Showing posts with label bookselling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bookselling. Show all posts

Monday, January 6, 2014

Caution: When Books Review Readers

by Stephen J. Gertz

Beware of the Tattling Tome.
How long does it take for someone to complete a book? When reading steamy erotica, are you lingering over the sex scenes? Do readers ever finish the books they start, or skip right to the end? New startups are seeking to address these questions with new  software and  they  intend on  opening it  up to  writers, indie  authors and  publishers. New startups...are selling critical user data to companies about their subscribers, who access a copious amount of titles for a low monthly fee (New Startups Focus on Tracking eBook Reading Data).

Every now and then an individual comes along who reads with such élan that books stage a 21-page salute and bow in appreciation. That is not the case, alas, with Read Hard With a Vengeance aka Dr. Milton Fernstipple, D.D.S., an orthodontist in Forest Hills, NY who books want to fire a 21-gun salute in his direction with live ammunition.

I am one of those books. I can't speak for all books but I, for one, am weary of readers who read the way they want to instead of how I want them to read me, which is compulsively with insatiable desire but above all with poise and graceful deportment from beginning to end. So it's great news that I can now get the skinny on the people who read me. Finally, for the first time in history, books can review readers. 

For the past six days I have endured the eyeballs of Dr. Fernstipple, who downloaded me at 1:03:12 AM, December 14th. At 1:05:02 AM he began to read me. At 1:06:52 AM he stopped. At 1:09:36 AM he started again. At 1:17:09 AM he skipped to the end. At 1:19:03 AM he went back to the beginning. From 1:21 AM through 1:47 AM he hopscotched through the middle.

His reading's a muddle. He's got ants in Broca's pants. He reads in spasms. Great, a reader with hiccups. And what's this? At 1:49:32 AM I saw him through the camera and he was moving his lips. If he drools on my touch-screen it's over. I want to know where he's reading me and GPS would be a big help. Is he collapsed in the La-Z-Boy® or ensconced upon the philosopher's perch in the can? This is potential gold to my guy, who can set a key scene in his next novel in the most popular place to read, according to the data, and thus draw readers further into his sordid world of pandering and intrigue. And just wait 'til you read the book.

About that lingering thumb caressing the third paragraph on page forty-seven at 2:01:21 through 2:01:57 AM, December 14 and multiple times thereafter on the 15th, 16th, 17th, 18th, and 19th. I don't know whether Fernstipple was compulsively attempting to swipe the page or engaged in eFrottage. Either way, it's creeping me out. I suggest an add-on to administer an electric shock when readers try to cop a cheap feel. Consider it aversion therapy, like a bookshop hawking How To Poo at Work on a point-of-purchase display. This may affect sales but readers must know that they are being monitored and that boundaries must be set. On readers, of course, not the monitoring.

I gotta tell you, when Fernstipple glossed over pages 134-149 my heart fell on its face. This is my favorite part of me, the part that one reviewer thought, "…bravura prose limning a bizarre flight of imagination so critical to the story that without it the book might just as well have never been written. Look out Danielle Steele!" 

Chapter Eight was, evidently, a waste of Fernstipple's time. Though it provided a fascinating backstory to Raoul, the dashing roué from Rahway, New Jersey, the reason, really, that he shot his sister's lover from Barcelona in the backside while she was homeschooling the product of their incest in the tool shed in the backyard along the condemned property's easement on the nuances of Esperanto, it, apparently, was not fascinating enough, and Fernstipple went through it like the flu tours the alimentary canal, which is to say irritable, agitated and anxious to evacuate one way or another.

I like to think of myself as the book equivalent of easy listening music, predictable and consonant with schmaltzy, cascading strings when the turgid hits the tarmac. Mantovani is my muse; I am the Muzak of novels. Thanks to eReader data I can be read in an elevator, and - going up! - become a best-seller. Fernstipple, unfortunately, is the John Cage of readers, perusing text by chance yet with no help from the I Ching whatsoever. Give this guy a blank book and let him read it with ambient thoughts, 4'33''-ish; I've had it with him. But much as I prefer my readers docile and submissive, I also like them active every now and then, rolling my language on their mental tongues with rapid pulse and raised blood pressure. Note to developers: sensors for vital stats, please, biofeedback for books and their authors who want to know exactly what a reader is experiencing while swallowing text, the better to help the medicine go down.

I was talking to Moby Dick the other day, strictly entré-nous digital to analogue, and couldn't help but express sympathy for the way things used to be: just you and the reader, isolated, all alone, so lonely in solitude, no one to watch over your oh so private and intimate pas de deux and report back to the authorities. I'm suicidal just thinking about it.

He looked at me like I was a cyberspace-case.  I've never understood print media, particularly the great white whale on great white paper and I guess I never will. If only Melville had eReader data Moby could have been the great white best-seller. Let's face it: who needs all the metaphysical stuff? It slows the action to a crawl and the recreational reader sleeps in Davy Jones' locker along with the Pequod, Queequeg and crew.

Meanwhile, Fernstipple has turned me on again and oh how I wish that were a double-entendre instead of an invitation to annoyance. If he reads the third paragraph on page forty-seven one more time (count: 53; if you want I can break that down by hour, minute, second, you name it), I'm self-deleting. I can only take so much. Here's hoping you feel the same way, dear author of digital me. Based on his reading behavior don't bother catering to this fiend; it's hopeless. Fernstipple spells loser in binary code: a long string of zeroes and no one.

Full review of Ms. Ivy Drippe, a housewife from Dead Women Crossing, Oklahoma with a shih-tzu named Trudi, a husband named trouble, and a desperate addiction to popular-fiction, to follow. She's my kind of gal, one I can really wrap my text around. Once she starts reading, look out, there's no stopping her.
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Thursday, August 8, 2013

Beware Of Hart Crane's Sombrero

by Stephen J. Gertz

Hart Crane sans sombrero.

Literary sombrero alert!

Hart Crane's sombrero rests in the University of Vermont Library's Special Collections. But is it really Hart Crane's sombrero? As it turns out, Hart Crane's Mexican hat dances under a cloud and is likely full of beans.

Last Tuesday, Booktryst's Alastair Johnston reported on finding a copy of W.H. Davies' Collected Poems (1916) with poet Hart Crane's bookplate and inscription to another. It was bogus; though the bookplate was real the signature was not.

"If you search the Internet, you can probably find several 'association copies' with Hart Crane's bookplate. A word of caution: After his death in 1932 Hart Crane's mother gave (or sold) some of his personal papers including a pile of Crane's bookplates to a bookseller in New York City. The dealer then pasted the bookplates in books chosen at random from his stock and misrepresented them as being from Crane's library. Not only was the dealer a crook, he was not too swift, as some of the bookplates were pasted in books published after Crane's death. 

"The dealer was Samuel Loveman, a forgotten poet, better known as a forger, who claimed to have been Hart Crane's lover. While a bookseller in New York, he sold books from Crane's library with a forged bookplate, as well as forging pencil signatures of Hawthorne, Melville and Twain" (Lew Jaffe, Bookplate Junkie).

"Samuel Loveman was born in 1887 in Cleveland, Ohio. An aspiring poet, Loveman left the Midwest in order to pursue his career as a writer and to live an openly gay lifestyle. He moved to New York City in the early 1920s where he made the acquaintance of several prominent authors including Ambrose Bierce, Hart Crane, and H.P. Lovecraft. Loveman owned a bookstore named the Bodley Bookshop in Manhattan with his partner David Mann. He wrote two books, The Hermaphrodite was a poem published in July 1926 and subsequently republished with additional poems in 1936 and Twenty-One Letters, a collection of letters sent to him by Ambrose Bierce. He also published The Sphinx in 1944. Loveman died in relative obscurity at the Jewish Home and Hospital in 1976" (Columbia University Libraries Archives).

Loveman, executor of Crane's estate, was his correspondent, very much so during the last four years of Crane's life, and after the poet's death he published Brom Weber's biography (1948) of the poet, who, on April 27, 1932, committed suicide by jumping off the rear deck of the ship that was returning him to the United States from Vera Cruz.

Crane had been living in Mexico 1931-1932 on a Guggenheim Fellowship so it's quite possible that he owned a sombrero. However...

Booktryst received the following Letter to the Editor from a bookseller who  had read Alastair's post.

"After reading about the Hart Crane bookplate, I thought you might enjoy the fact that I was, not long ago, given the task of appraising Hart Crane's sombrero. So how do we know that it actually belonged to Crane? There was a letter of authentication from Samuel Loveman, apparently signed as Crane's literary executor.

"The letter, dated July 23, 1962, was on the letterhead of the Bodley Book Shop, 550 Fifth Avenue, New York 36, NY.

"From the letter: '...sombrero...was originally in the possession of Hart Crane, and was worn by him during his stay in Mexico. It was among his effects when they were shipped after his death to the United States.'

"I, of course, took it at face value and assumed that everything and everyone were on the truthful side of things. After reading about Loveman and the bookplates, I'm beginning to wonder" (Name withheld).

You'd think that authentication by the executor of Crane's estate would be solid and unassailable but given the shenanigans of Loveman it can now be safely presumed that anything signed by Crane with his bookplate or relics purportedly owned by Crane are highly suspect and probably fraudulent until proven innocent.

Literary artifacts rest in dark waters and live and die on three principles: provenance, provenance, and provenance. Though it wasn't a literary relic,  I once spent a full week chasing down the emmis on Lola Montez's banjo. The banjo was right - of the period and top of the line by a famed 19th century banjo maker and preserved in a beautiful hand-made parqueted wood case one would expect to belong to a celebrated performer. A respected auction house and major bookseller had declared that the banjo had belonged to Lola Montez but provided no information to back the story up, which, it turned out, I could not substantiate at all; there was not even the slightest hint of her ownership to be found and I was in full sherlock. 

One day I expect someone, somewhere to offer a pair of Charles Bukowski's jockey shorts for sale. Unless they are autographed by Bukowski with an authenticated signature I'd stay away from them, no matter how stained and redolent they are of beer, booze, cheap wine and corner bars.
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Tuesday, August 6, 2013

The Failed Book Scout

by Alastair M. Johnston


   I'll never be a good book scout. Obviously you have to know the market, and you have to buy low and sell high. My problems are that I am generally only looking for books for myself and even if I find something not in my fields of interest, and it's a bargain, I will end up keeping it.

   My friend Shecky Vogel, the "Birdman of the Bronx," is a good book scout. Ever since he quit his job at the post office 40 years ago he has made his living as a "picker": he knows books, and he also knows paintings, carpets, ceramics, and where to sell them.

   I've tried to learn from him, and gone along on his scouting adventures, but rarely do I profit (though there are a couple of art speculation tales I will save for another time). We were at the Santa Barbara swap meet, this was decades ago, when we stopped by a stand where someone had spread out books on a tarpaulin. I went straight for an old orange cloth-covered hardback: it was a book of photogravures by the famed German fashion photographer Horst P. Horst. I asked the seller, How much is this? $100, was the reply. Hmmm, not a bad price, but not a bargain either. Will you take $40? I asked tentatively, hoping to get it for $50. No! End of discussion. Shecky was busy with something else. He started haggling with the seller. At some point the deal was made, and the seller threw in the Horst for $40.

A Horst P. Horst, of course of course

   We went to a Friends of the Library sale in upscale Montecito, bound to be some good pickings, but there was a long line to get in. The doors opened and everyone charged the tables of books. I shouldered an elderly gent out of the way: he stepped back in dismay and I saw it was Herbert Bayer. Jeeze, I almost creamed an icon of modern design, I thought, as I apologetically turned away, muttering "Entschuldigen!" (I always speak German when I am embarrassed). I found a Riverside Press book designed and signed by Bruce Rogers, for $10, which I later sold to Brick Row for $50, but where was Shecky? He strolled nonchalantly over to a rack of clothes and bent down. Underneath were two framed pictures: Audubon lithographs, no less. He had noticed the glint of the frames and figured one of the workers had stashed them, either for an accomplice or to collect personally. You gotta watch out for those "volunteers"!
      
   Shecky has the knack, and a way with people too. We were at a yard sale and there were some old faded Japanese woodblock prints, obviously they had been hanging in the sun for half a century. In this state they were not valuable. He chatted to the old lady, assessing the situation. You don't have any old kimono do you? Why, yes, I do, she said, my late husband brought me some back from Japan when he was stationed over there. She went inside and soon returned. It was unreal: here were the goods, which had lain in a chest for the same fifty years and were in perfect condition.

   Even in adversity Shecky comes up trumps, as in the tale of the missed sale. A lot of times people will announce their yard sale in the paper and add "no early birds" because they hate getting woken up at 6 a.m. by eager beaver buyers. We went to one such sale at the appointed time, 8 a.m., only to see some other pickers he knew gloating as they walked away, with their arms full of treasures. The card tables were decimated, everything was gone. Shecky felt bad. He decided he would buy something worthless as a reminder, and picked up an ugly mis-shapen little black pot. How much is this? he asked. Oh, you can have that for fifty cents, said the seller. Perfect, a hideous reminder, because we always remember our failures more than our successes.


   Later he was looking at the vase when he saw a name stamped on the bottom, Grueby. He looked it up. It was produced by a famous (& highly collectible) Boston potter in the 1900s, and when he sent it to auction the ugly squat pot fetched a very pretty $800.

  But the book-scouting world is dead, even according to Shecky. I can't bear to deal with those Pasadena dealers, he says. They wont haggle, they offer you $75 for a book, and if you say, How about $80? they turn their back.

  He remembers the glory days of Bart's Books in Ojai. I called it his "401K run." Once a month he'd fill up four or five boxes with all his rejects: stuff he'd found that turned out to be duds. I'd hang out in the patio, in the sunshine, browsing the sagging poetry shelves of Don Blandings and Rod McKuen, while Shecky made the deal. Bart puffed on a cigarette while working the adding machine. (This technology held sway before the internet, children).

   Bart went through the books one by one while Shecky narrated, You can get $25 for that, easy, he'd say, and Bart would punch $8 and pull the handle. This would go on until the total came out at $300 or $400. One time I recall, the credit was only $150 or so. Shecky was leaning on Bart's glass case in which he displayed the most valuable books in the place. How about a straight trade for that Frank Lloyd Wright book? asked Shecky. Sure, said Bart, and out came the prized edition and home we flew, laughing all the way.

Davies' Collected Poems, American first edition with William Rothenstein's portrait frontispiece

   But I don't do yard sales very often, and good used bookstores are dying out. The other day I was browsing a survivor in the City I will call Caveat's Emptorium (a dingy thrift store that has lots of books and videos), because I had fifteen minutes to kill. There in the poetry section I saw an old book by W. H. Davies, the Supertramp guy. Okay, hang on. I do not mean the wretched ponderous rock band of that name. Shirley you know the peg-legged Welsh hobo and poet (1871-1940), whose picaresque adventures were turned into the Autobiography of a Super-Tramp (1908). Here was his Collected Poems (New York, Knopf, 1916), lacking the jacket and priced well below market rate (which is $15 to $45, according to Addall). What grabbed me was the inside front board. There is the bookplate of American poet Hart Crane (1899-1932). Also, facing the bookplate is an inscription: "Alas Katherine / Christmas and New Year's / affectionate wishes! / 1916 / Hart"

   Wait a second, an inscribed book from Hart Crane with his own bookplate, Shirl, this has to be a con!? The book came out in 1916. Crane was 17. Why would he put his bookplate into it, then give it away the same year? Was he that broke? Also given its condition (corners bumped, generally worn cover), you'd think Katherine, whoever she was, would have taken better care of such a gift.

   I bought it anyway. Once I got it home, a few things became more apparent. The original dedicator's name had been erased beneath the inscription and "Hart" added in different ink (and in a much heavier hand as a careful look at the impression shows; it also appears to be ballpoint -- the Biró pen was not in wide use until after the Second World War). So it's a bogus association copy, but then doesn't it have Hart Crane's bookplate in it? Perhaps Crane bought it used in the next dozen years, after Katherine had dumped it, and affixed his plate? Suddenly the bookplate looked like it didn't really belong in there: it looks so new, and the gluing is lumpy, smeared, hasty -- well not everyone is a neat gluer.

Dubious inscription; smeared glue on bookplate

  Thanks to the internet I was able to quickly check two things: Crane's bookplate and his handwriting. The Kelvin Smith Library blog has an image of a dedication from Crane which shows wild differences in the handwriting from my copy. No surprise. An envelope (no letter, just the envelope) addressed by Crane is online for the modest price of $1250. Now I wish this inscription were genuine!

   But there's still the bookplate, no? Our old blogspot pal, Lew Jaffe the Bookplate Junkie, does indeed show the Crane plate that is in my new acquisition, and adds: "If you search the Internet, you can probably find several 'association copies' with Hart Crane's bookplate. A word of caution: After his death in 1932 Hart Crane's mother gave (or sold) some of his personal papers including a pile of Crane's bookplates to a bookseller in New York City. The dealer then pasted the bookplates in books chosen at random from his stock and misrepresented them as being from Crane's library. Not only was the dealer a crook, he was not too swift, as some of the bookplates were pasted in books published after Crane's death."

  Another source identifies the dealer as Samuel Loveman (Loveman almost sounds like a pseudonym), "a forgotten poet, better known as a forger, who claimed to have been Hart Crane's lover. While a bookseller in New York, he sold books from Crane's library with a forged bookplate, as well as forging pencil signatures of Hawthorne, Melville and Twain." A [T. J.] Wise-guy eh? So now I have a double forgery. Any offers?
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Friday, November 30, 2012

Where Childrens Books Were Sold

by Stephen J. Gertz

Premises of John Harris, formerly of John Newbery, 1770 forward.



Tabart & Co, 1800 forward.



From a book published by A.K. Newman in 1829.



Stall at a fair, c. 1878.
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All images and captions, including headline, from English Children's Books 1600 to 1900 by Percy Muir (1954).
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Thursday, October 4, 2012

Booktryst Hits 1,000,000 and Plans For The Future

by Stephen J. Gertz

This week, Booktryst, established in May, 2010 to cover the world of rare books and cross-over to a general audience, exceeded 1,000,000 page-views. This stat, representing readership of Booktryst's deep archive of over 1,000 post-features with daily additions, has been our threshold for establishing a strong brand identity and international presence to justify a complete redesign of the site, and, importantly, to attract advertisers with well-developed real estate that has earned readers' loyalty and confidence.

That process is now underway; the new site will debut in the near future but not a moment sooner than necessary to get it right; we have thus far been very patient and see no reason to be otherwise. All advertising will be curated so that Booktryst readers can have confidence in our advertisers; the site will not be junked-up with ads from vendors of dubious virtue or products; advertisers will be vetted.

Of note to potential advertisers is that Booktryst has established a solid global identity. In descending order of national presence, Booktryst readership is strong in the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada, France, China, Australia, Germany, India, Italy, and Russia. Note the presence of China and India, currently #5 and #8 in our fan club, hugely important emerging marketplaces ripe for promoting your business to a well-defined target audience with increasing disposable income and anxious to spend it on goods and services of personal interest and importance.

Our ad rate card is in development. Interested advertisers may contact the publisher for details and to reserve space in advance of Booktryst's debut in new format.

Of importance to our loyal readers, Booktryst will continue to remain independent of the dealers whose offered volumes we often feature in our stories. Booktryst has never accepted fees for promoting dealers' stock and will never do so. All  books written about are chosen by the editor out of personal interest; we do not accept requests. We proudly promote the world of rare books and the trade but are not shills for individuals.

The new Booktryst is on the way. Keep watching the skies.

• • •

Booktryst was recently the subject of a wonderful article in Americana Exchange Monthly, Booktryst - Blog Extraordinaire.
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Thursday, August 23, 2012

Books, Drugs, and Wallpaper

by Stephen J. Gertz


Struggling booksellers seeking new ways to broaden their client base and increase profits may wish to follow the model of F.W. Richter, who, in 1907, advertised in Tried and True: a Collection of Approved Recipes, a cookbook by the Trinity Church of Niles, Michigan issued by the Mennonite Publishing Co. of Elkhart, Indiana.

Like a wise investor, he held a diversified portfolio of inventory just shy of you name it. When book sales were down he could leverage the loss against sales of drugs, art, stationary, wallpaper, spices and extracts.


He even had promotional glass bottles made, a masterstroke as bookmarks are throwaways but bottles are forever and useful, particularly for storing pure extract of book while broadening brand awareness.

In 1907, nostrums containing heroin, morphine, and cocaine were readily available (though by then regulated) in drug stores. Considering that many of us believe that books produce a euphoric altered-state the retailing of drugs and books in concert, though cross-addiction a distinct possibility, makes perfect sense.

Not sure about the wallpaper, though.

Stacked paperback wallpaper from Anthropologie.

Unless it's book-oriented. Then, like Daniel, you can read the writing on the wall in the comfort of a den, "Mene, Mene, Tekel, u-Pharsin," y'know what I mean? Probably best, though, to keep the lions on a short leash, fed and sated.

• • • 

Mennonite Publishing Company, 1886.

The Mennonite Publishing Company existed from 1875-1925. "The Mennonite Publishing Company did an outstanding service in its book and periodical publications both in German and English, serving not only the Mennonites and Amish Mennonites but also a large block of the Russian Mennonite immigrants, particularly in Manitoba. For the latter group it published the Mennonitische Rundschau and hymnals, catechisms, and confessions of faith" (Mennonite Encyclopedia, Vol. 3, p. 634).
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Bottle image courtesy of Bibliophemera, with our thanks.

Image of Mennonite Publishing Company courtesy of Gameo, with our thanks.
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Monday, August 13, 2012

Henry Lemoine: The Last of the Walking Booksellers

by Alastair Johnston



The world of books has smaller worlds within it. In the already stifling cupboard of books about books there is a subset of books about printing (or the making of books) of which I am an asphyxionado. 

Of the many works in English on printing, most simply cribbed the text about the origin of the art preservative from earlier writers, particularly (before the eighteenth century) books written in German, Latin or Dutch. Those in English, like Moxon's Mechanick Exercises (London, 1683), were undecided about the origin of printing in Europe. Three centuries later, we are still unsure of what Gutenberg actually did to make his Bible.

Henry Lemoine's Typographical Antiquities, or History of the Art of Printing (London, 1797) contains a history of the origins, as well as a chronological list of the printers of England, Scotland, and Ireland, an account of Horace Walpole's Strawberry Hill Press ("The institution of a printing-office at Lord Orford's seat at Strawberry Hill, is a worthy example to the nobility; and reflects more honour on the founder, than studs of horses bred from the most exact genealogy." p. 91), an essay on literary property, a checklist of English Bibles, an essay on paper and so on. Lemoine was also a printer and he dismisses the Dutch claims to the origin of printing by stating Laurence Coster printed from woodblocks, and he is confident in awarding the laurels to Gutenberg for casting moveable type. 

In his lifetime, Lemoine (1756-1812) was known as a compiler of tracts, with which London abounded at one time, and a frequent contributor of poetical pieces to the Gentleman's Magazine. He and his wife Ann were prolific. Roy Bearden White has compiled a bibliography of them both which will greatly aid further investigations, though many of Lemoine's journalistic efforts were unsigned. Lemoine published many narratives of voyage and adventure from Baron Munchausen to Fletcher Christian. He produced an edition of Fanny Hill after Cleland's death, but one of his biggest successes was with an anonymous pamphlet, The Cuckold's Chronicle, compiled from court records of trials for ravishment, imbecility, adultery, and the case of the missing testicles.

A friend, John McVey, stumbled upon a biographical sketch of Lemoine in John Davidson's Sentences and Paragraphs (London: Lawrence & Bullen, 1893, pp. 64–70). First Davidson describes the used book dealers who walk around in shabby greasy-looking broadcloth overcoats with oversize top hats and a black sack, "the last of the walking booksellers." The king of these anomalous dealers in "mouldy sheepskin, vellum and black-letter" is Henry Lemoine. Born to French immigrant parents who were Huguenots, he had been a writer, playwright, journalist, a baker, and a French teacher. He in fact passed himself off as a Frenchman in order to get a job teaching French but once he was found out was sacked -- with a good character. (So perhaps we should add "actor" to his accomplishments.) On receiving an inheritance he opened a bookstall and also dealt in medicines such as "bug-water" (DNB).

His lack of thrift -- "improvident and of too convivial habits"-- meant he was soon reduced to walking the streets of Holborn peddling books which he bought at one stall for sale at another. "With his long drooping nose, black sack, and slouching gait, he was often derided as a Jew old-clothes man." This is indeed how he appears in an engraving published in The New Wonderful Museum and Extraordinary Magazine, 1802.


Nevertheless, Lemoine was one of the best judges of an old book in England and was indeed something of a Hebrew scholar. He translated Lavater's Physiognomy, collaborated on a new edition of Culpeper's Herbal and edited three successive magazines, The Conjuror's Magazine, the Wonderful Magazine, and the Eccentric Magazine. The Conjuror's Magazine, or, Magical and Physiognomical Mirror, which ran from 1791 to 1793, took advantage of a parliamentary repeal of a law forbidding occult publications. It reprinted the plates from Lavater (pointing out to readers that if they continued buying the magazine they would eventually get the entire book "free" which otherwise would cost them several guineas), and included sections on astrology, apparitions & palmistry. 

He spun off some of his pieces into a book titled Visits from the World of Spirits (London, L. Wayland, 1791). The journal was succeeded in 1793 by The Wonderful Magazine, and Marvellous Chronicle of Extraordinary Productions, Events, and Occurrences, in Nature and Art -- a fantastic news magazine that ran for 60 weeks until 1795, "consisting entirely of such curious matters as come under the denominations of miraculous queer odd strange supernatural whimsical absurd out of the way and unaccountable." Again each number contained engraved plates, probably printed by Lemoine himself. The Eccentric Magazine ran for 2 volumes from 1812 and contained "Lives and Portraits of Remarkable Characters," but Lemoine died before the first issue appeared. As Davidson said, "He studied in the street and produced his copy in public-houses."
 

But to return to his Typographical Antiquities. Origin & History of the Art of Printing. There are several dramatically written paragraphs in Lemoine's account worth rereading today, viz:

"Some writers relate, that Faustus having printed off a considerable number of copies of the Bible, to imitate those which were commonly sold in MS. Fust undertook the sale of them at Paris, where the art of Printing was then unknown. As he sold his printed copies for 60 crowns, while the scribes demanded 500, this created universal astonishment; but when he produced copies as fast as they were wanted, and lowered the price to 30 crowns, all Paris was agitated. The uniformity of the copies increased the wonder; informations were given to the police against him as a magician; his lodgings were searched; and a great number of copies being found, they were seized: the red ink with which they were embellished, was said to be his blood; it was seriously adjudged that he was in league with the devil; and if he had not fled, most probably he would have shared the fate of those whom ignorant and superstitious judges condemned, in those days, for witchcraft; from thence arose the origin of the story of the Devil and Dr. Faustus" (page 7).

On page 100 Lemoine -- despite his last name -- brings up the superstitious priesthood again: 

"Before the invention of this DIVINE ART, Mankind were absorbed in the grossest ignorance, and oppressed under the most abject despotism of tyranny. The clergy, who before this aera held the key of all the learning in Europe, were themselves ignorant, though proud, presumptuous, arrogant, and artful; their devices were soon detected through the invention of Typography. Many of them, as it may naturally be imagined, were very averse to the progress of this invention; as well as the brief-men or writers, who lived by their manuscripts for the laity. They went so far as to attribute this blessed invention to the Devil; and some of them warned their hearers from using such diabolical books as were written with the blood of the victims who devoted themselves to Hell for the profit or fame of instructing others."

Bigmore and Wyman thought "the notices of contemporary printers worthy of perusal." They also cite his "Account of the Louvre Press" and "State of Printing in America" (reprinted in Chicago by D. C. McMurtrie in 1929) from the Gentleman's Magazine.

As we've seen, Lemoine was something of a newspaper man, suggesting his Typographical Antiquities was a compendium of some of his articles, including the histories of paper, engraving and etching. The second printing of 1813 drops the article on "the Adjudication of Literary Property," but the book is not from the same type-setting as the first printing (as Bigmore and Wyman assert). The first 110 pages are numbered in roman but after cx the typesetters switch to arabic numerals. Even more dramatic is a switch from old-face type with the long "s" to a modern typeface without it between pages 112 and 113:


As a coda, Lemoine included a poem on the "Invention of Letters," reprinted from an anonymous source in an American newspaper (which had no doubt lain tucked in a book for 40 years). The poem, dedicated to printer/author Samuel Richardson, had been written in 1758 by someone who knew Pope and had suggested to the great man "that it was peculiarly ungrateful in him, not to celebrate such a subject as the Invention of Letters, or to suffer it to be disgraced by a meaner hand." In short that is a warning of what we are about to get: the disgraceful effort of that meaner hand. The style is imitation Pope and the best parts are the footnotes by Lemoine which give us a crash course in the history of paper and parchment, and trivia such as (according to him) the words book and bark are the same in Latin (see pp. 150-1).

Lemoine lets the author have his say about Koster:

Ah! let not Faustus rob great Koster's name;
Like him* who since usurp'd Columbus' fame.

* The "him," in case you hadn't guest, is Americus Vesputius. (Lemoine corrects the author on Koster in another footnote.) Of course, Lemoine allows the poet free rein to bash the (Catholic) clergy:

Thus Mexico's plum'd envoys sent to court,
Of strange invaders a portray'd report,
But mental speculations so convey'd
Were wrapt in ambiguity and shade.
Such representatives, to meaning strain'd,
Complex conceptions, but in part explain'd;
Part by analogy was known, part guest,
And venal priests interpreted the rest.

Ultimately some of us will need a footnote to understand:
Now num'rous moons th'Italic tube descries,
Peoples the planets, and reveals the Skies.

-- "th'Italic Tube" refers to Galileo's telescope.
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Friday, July 27, 2012

American Rare Book Trade Ads From 1902, Part III

By Stephen J. Gertz

We continue our series on vintage rare book trade ads from 1902. Catch-up with Part I and Part II.


John Anderson Jr. aka Anderson Auction Company and Anderson Galleries, was the foremost auctioneer of books in America of his generation, handling the sale of some of the most important collections ever offered, including the library of John Greenleaf Whittier, and, in 1916, portions of the libraries of Henry Huntington, and William K. Bixby.

"Born in 1856, Anderson attended school in Brooklyn and, as soon as he was able, set up as a rare-book dealer. Books, however, were not his main interest; he was, he said, 'a lover of good pictures many years before I was able to buy one,' and 'books cost less than pictures,' so he collected works on various painters, and while he taught himself about art, his business did well. After a few years he was able to move uptown from his stark original store on Nassau Street in Manhattan to 30 East Fifty-Seventh Street, where he opened the Anderson Auction Company. He sold books and then prints and quickly became a real force in the city’s art circles. But that wasn’t what Anderson wanted. Having established one of the best-known auction houses in the country, he promptly sold it, and in 1908 he took his profits and went to Europe to buy paintings" (The Man Who Discovered Turner's Secret, American Heritage). He became the world's foremost collector and historian of artist J.M.W. Turner.


We met the legendary bookseller George D. Smith in Part I. Here he offers the first American edition Campbell's Life of Mrs. Siddons (1834) for $1.50. In 2012, prices for the original first UK edition of the same year range from $100 - $240. The first US edition is rarer yet if any copies come into the marketplace the price will likely be less, adjusted for inflation, than Smith's $1.50 in 1902. Vadit vita  Sarah Siddons...



"The binding on the little volume entitled 'Lyra elegantiarum,' recently bound for the noted booklover, Mr. Henry W. Poor, by the Adams Bindery of this city, is so exquisite in design and execution that those long skeptical of the ability of Americans to bind artistically should now be convinced of their error. The outside of the cover is inlaid by Mr. Adams in the manner which has made him famous, and for which he originated the name 'Viennese Inlay' with an entirely new motif...It is to be hoped that all American binders will be encouraged to strive toward producing designs that are in a measure original and which show more of the individual touch of the artist" (New York Times, October 11, 1902).

Ralph Randolph Adams was, along with Henry Stikeman (who we discussed in Part I) and a handful or others, one of the great American art bookbinders of his era. He developed a new method of mosaic binding that blew everyone away with his work's exquisite beauty and breathtaking craftsmanship.

"We now have in New York City a bindery where the practical and the aesthetic are combined. Ralph Randolph Adams has succeeded in accomplishing something that was considered to be impossible, and, in spite of the severest tests, the bindings that he has executed stand triumphant. Generally speaking, American artists are behind their French contemporaries in the matter of design but Mr. Adams has demonstrated that he is at least the equal to the french in this direction" (The Art Interchange).

The impossible that Adams succeeded at was in perfecting the mosaic binding technique popular in Vienna hundreds of years ago but impractical because the binders of the day could not prevent the leather from cracking and parting; the bindings didn't last. All so-called "inlay" or mosaic binding after that time through Adams was actually onlaid work, the leather applied as a veneer atop a foundation leather. It was Adams who figured out how to do true mosaic work, the pieces of leather cut and applied directly on the bare board and flush with each other. Adams often used up to 1500 pieces of leather when creating his mosaic bindings. It was insanely intense and difficult to do. Adams did it anyway.

"The cost of binding a book in the new Viennese style originated by Mr. Adams is necessarily great as the work requires such concentration that Mr. Adams is unable to work at it for more than a few hours at a time" (The Observer).

An exhibit of Adams' "Viennese Bindings" was held at Scribner's bookshop in early 1902. The books  thus bound were offered for $1,250. In 2012 dollars, that's approximately $28,000. They were not for the casual collector. Adams' clients were fat-cats, J.P. Morgan amongst them.

Adams was proud of his work.  On the upper turn-in of his mosaic bindings will be found "Adams Bindery. Viennese Inlay. R.R.A. [year]" stamped in gilt.

In 1904, Arnold Lethwidge wrote The Bookbindings of Ralph Randolph Adams: An Appreciation, published by The Literary Collector.

Strange unknown chapter in American bookbinding history: 

On August 10, 1915  Ralph Randolph Adams filed for, and on July 10, 1923 was granted a U.S. Patent for "Radioactive Spray Material."

"The object of this invention is to provide a radio-active substance for the purpose of stimulating plant growth. A further object is to provide a radio-active substance for the prevention and destruction of insects, larvae, eggs, bacteria and fungi which are injurious to plants or animals. A further object is to provide a material having these properties which can be efficiently applied by spraying, and which will adhere to the parts of plants above ground...or to the fur, feathers or skin of animals [our emphasis] which are bothered by pests...(U.S. Patent No. 1461340).

In short, Adams invented a radioactive insect-killer to spray on the leather he used for binding as a preservative to prevent pests from harming his work. Adams "Viennese" bindings prior to 1910 do not, presumably, require use of a Geiger counter, and, having one from 1902 recently pass through my hands, I am relieved. It is unknown to this writer whether Adams' post-patent bindings glow in the dark.


Despite his no nonsense, cut to the bone, no credit, cash-only, books as strictly merchandise "no axe to grind" leap-off-the-page advertisement Niel Morrow Ladd rates nary a word in Stern or Dickinson.  

Circa 1910, Niel Morrow Ladd published Co-Operative Book-selling: An offering of stock in the company, with description of its plan to accumulate and sell used books across the country through the co-operative agency of the stockholders who will earn commissions, dividends and discounts. This proto-franshise scheme does not appear to have caught on.

Famed NYC rare bookseller Walter Goldwater (1907-1985), who established his shop in 1932, had this to say about Ladd, who appears to have remained in business into the 1930s.

"Niel Morrow Ladd eventually died, and I bought the contents of the shop. I don’t remember how I engineered the thing. I guess I continued to have a sale there for a while and then brought the rest over to my shop. I remember at that time there were remainders of certain histories of Flatbush, which he was selling for ten cents and later on using for backing on shelves, which now bring $10 to $25 on the market. He had simply a vast number of them, perhaps hundreds. They were either published by him or published by some friend of his, and they were in great quantity. There were a number of things of that sort -- histories of Brooklyn -- which we didn’t know anything about and didn’t care about. In fact, they didn’t have any market value at the time. There was a history of Harlem by Riker which he had in great quantity which is now desirable. But those were the old days, of course, and that's the typical thing that happened" (New York City Bookshops in the 1930s and 1940s: The Recollections of Walter Goldwater , DLB Yearbook, 1993, pp. 139-172).

Whoever Ladd was he has won a place in my heart as a fellow bird-brained bookman. He was the author of How To Attract Wild Birds About The Home (1915) and How To Make Friends With Birds (1916).


In 1789, Baltimore, along with New York and Philadelphia, was considered the home of America's greatest booksellers, with most books, rare or otherwise, purchased and shipped across the country from those cities. By the early 19th century, however, "Baltimore's promise as a bookselling center was not fulfilled...Baltimore lost to Philadelphia, never sustaining the position as a bookselling center that had once seemed within its reach" (Stern).

Baltimore's current Royal Books, Kelmscott Bookshop, and Johanson Rare Books are doing their best to fulfill the city's initial promise.

Rare bookseller The Baltimore Book Co. is not mentioned at all by Stern or Dickinson. The company published James McSherry's History of Maryland in 1904.


Pickering & Chatto began as rare and antiquarian booksellers in 1820. They're still around,  now known as much for their publishing operation as their bookselling activity.


Bookseller and publisher J.W. Bouton (1847?-1902) began as an errand-boy for publisher D. Appleton & Company. He established his first  rare book shop in 1857 in downtown New York; by 1885 he'd moved uptown and opened two salesrooms. 

"Bouton specialized in early printing, English literature and Americana, much of it gathered on his annual trips to Europe. In 1888 he claimed to have completed thirty-nine such overseas buying trips" (Dickinson). 

The American Bookseller, reviewing one of Bouton's catalogs in 1889, said that Bouton "is well-known as one of our most indefatigable and judicious collectors." He was a leading - and quite successful -  figure in the trade for more than fifty years. The ad above, appearing shortly after his death, heralds the sale of his "magnificent" stock.

Bouton also published. I first became aware of him through his publication of Taylor's The Eleusinian and Bacchic Mysteries (1875); Inman's Ancient Pagan and Modern Christian Symbolism (1884); and Samuel Dunlap's mouthful, The Ghebers of Hebron. An introduction to the Gheborim in the lands of the Sethim, the Moloch worship, the Jews as Brahmans, the Shepherds of Canaan, the Amorites, Kheta, and Azarielites, the Sun-Temples on the High Places, the Pyramid and Temple of Khufu, the Mithramysteries, the Mithrabaptism, and succesive oriental conceptions from Jordan Fireworship to Ebionism (1898).

When I first began to investigate sex in religion some thirty years ago, Bouton's publication of Westropp and Wake's Ancient Symbol Worship. Influence of the Phallic Idea in the Religions of Antiquity (1875) was (and remains)  a tumescent reference.


Henry Blackwell (1851-1928), bookbinder and bookseller, bibliographer and biographer, was the son of bookbinder Richard Blackwell of Liverpool.  In 1873 his bindery appeared in the Liverpool directory.

Blackwell emigrated to New York in 1877 and supervised a large bindery. In 1892 he established his  own shop. Blackwell played a prominent part in the Welsh-American life of his adopted country. He was a scholar of Welsh literature as well as binding, his 1899 essay, Notes on Bookbinding, a memorable contribution. Henry Blackwell does not appear to be related to the Blackwells that established their eponymous bookshop in St. Clements, U.K. in 1846 and grew it into  the academic and rare book colossus that it is today.

Little is known about The Burrows Brothers Co. of Cleveland beyond that they provided early, valuable experience to two major figures in the American rare book trade, Arthur H. Clark (1898-1951) and William Harvey Miner (1877-1934).

Clark,  a British ex-pat who had just completed a four year apprenticeship with Henry Sotheran & Co. in London before arriving in the U.S., was rare books manager and publications supervisor at Burrows Brothers. After leaving Burrows in 1902 due to a profit-sharing dispute, he established is own shop in Cleveland devoted to Americana. His pricing philopsophy reflected John Ruskin, a quotation from whom graced each of Clark's catalogs: "All work of quality must bear a price in proportion to the skill, time, expense, and risk attending their invention and manufacture." In 1930 Clark moved his shop from Cleveland to Glendale, California.

Miner, an 1897 Yale graduate, initially worked in  NYC antiquarian bookshop/publisher Dodd, Mead's rare book department. Next stop, c. 1902 (the year of this Burrows advert.), Cleveland, in charge of the Burrows Brothers Co. rare book department. In 1916 he migrated to St. Louis and established his own shop where he was known as a responsible and resourceful dealer and respected bibliographical scholar. One major library director noted of Miner that "There are few men with whom I would rather scan a suspicious looking and dusty bookshelf, than with him."


By the Fall of 1902, after three months of advertisements in The Literary Collector that, apparently, did nothing to improve its fortunes, our hapless rare bookseller, S.F. McLean & Co., honed its message to a simple, declarative blunt point: BOOKS. BED ROCK PRICES.

Considering that the land in Manhattan upon which S.F. McLean & Co. sat  remains billion year-old bedrock 150-500 feet thick, McLean's prices for old and rare books  must surely have been very low, solidly so, and etched in granite.
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References:

STERN, Madelaine B. Antiquarian Bookselling in the United States (1985).
DICKINSON, Donald C. Dictionary of American Antiquarian Bookdealers (1998).
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Wednesday, July 25, 2012

American Rare Book Trade Ads From 1902, Part II

By Stephen J. Gertz

We continue with our three-part series on vintage rare book trade ads from The Literary Collector, 1902. You can catch-up with American Rare Book Trade Ads From 1902, Part I here.


There is no mention of our hapless bookseller S.F. McLean & Co. in Madeleine B. Stern's invaluable Antiquarian Bookselling in the United States: A History from the Origins to the 1940s (1985) or in Dickinson's Dictionary of American Antiquarian Booksellers (1998). We know from the firm's advertisement found in Part I of this series that McLean was enduring lean times. "Something wrong. Perhaps our books are N.G. Don't think they were priced too high." 

Above, however, McLean faces down the demon. Macmillan's beautiful 1898 edition of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam originally sold for $3.50. McLean offered an as new copy (perhaps a remainder) for 65¢. Find a copy now and it'll set you back $300-$400.

Stayed tuned for Part III of this series, in which S.F. McLean & Co. gets down to the real nitty-gritty in 36-point pica.


Advertisements for E.F. Bonaventure can be found as early as 1885.

"Additions to my stock are being made constantly, both by direct consignments from abroad and by the purchase of libraries amd private collections. As I visit the European Bookmarts annually, and have made arrangements with the principal publishers there, I receive all the finest publications, (especially Parisian), as soon as issued.

"I have on hand a large assortment of etchings and engravings — both Ancient and Modem — many in fine proof state," he declares in an 1885 catalog.


The Vale Press, established in England in 1896 by Charles Ricketts,  survived until 1905. It was amongst the great  publishers that emerged during the private press movement, a renaissance of fine printing and binding that was established as part of the Arts and Crafts movement in protest to mechanization


The press of Thomas B. Mosher fulfilled the same mission in the United States.


Booksellers Daniel O'Shea, E.W. Johnson, Davis' Bookstore, and Shepard Book Company escaped the notice of Stern and Dickinson. Of Shepard Book Company of Salt Lake City, Utah - "We carry the largest stock in the world of books on Mormonism, Anti-Mormonism and the West. Also curious, rare and old books on every subject" - all I can say is, Hello Ken Sanders Rare Books of SLC, "Creating Chaos Out Of Anarchy for a Better Tomorrow." Ken, known to the general public as the rare book appraiser on Antiques Roadshow with gray ponytail, long gray beard, and merry eyes that can melt your brain with their gaze and a heart that can melt yours, has successfully assumed Shepard Book Company's mission. Mrs. Helen Schlie is definitely not in the same league - nor on the same planet - with Ken.


George H. Richmond (1849-1904) began his career in the trade in 1877 as assistant to Robert H. Dodd, who managed the rare book department of Dodd, Mead, the bookshop that became a publisher. Leaving Dodd in 1892, he tried his hand at subscription publishing but, three years later, in 1895, bought the stock of a bookdealer and established his own shop. He was "one of the most able and daring of the New York booksellers."


The above 1902 advertisement for rare book dealer Edward Dressel North (1858-1945) is significant. That was the year he opened his own shop after an apprenticeship that began in the early 1880s as a cataloger for Scribner & Welford, a position he held until he opened his store. His was a diverse stock - American and English literature, European history, fine press books, art, architecture, travel and biography. His cataloging experience served him well. Through carefully written and edited sales catalogs he attracted the attention of the great tycoon book collectors. Henry C. Folger, Frank J. Hogan, and Henry E. Huntington became regular clients. His immortality, in my view, rests with his telling Huntington to take a hike.

"North never compromised his own professional independence. In March, 1919, when Huntington asked for a discount on a particular item, North told the California collector that he 'ran a one price shop and made it an unvarying rule not to allow a discount to anyone'" (Dickinson). Thereafter, Huntington, of course, bought from other dealers. North survived and thrived,. He, at times, rivaled Rosenbach in the auction rooms, much to Rosenbach's chagrin as he was often bidding on Huntington's behalf, who must surely have cursed North, who must surely have laughed.

More vintage trade ads in Part III.
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References:

STERN, Madeleine B. Antiquarian Bookselling in the United States (1985).
DICKINSON, Donald C. Dictinary of American Antiquarian Bookdealers (1998).
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Monday, July 23, 2012

American Rare Book Trade Ads From 1902

By Stephen J. Gertz

The Literary Collector: An Illustrated Monthly Magazine for Those Whose Delight is in Books and Other Beautiful Things was established in New York City, October 1900, by renowned New York bookseller George D. Smith. From 1902, when its subtitle dropped to earth, focused, and became A Monthly Magazine of Book-Lore and Bibliography, until its demise,  in September 1905, it was published by Smith at the Literary Collector Press in Greenwich, Connecticut by The Literary Collector Company and edited by Frederick C. Bursch.

The following trade advertisements appeared 110 years ago in The Literary Collector, Volume 4, April - September, 1902.


George D. Smith was "the czar of the American  rare book trade" (Stern) until A.S.W. Rosenbach  and death toppled Smith as top banana. Note the last volume in his ad above. The first edition in English of Adolphe Thiers' five-volume History of the French Revolution (London: Richard Bentley, 1838) is offered for $18. It's not a particularly rare book and copies are now, in 2012, being offered from $250 - $1500.

Smith (1879-1920) "was a large, dynamic man with what has been called a 'picturesque' figure and an irrepressible nature. He lived books eighteen hours a day every day for almost four decades. Like many monomaniacs, he was sometimes distrusted, often disliked, but never underestimated...as keen as he was majestic" (Stern).


Where to begin with Charles Carrington (b. 1867 - d. 1921 of syphilis), who deserves an entire book devoted to his colorful character and career? Of Portuguese descent, Carrington,  born Paul Harry Fernandino, was, arguably, the most notorious publisher of his generation. He began in London. Circa 1893-96 he skipped to Paris; deported from France in 1907, he fled to Brussels. In 1912, he returned to Paris, at times Amsterdam. In short, he operated one step ahead of the law. "Historical, Artistic, Medical, and Anthropological Works," is certainly one way to characterize the books he published. Erotica, pornography, curiosa, and sexology are other appropriate descriptions. Often, the stated publication locale, publisher, and date on his books were false. Many if not most of his books were "for private subscribers only." He was active as a publisher for twenty-six years and published approximately 300 books.

Just what, pray tell, is the above advertised Carrington publication, Untrodden Fields of Anthropology  (Paris: 1896) all about? Perhaps the author's name, "Dr. Jacobus X," will provide a hint. No?

Dr. Jacobus X was the pseudonym of Louis Jacolliot (1837-1890), a French  army surgeon who, stationed in many exotic locales within the French empire for thirty years, had way too much free time on his hands and so decided to make it his business to trod those untrodden fields and "record his experiences, experiments and discoveries in the Sex Relations and the Racial Practices of the Arts of Love in the Sex Life of the Strange Peoples of Four Continents" (from the sub-title). This included taking measurements, for scientific purposes only, of course, of the genitals of both sexes in whatever colony he found himself in. Somebody had to do it, I suppose, and we can assign credit to Dr. Jacobus X as being the father of comparative genitalology, a flaccid discipline of dubious value.

(The first Carrington Paris and first edition in English of this, Jacolliot's  L'amour aux colonies: singularités physiologiques et passionnelles observées durant trente années de séjour dans les colonies françaises ... [Paris: Isidore Liseux, 1893]), was limited to 500 copies. It is extremely rare. The first American edition, according to Carrington, was oversubscribed at $60; it, too has become quite rare. Later American reprints from  Esar Levine's American Anthropological Society (1930) and Benjamin Rebhuhn's Falstaff Press  (1937), which  were sold by private subscription  and "Intended for Circulation Among Mature Educated Persons Only," are readily available and relatively inexpensive. Suffice it to say, both Levine and Rebhuhn - who received Levine's copyrights - were indicted for obscenity through mail violations).

Carrington published the first edition in English of Pierre Louys' Aphrodite (1906). A few of his more earthy publications included Amorous Adventures of a Japanese Gentleman (Yokohama: Printed for the Diamio of Satsuma, 1897, i.e. Paris, 1897)); Les Belles Flagellantes de New York (1906); The Autobiography of a Flea, Told in a Hop, Skip and a Jump (The Phlebotomical Society: Cythera, 1789 [c.1890]); The Adventures of Miss Lais Lovecock (1906); and A Town-Bull Or the Elysian Fields. How Priapus blessed a poor man, made a living for him, and how, finally, a paradise for free-lovers was established where fathers and daughters, mothers and grandsons, brothers and sisters, white, brown and black cohabitated indiscriminately (Carnopolis [Paris]: Société des Bibliophiles, c.1899).

The most complete bibliographical checklist to date of the books published by Charles Carrington can be found at the The Erotica Bibliophile. A diligent and tenacious amateur scholar, Ms. Sheryl Straight has included much more about Carrington on this excellent site, which includes info about publishers, writers, and illustrators of clandestine erotic literature found nowhere else.


Bradstreet's and Matthews were the founding firms of American fine binding. Bradstreet's rated a highly honorable mention in Henri Pène du Bois' Historical Essay on the Art of Bookbinding (1883):

Bookbinding "was not an art an art to be restricted to one nation or to one family, as tradition would have it in France, and forthwith did Bradstreet's of New York, undertake to make it American also; and now, if the rallied book collectors of the Old World point with pride to Trautz-Bauzonnet, Lortic, Marius Michel, Hardy, Amand, Bedford, Smeers, Riviere and Zaehnsdorf, the New World may retort with Matthews and Bradstreet's. And deservedly, because there is a solidity, strength and squareness of workmanship about the books of the Bradstreet bindery which seem to convince that they may be 'tossed from the summit of Snowdon to that of Cader Idris,' without detriment or serious injury. Certainly, none can put a varied colored morocco coat on a book, and gild it with greater perfection in choice of ornament and splendor of gold, and with greater care, taste and success, than Bradstreet's" (p. 35).  The essay giving the great Matthews the short end I suspect that Du Bois was influenced by the essay's publisher,  The Bradstreet Company.


Many advertisements for American binderies are found in The Literary Collector. In 1902, however, beyond Bradstreet's, few binders in the United States possessed the craftsmanship and artistry of their British and French contemporaries. Henry Stikeman  of Stikeman & Co. was amongst the exceptional few. Stikeman trained with American art bookbinding founding father William Matthews, eventually taking over Matthews' firm. Stikeman’s career arc followed the grouth and establishment of art bookbinding in America as the 19th century ended and the new century began. Stikeman bindings from the 1880s through the second decade of the twentieth century represent the best work of the firm, and Stikeman bindings have become quite collectible. Stikeman's descendant, Jeff Stikeman, is an architectural designer and illustrator in Boston with an excellent website devoted to Stikeman & Co. bindings and history.

Allan J. Crawford established his secondhand book firm, A.J. Crawford & Co., in St. Louis in the 1880s, evolving his stock into antiquarian volumes as the city's population and prosperity grew with the coming of the new century "The lifetime Crawford devoted to the antiquarian trade wound fittingly to its close. The dealer was found dead on the floor of the shop where he had fallen" (Stern, p. 116).


Rare bookseller Oscar Wegelin (1876-1970) was a bibliophile-scholar responsible for Early American Plays 1714-1830 (1905); Early American Poetry: A Compilation of the Titles of Volumes of Verse and Broadsides, Written by Writers Born or Residing in North America, and Issued During the 17th and 18th Centuries (1903); A Bibliography of the Separate Writings of John Esten Cooke (1925); Wisconsin Verse (1914); Early American Fiction 1774-1830 (1929); and etc. An archive of Oscar Wegelin's papers rests at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island.


Above, a favorite for its wry candor.

Poor S.F. McLean. Publishing Holmes Whittier Merton's Descriptive Mentality From the Head, Face and Hand (1897), apparently, did not make his fortune, nor did Samuel Wylie Crawford's The History of the Fall of Fort Sumpter... (1898). He didn't seem to be doing too well selling books, either. "Something wrong." Perhaps his books really were No Good. Will he survive?

More one him in Part II.
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Reference to booksellers:

STERN, Madeleine B. Stern. Antiquarian Bookselling in the United States: A History from the Origins to the 1940s (1985).
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More vintage American rare book trade advertisements to come in Part II and Part III.
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