevre Dacier, Iliad,1711, translated into French.

The most reprinted translation is that of Alexander Pope, spanning the years from 1715 to 1720, Iliad, and 1725 to 1726, Odyssey. Pope’s translation departs from most others in that he favored a liberal, poetic approach rather than a strict literary translation. His concern was with contemporary readers, and so chose the heroic couplet which at that time was in favor with his colleagues. His translation has been called a ‘paraphrase’ by some critics, and brilliant by others. It was said he cared more about the sound of his translation than the scholarship. Pope’s translation is poetry, and it is his poetry, and should be taken in that light.

As a side note, Pope was more directly involved with the Iliad translation than the Odyssey, for which he relied on the research of his assistants, Elijah Fenton and William Broome. He translated by reference to the Greek and Latin, and researched all translations to that date, especially the French translation of Anne Dacier.

New translations of the Iliad and Odyssey, story adaptations, novels, and related literary works continue at the rate of twenty or more each year. The fascination and interest in the Homeric works go beyond the academic and research environments. Our earliest oral and written epic, given a new translation or presentation, is as likely to appear on today’s list of recommended new publications as is the latest novel by Dan Brown.

With all of that in mind, and with a desire to produce a meaningful work ‘for the ages’, we at Chester River Press decided to publish a new presentation of the Iliad and Odyssey. We have been living with Homer now for the better part of a year, researching various editions, acquiring permissions, working with scholars, artists, editors, proofers, and printers, and generally becoming obsessed with the nuances of planning, printing and publishing this monumental work. But at the start we had some basic decisions to make.

First, we settled on Mr. Pope’s translation, for a number of reasons: its uniqueness, endurance, poetic beauty, controversy, history, and its reflection of the voice of the original epic. We felt no other translation rivaled Pope’s for the sheer beauty and rhythm of the verse. His translation is an event in itself, and carries on what most certainly was the musical quality of the original. His poetry adds to the reading, rather than distracts from it. Homer should be not only interesting but enjoyable; a pleasure to the senses as well as stimulation for the intellect.

We also knew we wanted to present the Homeric Greek along with the English, even though Pope’s is not a literal translation. Seeing the original Greek along with the English is rare, but it provides an additional sensual value to the presentation and allows for certain reference points which can be intriguing. Those familiar with Greek, as well as novices, will be presented with the opportunity to reference the original and broaden the experience. Besides, it’s fun to impress your fellow literati by stating you read Homer in English and Greek, however minimal!

The third basic decision was that the entire work should be generously adorned with original art pieces. We decided on the format of Greek vase painting of the period: red-figure and black-figure. Each ‘Book’ of the Iliad and Odyssey (there are twenty-four in each) would have a pertinent scene represented on an appropriate vase type. These we envisioned as full page, color, original art pieces. We would need an artist.

We then turned our thoughts to an Introduction for the work. Through our reading we were aware of prominent scholars in the Homeric field, and one in particular who had written several books and pieces on Alexander Pope’s translations. Steven Shankman, Ph.D. was currently at the University of Oregon. In 1997 he edited and introduced the Penguin edition of Pope’s Iliad. We decided to attempt a contact with Dr. Shankman to explain our project.

With these decisions made, we set out to put the pieces together: locate and proof our texts; find an artist to work with; contact Dr. Shankman; plan the design of the book; decide on printing; draw up a budget and time frame; and generally begin to fine tune the publication.

We had much work in front of us, but the Walls of Troy were in our sights.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

To Edward S. Aarons

I grew up not far from Harvard Square in Cambridge. My favorite haunt as a ‘youngster’ was the Paperback Booksmith, located on Brattle Street near the old Brattle Theatre. That’s where you could see Bogart in Casablanca on the big screen, and there are few things better than that. The book store was a novelty in that it only carried paperbacks, with a huge selection ranging from the interests of nearby Harvard students to more mundane choices for the likes of me.

That’s where I learned that book stores were places you could spend time in, sometimes the better part of an afternoon, listening to Handel, slipping books out from their hiding places and feeling you have entered another dimension. My selections were always varied, and for every classic ‘must read’ I stacked on the floor, there were always a few ‘fun reads’, and I remember one author in that category being Edward S. Aarons. Now hopefully his name will rekindle a memory or two for some of you. He wrote those slim volumes of the “Assignment” series, as in Assignment Peking. Secret agent stuff, full of late night chases through dark back streets of rainy foreign cities, hidden dangers lurking at every doorway, and with plots that seemed so inscrutable right up to the point where the least obvious character is revealed as a double agent and nuclear war is foiled for at least another week or so.

Well, even if you don’t recall him, Edward S. Aarons showed me it was alright to have interest in many genres of reading, and when I discovered John Le Carre`, and read my first real cold war ‘spy novel’, I felt I owed it all to Aarons. The world of Le Carre` opened up many hours of entranced reading that I still experience each time I revisit his earlier works and settle into them as if it were for the first time. And it was Le Carre` to whom I owe my initial experience with a rare book dealer.

In the days before the internet, and that was not so long along ago dear reader, collectors either frequented bookshops for their ‘wants’, attended book auctions and fairs, or pored over dealers’ catalogues in search of the volumes they just had to have. I began to receive dealers’ catalogues in the mail and enjoyed going through them fantasizing about the leather bound sets and modern first editions being offered, and how nice they would look on my rudimentary book shelf. But they seemed expensive, and so remained a dream to be fulfilled on another day. Besides, I really didn’t have much experience with this and the process of actually ordering from a dealer’s catalogue intimidated me more than a little bit.

One evening, going through a recently received catalogue, I saw it, and my heart jumped. A first U.S. edition of The Spy Who Came In From the Cold, signed by the author on the title page, for $85. I remember reading the entry over and over again. Yes, I could just afford it, and definitely yes, I wanted it. In fact,I just had to have it. There were two ways to order: by mail, or telephone. I gathered my courage and phoned the next morning.

The kind voice on the other end asked what catalogue number I was ordering from, which book number, and hold one minute please, and then yes, the book was still available. She wanted my name, address and phone please, and will I be sending a check? That will be fine sir, and thank you for calling. That was it. I mailed out a check that afternoon, and the book arrived two days later, after obviously being shipped prior to the arrival of my check.

The book was a treasure of course, a prized possession. And what an experience: a transaction of mutual trust and interest. Was this the exception or the rule? Was this the way book dealers and collectors behaved? They didn’t know me at all, and yet I was treated like a long time customer. My amazement was superseded only by the pleasure of owning a signed Le Carre`. I had entered the world of collectors and dealers, and I was hooked.

A youthful side trip to secret agent land via Edward S. Aarons leads to more sophisticated ‘side’ reading, leads to a desire to obtain a particular book, nudged along by a very cooperative book dealer, equals a lifelong passion for fine books and the book business. I’ve kept that memory of the book dealer who cured the intimidation of the young collector as a model to strive for. And I’m pleased to be able to say that my experiences in the book business have been, for the most part, of a similar stripe. And I also try to keep in mind that the book a youth is reading today might not measure up to my expectations, but it can lead to other authors and genres, and ultimately can prove to be the catalyst for a lifetime of fine reading and collecting pleasure.

I recently found a stack of six Edward S. Aarons paperbacks at a little bookshop in Washington, D.C. They were all somewhat dog-eared, and set me back five dollars. I love them, and of course they brought back many memories. But I don’t think I‘ll read them. Why tempt fate. It’s just nice having them nearby.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Twilight Zone

Submitted for your approval...

A small antiquarian bookshop in a small town, late on a rainy, Saturday afternoon. In the dim light two gentlemen are in discussion, deploring the younger generation’s lack of enthusiasm for reading and studying classical works. But their conversation comes to a sudden halt as the door to the shop sharply opens letting in the wind, the rain, and the chill…of the Twilight Zone.

Enter a young man, no more than twelve years old, thin, glasses, disheveled hair, wet. He defines the word ‘scurry’ as he hastens past the two men, directly for the second aisle of books. He bends to his knees and reaches knowingly for a slim volume nestled on the bottom shelf. A moment of decision passes and then he rises, comes to the gentlemen, opens the book to a penciled mark and asks: “Is this the price of the book sir?”

It is a small size, slim volume in soft dark blue leather, with one word in gilt on the cover: Cicero. The adults stare at the volume, then at the boy, then at each other. The boy explains how he was in the shop earlier and saw the book but only had ten dollars, not the twenty dollars to buy it. He went down the street to find his father, and ‘borrowed’ the extra money to pay for the book. Not one word yet from the gentlemen as they continue to stare and try to find words to express their wonder.

“Sir”, the boy says, “my father is waiting for me and I really have to leave now.” The book is wrapped carefully for the young customer, money is exchanged, but not the full amount as it is explained that the book must have been mispriced and is only ten dollars. The boy sighs and says “Thank you sir.”

“A very fine choice indeed, young man” offers one of the gentlemen, but before further conversation is possible the boy has scurried once again toward the door and is out into the rain, clutching his treasure tightly. In and out, as quick as a character in knickers from Dickens.

There are no words necessary or even possible for the two men as they walk to the shop windows to watch the departing young man, but there’s nothing to see of course, the sidewalk is empty, the rain pours down on the deserted pavement. They walk over to the shelf of books, and there is definitely a small gap there, so it did happen. One says: “Look, is that fairy dust on the shelf?” A chuckle or two, then silence. “Cicero”! There’s nothing to add.

…The street scene turns to black and white, the camera pans off to the distance, and a familiar voice intones: “You have observed a moment frozen in time, in a small bookshop in a small town, on a not so ordinary rainy afternoon. Two gentlemen have had a curious encounter with a young visitor … an unscheduled appointment … in the Twilight Zone.”

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Tremors in the Book World

Lately we’ve seen an increase in the number of articles and essays on the demise of the printed book. I've grown weary of reading about this ‘trend’ as I persist in my belief that the book itself is a perfect mechanism for readers and researchers alike. It is the invention of the ages, whether leather bound and printed on fine paper or a cool new paperback design with a colorful cover and an affordable price. So whenever I come across these gloom and doom prognostications I cringe, but of course I read each one. Read them yes, take heed of warnings perhaps, but resign myself to the inevitability, no.

But this month another brick in the embattled façade of literary endeavors loosened and finally fell from the stack. The Washington Post Book World magazine has decided to cease publication as a stand alone Sunday book review section. This follows the Chicago Tribune’s 2008 decision to kill the Trib’s stand alone book section, which had moved from Sunday to Saturday and downsized in 2007. Further, in December 2008 Fine Books and Collections magazine, which became a staple of the rare and fine book genre and covered the world of fine presses in admirable fashion, ceased its print publication, and is now on-line only. This is all bad news.

We all know that magazines, supplements, broadsides and other periodicals come and go fairly regularly. It’s a tough market out there, and the revenue from advertising always makes the difference, and the availability of that revenue is tightening daily. Those of us who read Book World each week observed the paucity of publishers’ advertising, and we braced ourselves for the sad announcement. Newspaper sales are on the decline generally, but I have many friends who buy the Sunday Post just to read the Book World. It would seem that one result of the Post’s decision will be a further decline in overall readership. Include me in that statistic.

But isn’t it always frustrating to stop at the newsstand and view the publications of dubious quality and contribution that seem to thrive? It can be mind boggling. Are literary matters less appealing than model railroading, soap operas, wood working, Hollywood, monster trucks, yachts, fire arms, soldiers of fortune, and vintage clothing? Nothing against these interests, but come on. Sadly, I guess the answer is yes.

The larger question is whether this trend validates the doomsayers on the demise of the book and publishing industry, and what additional bricks may loosen from the foundation in the near future. We have the New York Review of Books and the New York Times Book Review here in the U.S., but of course nothing is guaranteed. As readers we will cherish these remaining beacons of literary news and analysis. As publishers we will heed the warnings and support these publications as often as we can. In short, we can all do our part to contribute to the continued print life of these now very lonely journals.

Hopefully this depressing trend will cease, the economy will improve, and Americans will renew their commitment to things literary. Otherwise we face an overcast future, and we will be on the verge of failing to uphold our end of a centuries old commitment to the printed word. I’m not ready for that, and I’ll wager you’re not either.