Hopefully it will be a loved book anyway

You've gotta feel for the kid. They say some things weren't meant to be...and, perhaps, some books just weren't meant to find the proper owner.

I was at a library book sale recently trolling for some unique find - something that I couldn't just walk into a Barnes and Noble and buy, one of those you-know-it-when-you-see-it-finds, probably some super old hardcover someone once bought for fifty cents back when the nickel had a buffalo on it and the Wheatpenny was being minted and circulated. I like those.

Of course, I wasn't the only one searching. There were many book hunters there all out to fill their brown bags at about a dollar a book. I felt a vicarious thrill when I overheard a woman purchasing $99 dollars worth of stuff. I already knew something was up when I walked in and saw the volunteer sales staff bustling around placing piles of books in boxes for her and asking if she'd be able to carry it all. She added one paperback to make an even hundred and pushed it all out on a two-wheeler.

There was one guy talking to himself and another talking to me trying to praise a book I knew I was unlikely to read. I politely listened and then, when he was gone, returned the book to its place.

And there were kids running all over the place. As I perused the Nancy Drews and other such classics, I heard a little voice behind me.

"Excuse me," it said. And then again, "Excuse me."

I turned to find one of the little ones behind me.

"Have you seen any Magic Tree House books?"

I responded that I hadn't, but would let him know if I did and continued my browsing.

Back to picking through piles of books I went, searching all the sections to see if any old stuff was hiding there. It doesn't matter much that they're torn and tattered and not worth anything; just knowing that they were in someone's shopping bag, or wrapped neatly with brown paper and string, in 1910 is enough to make it interesting to me.

So I was having a merry time trying to decide if I wanted to purchase this autobiography or that novel and I heard that voice again.

"Excuse me."

I looked over.

"Have you seen any Magic Tree House books yet?"

I repeated my intention of letting him know if I did see one and I moved on.

I clutched a 1945 Sinclair Lewis novel that was in pretty bad shape, described on the copyright page as "A Wartime Book" which was "made to comply with the Government's request to conserve essential materials." That's interesting, I thought, and possibly worth a dollar. So I moved around the room considering the purchase.

New people came and old ones left, including Magic Tree House kid. I was still there and had pretty much seen everything but, attracted to the place like a moth to a porch light, I lingered.

I took one last look at what I guess one might call the antiquarian (really cheap antiquarian) books, didn't see anything again, and decided I'd spent enough time there and should leave already. I decided to go with the Lewis and paid up.

But wait. What was that water-warped book with a unicorn sticker stuck to the solid purple cover? Not knowing why it intrigued me, I reached over and took a look.

But your kid has gone away, I yell at it. For there, disguised and looking like it had just been dragged out of one of the seven seas and air dried, was a Magic Tree House book.

Can booklovers and their paperbacks be star crossed?

Introducing Romy!

Introducing the official Good Books, Bright Side kitty! How beautiful is she? She's a literate kitty, too. After poring over Of Mice and Men yesterday, she had a hankering for something lighter. Romy is the GBBS kitty, after all; while she appreciates a great literary work, she also loves to look on the bright side. So now she's having a hard time choosing between Beverly Cleary's The Mouse and the Motorcycle and Eve Titus's rodent sleuth The Basil of Baker Street. Then there's also Stuart Little by E.B. White. Too much good stuff to choose from!

Well, a love of words is bound to blossom when your kind have grown up in bookstores for ages and ages. And when you're named after the French word roman, or novel, you're practically destined for it.

Actually I, after surveying Romy's pleasure-reading picks, am inclined to read some of these myself. How very odd. Never was that interested when I was a wee one. But then I don't know which of her nine lives she's on; compared to her I may be a youngster, indeed!

And now for a change, something a little less tacky

Harrumph! I'm a bit peeved.

Sometimes one reads something that gets a tad under the skin and requires a comment. Happy thing, then, to have a blog.

I was over at a couple of the websites that I peruse regularly and there are discussions going on about the book Austenland by Shannon Hale, which I read about a year ago. I was fortunate to have gotten an advanced reading copy which I enjoyed very much, but now it seems the paperback edition is out and I'm eyeing it for its cute cover design.

As you can tell, I liked a lot about this book. Not everything, mind you, but a lot. The plot concerns a woman, thirtyish, who has a Pride and Prejudice obsession she is trying to purge herself of. For some reason, she thinks flooding herself in the world of regency England will help in this endeavor. Tiny little problem with the plot there, IMO, but no matter. It allows for a fun story to ensue in which the protagonist, Jane, visits an all-Regency-all-the-time resort. And there is a disturbingly fuzzy line between reality and script throughout the book as the guests of the resort interact with the resort actors, who are always in Regency character and terrible flirts. This seems to be a requirement of their jobs, which raises a whole ethical issue. But this novel is a light-hearted piece of beach-reading fun and that ethical discussion is something I'll save for another time.

Now, why am I peeved? Well, there's been a bit of impassioned criticism by readers that's directed towards the way the main character has been written. They cry immaturity since she becomes attached to one of the resort's actors after several embraces which she takes to indicate a level of seriousness on his part. There's a refrain I hear echoing from the critics: a woman that old thinking that such behavior may actually mean a guy likes you! Horrors!

Apparently, the notion is a bit unbelievable to people. I'd like to submit that perhaps it's actually charming. I mean every corner we readers turn we're faced with uber-sophistication. How many references to high-end stores, margaritas, and one-night stands can a book hold without making a reader sick? There are few stories nowadays where this kind of thing isn't overdone and it has become a little nauseating. So, to see a story where the characters have a bit more taste, well that's just plain nice.

And, let's remember, this is a story about a place where Regency life is (sort of) recreated, a time when a kiss could be tantamount to a proposal of marriage. So it's not all too inappropriate for the heroine of an Austen take-off to model arguably similar attitudes as, say, an Elizabeth Bennet or a Catherine Morland.

Of course, this is a twenty-first century book, but why not have a touch of nineteenth century sense and sensibility thrown in? (Sorry, had to get that out of my system.)

Books about books

I love to read books about writers or other 'book people' and the works they have produced over the years. It really doesn't matter if these book people lived long enough ago to already be considered a part of history or if they're contemporary, they're interesting to me. But most people don't write books about their experiences until they've done a good bit of living. Likewise, a great deal of contemporary authors are profiled in magazine and newspaper articles, rather than book-long biographies. Consequently, these memoirs and other works are instantly of the historical variety.

And, thus, it is not surprising that Bookends: Two Women, One Enduring Friendship by and about antiquarian book dealers Leona Rostenberg and Madeleine Stern, as well as Melanie Rehak's Girl Sleuth: Nancy Drew and the Women Who Created Her, are both imbued with the nostalgic atmosphere of bygone Americana. Bookends is a fast, easy read and tells the a story of two women each of whom loved books, achieved higher education degrees, and never wed in a time when for young females marriage was de rigeur and advanced schooling not so much, really. It is engrossing to read about their excursions to Schrafft's and Stern's Columbia University experiences in the New York of the early twentieth century. Rostenberg inherits a fairly centrally located imposing house in the city from which they base their book business, at least in the earlier years. So there's a lot of opportunity for one's mind to create a playground of old New York landmarks and of book-buying and -selling tales which, presumably, is the kind of thing the reader of such a book would enjoy.

Girl Sleuth by Rehak is even more absorbing a read, especially for a Nancy Drew alum like me. It had me hunting through boxes and boxes of childhood memories and digging out my old Nancy's. Girl Sleuth weaves the history of the day - which happens to be the late nineteenth century up to the present - into the machinations of the Stratemeyer Syndicate, responsible for the creation and production of the Nancy Drew mystery stories. Contrary to what one might think by reading the book's title, it was a man who conceived the idea for the Nancy Drew mysteries. But it was, indeed, one learns from Girl Sleuth, women who fleshed her character out and launched her to eventual superstardom. The books were ghost written with the use of outlines provided by the Syndicate - really, a sort of mass production assembly line kind of way to produce books. Surprising, then, that they held and continue to hold the allure of good stories for young girls.

That said, I'm wondering what today's Nancy Drew's are like since they seem to still be in production. I remember reading an article about them a few years back and it didn't sound all that promising, something like a teeny-bopper romance instead of an elegant mystery, but apparently Nancy's gone through some metamorphoses and, hopefully, they've got her back to form.

Recommendations, therefore, on Girl Sleuth and Bookends for those with a sense of wanderlust that can only be cured by a bit of time travel to bookish places of the past.

Addendum to 'The accessories of reading'

Hello All,

In the interest of attribution, though I suspect this is unnecessary, I did want to make clear that my previous post included a play on the sweet song My Favorite Things by Rodgers and Hammerstein from the musical The Sound of Music. It was meant to be obvious but I have a nasty little worry that if I don't explicitly explain this I'll be getting something akin to a slap on the hand or worse. So I would like to acknowledge and thank the owners of the rights to this song, just in case it is not considered to be sufficiently in the public domain or covered by fair use for the kind of wordplay that I tried to have some fun with a few days ago.

Just a note that if I ever do quote or reference other materials in any of my posts, I do not mean to infringe on anyone's rights. No harm is intended.

After all, imitation is the highest form of flattery! ;)

Thanks!

The accessories of reading

Bookmarks and bookends and personalized bookplates,
Big shelves and small shelves with doors made of glass plates,
An old, first edition to which the cover barely clings,
These are a few of my favorite things....

Okay, I guess the old, first edition is a bit of a stretch as I haven't got that kind of inventory in my personal library, but you get the picture. I like books and bookish things. What booklover doesn't love the accessories that go with the hobby? It's why bookstores nearly double as gift and stationery shops.

I especially like bookmarks. They're economical. They're sweet. They can convey a sage quotation or beautiful photograph. They're art. And they're easy to collect.

Happiness is an impulsive bookmark purchase!

A bookmark is a lovely pick-me-up when you're down, consolation buy when you can't afford that book you've been eyeing in the shop window, or just a little treat for no reason at all. And when you give a book as a gift, it is both utilitarian and decorative to add a bookmark as an adornment on the top of the wrapped gift - an inexpensive, multi-tasking item that buoys spirits as it marks your page.

I do love my bookmarks. So often they're doing their job hiding away mid-chapter never to see the light of day unless one of the books they've been paired with is getting some attention. And then they're just brushed off to the side, ever at the ready to resume their duties once I have need of them again. So I thought I'd take my shy little page markers out for a photo shoot and give them the attention they deserve. Get ready for your close-ups, you most favored literary accessories. Smile!

Literary looks-ism

Readers can be a looks-ist group.

For example, 'Don't judge a book by its cover' is true, but how closely do we follow that old maxim? When it comes to cover art a lot of us act like a crow attracted to a shiny object. We flock to the glossy photos and drawings that ornament the fronts of our hardcovers and paperbacks and skip over duller covers.

A more apt example might be the pick-up scenario at a bar. You're sitting there on your swivel stool. On your left is a mass-market paperback, thick, with smudgy print and a cover that shows off its picture about as well as a passport photo shows off its owner's image. On your right is a trade paperback, the front cover as showy as an 8 1/2 x 11 glossy, strong paper and clear print, with a little special illustration accompanying the beginning of each chapter. And why not throw in a hardback on the next stool - although you find its great-looking form, stylish jacket and luxuriant pages too intimidating to approach.

So there you are sandwiched between these two candidates vying for attention. Trade paperback clearly comes from some wealthy corporate bookstore or posh independent bookshop. Poor little mass-market paperback obviously stepped off a supermarket check-out counter shelf. Whose do you approach? Quality over quantity? Or what if the books are the same title? The same content, but different packaging? Fearing you can only afford a beer when a gin-and-tonic might be more to trade's liking, do you apt to offer a Sam Adams to the mass-market and settle? Or do you scrape together your pennies and get a cocktail for the trade just to have a looker on your arm?

Like the speaker in Dorothy Parker's short story, I usually fall for the one on the right. But it's not fair...or economical. I once opted for the trade version of P.S. I Love You instead of its smaller counterpart because it came with a nifty Cecilia Ahern bookmark and a bigger picture of Gerard Butler on the cover. Looks-ist, I tell you.

But I do love my trade paperbacks, even more possibly than my hardcovers. The latter serve to remind me how much money I spent. The trades are, in this way, friendlier.

It's a shame, really, because a person could afford so many more books if she bought all mass-markets. But what's really a shame is how much you have to spend these days for a book, trade or otherwise.

At one time, if memory serves me, most books were the smaller size. How much more egalitarian that was! And since there was little to compare it to, who cared? But no, publishers had to introduce a new way to discriminate, this time involving inanimate objects.

I feel quite ashamed, really. I just bought a trade edition of DuMaurier's Rebecca, that I'd been eyeing. It finally was in the bargain section at about a third of the regular price. But I already had a copy, gotten as a teenager and now held on to for sentimental reasons. Isn't that good enough? Apparently not for me. Sorry Rebecca. Still, sentiment can sometimes trump looks, and you'll always have a place on my shelves.