The Secrets of the Old Rare Books Collector's Secrets - Part Four - "A Petifore"

The Secrets of the Old Rare Books Collector's Secrets

Part Four

"A Petifore"

            Returning... all the way back... to Part One and its... blue frosted cupcake servings complaisant with servings of old rare books...:  This conclave of neophyte wonderers and their mistress of the old rare books secrets... including her doggie’s darkened library room’s restless waits for tossed shortbread favors... takes a sudden turn to old print on old paper... glued.

            To form an... old rare book... of itself.

            This sudden ‘with glue’ carries our old rare books “speaking of” Mistress (Madam?) to show her as best light when it comes to the ruin of old rare books by the ‘on every page’ ‘glued in’.  I... do not suddenly lean forward in my chair... but as she (Madam) does... the tentative audience... for the most part... peer over their noses and through their glasses.

            At a new wonder.  Purveyed.

            Without ever mentioning my church book sale (Part 3-B) trash can found ‘ruined’ ‘old rare books’ acquisition... nor pointing a finger toward the modern rages of ‘glue gunning’ and ‘scrapbooking’...  Benjamin’s caregiver and old rare book collector “extraordinaire”... brings forth “A TREASURE” (her opening descriptive words) that ...shows its ‘self’ to me as an “Oh one of those” third quarter of the 19^th Century (1850-1875) glue-gah assemblage of ‘old printed paper’ “pasted in”... she titled it.  I call it ‘glued down’.  That is a variant of the old rare book collector’s “Mounted Down” while her wording is a variant of the old rare books collector’s “Tipped In”.  Both of those terms and their actions are old rare books collector’s secrets.  To escape them the reader is best off fumbling with their glue gun... plugged in... and ‘care be taken’ to NOT BURN YOURSELF.

            I take the treasure in stride:  The Victorian glued down printed paper in “an album” (a store bought... and constructed to be this; a scrapbook)... a commercial ‘fancy’ that were coveted by young people who... well... “did them” (made a glued down scrapbook of ‘pretty paper’...  as best they could.

            The last is an ability and a... the materials to work with.  “Pretty Paper” had to be discerned and collected by the ... inner self... art eye... with this philosophical imperative being of very modest depth... AND... this “Pretty Paper” had to be too ...available.

            For best results.

            Yes and for those a little remote in an old Maine farmhouse... the getting of enough pretty paper could take years... especially if one was of the ‘go into town once a year’ set.  Just the thought of that is a ‘leap’ these days and... it is ... much easier to make Benjamin leap in his darkened ‘old book room’ with a toss of shortbread.  In any case... the ground rules of the ‘Victorian Scrapbook’ and it’s ‘scrapbooking’ are presented and now are shown by the old rare book collector Madam... for she ... “has one” for all to “SEE”.

            Now... most of these (Victorian scrapbooks) are a middle-fair production... tending toward the ‘not finished’ and ‘contents dull’ with a dash of ‘not very good at it’ TOO.  These albums are rapidly ‘leaved through’ (each page scrutinized) by knowing collectors and dealers... looking for standout inclusions such as the noted three song sheet discovery (Part 3-B)... and nothing more.  That is a five minute full evaluation of both merit of content and... monetary value... “OF THAT” (content).  But:

            Every now and then the border lands are crossed by the discernment during scrutiny that ‘this one’ (a discovered Victorian scrapbook)... “is special”.  What ‘is special’ is ...is that the whole glued ...old rare book... IS... of itself a WHOLE production being (becoming to the critical eye) “GOOD”.  “PRETTY”.  “NICE”.  And then becomes “a good one”.  Here... Madam showed her conclave... a... “one of those”.  I knew this right away but the rest became mired at “PRETTY” and never... needed to... or thought of...

            “Anything more” (to it then that).  But Benjamin’s caregiver did get a “GOOD EFFORT” from me... and so spastic did I become that I... tossed a shortbread edge off into the dark book room for Benjamin.  I received a complimentary flip of Mistress Book Collector’s eyes from the... old rare books collector... herself.  From self.  Of self... knowingly conveying... that I did know that secret...

            But never the secret... of that secret?

            That is asking a lot... in this setting.  The secret is a tactile, engineered and... ‘a touch of art eye’ paste construction within the sameness of the commercial ‘scrapbook’.  IF more story is told...; the gluing paper expresses a soul....  IF... that... can be... there is a Secret of a Secret.  But... radically avant-garde THAT allotment be in gathered ‘old rare books’ parlor talks and shortbread tossed... doggie favors.

            No...:  Mostly this ‘that’ never happens and that is assured by the fore mentioned ‘middle-fair’.  These of those do suggest a ‘getting there’... but rarely a bomb blast of being ... a that-there.  Here, this day, that is all we get; the Young Wonder’s... glued down... her (his?) arrangement of pretty paper world view and... leaves us (the centennial plus [100+ years old] viewers) with only that ‘pretty’ and ‘nice’ arrangement of inner soul.  The glued album closes... on that suggestive note.  That is okay for the Secret of the Secret is the ‘knowing this’ and that MAY sometimes be ...an expression of an avant-garde soul.  Do you understand?

            The Secret of the Secret is ...knowing of... the secret.

            In this room... of the gathered old rare book collector’s show and tell talk... this aspect of the scrapbook; it being an expression of soul... is... “LOST”.  The best is the accomplishment of ‘pretty’ and ‘nice’ denoted as a conscious ‘glued’ expression... sort of

            Maybe.

            Just toss the shortbread favor... off into the dark room of the book collector’s old rare books... and be done with this notice of art... for the sake of art.  I will always step forward and serve myself when such circumstance DOES appear.  This ‘good habit’ has been a deceptively trite way of I showing how good art may be found ‘hidden’ in the common place... and how easily it may go unnoticed.  I am always looking in the trash cans of this Secret of a Secret.  An old rare book as an art form is not a delusional missed perception.

            It is an honor to engage.

            This all brings us to a horror of the note that old rare books maybe, of themselves, a more than meets an eye.  Constantly.  As a daily creed.  As a feature factor of the that; God has damned the old rare book in our world.  I have expanded the vantage of the old rare book?  Yes I have and its expansion is well past ‘nice’ but I will retain Benjamin as a keynote; a balance.  For he is “nice”.

            The realm of the damned book (“pretty”) is the matter and it is a ‘usual matter’ to I.  Let us jump through the ‘God has damned’ hoop again and see if we may discern another Secret... of a Secret.

            “Yellow Back”... is a last term defined in the books of old rare book terms defined; it is last page... last term.  A... “Yellow Back”.  Well it is not that simple.  It is the “Y” that makes it ‘last’ and the “Y” is for the color ‘yellow’ and that, the definition assures, MAY be the color but ‘not necessarily’.  But we; the old rare books collector realm... and the God damned old rare books realm... LIKES the color and the term so... that is that... secret.  “Yellow Back” defines a certain specific school of publisher’s bound book that is puffed (promoted) as a cheap English edition of a popular title that has a cheap cloth over stiff paper boards cover... binding the cheap paper stock text. That cover was, too, of a (once a long time ago in most cases) bright yellow glazed cloth color.

            To know one is to see one and once this book collector’s secret is ‘known’ they are easy to spot when they turn up (church basement book sales on the dollar table).  And you; the old rare book collector or dealer, may become smug of self when you do... ‘find one’:  A “Yellow Back Edition”.

            No one cares and you will have to learn that too.  Carry your newly discovered yellow back over to the baked goods table and... you will too... become ‘God Damned’.  Let me be clear:  These books are not, generally, ‘of (monetary) value’.  NONE of the books I have been writing about are “valuable” as money.  No.  I said early on (Part One at the very end) that ...that... makes one a ‘value-ist’... not an old rare book collector.  Yellow Backs are what they are.  And are... delightful... particularly when self discovered... alone... while wandering “through” a church book sale... or such.  They were made to be vended at cheap book stalls that ‘flew by night’ at train stations and boat docks, street corners and theatre districts.  They were a cheap read and didn’t hold up well from being this ‘cheap’.  And the yellow cloth bindings too... were brilliant hand held advertisements for themselves.  Then thrown away, fell apart, lost overboard, given away, passed along or... recklessly abandoned.  But still always a ‘Yellow Back”.  Yes and ‘goodness me’ still a Yellow Back to this very day.  I cannot miss them.  They are a book collector’s secret to the eye.  And... “Look at them!”... too. 

            I illustrate with an 1879 London edition of “The Scarlet Letter”.  “Who wrote that?”.  Even Benjamin knows THAT.  What train station sold it?  NO!  LOOK at the title page and discover an old ink stamp from an English bookseller in Constantinople. “OH hasn’t THIS BOOK (a Yellow Back) TRAVELED AROUND!”  Yes... it has... and see two already defined secrets of secrets at work here; obsessive (obsession) and romantic (Romance).  May there be another secret of a secret?  YES!  It is titled ‘appreciation’.  The more obsessively one looks at the old traveled Yellow Back edition of The Scarlet Letter, the more romantic it becomes and... the more appreciation of this Yellow Back edition one has... for it:  THIS COPY of THIS Edition...; the one from Constantinople.

            That is a Secret of the old book collector’s Secrets:  Appreciation.

            And again... this book is of no monetary value...  

            It is a simple old rare books collector’s... old rare book.  It is that only.  It has been damned by God in our current world.  And even Benjamin knows this.  I’d toss him a petifore on that notice... if I had one.

Roughshod - Part Six - "Dependence"

Roughshod

Part Six

"Dependence"

            Now that I have presented the old fools... who feel that old New England antiques be those found as core and source finds... in old New England homes... with those homes being a requisite undisturbed (original) state (no ‘sanded floors’) and including as many ‘same family’ dependence as a timeline will allow...:

            Oh... I said ‘this is horrible... harsh and... simple” (Part Five).

            And now say it is wrote in... your... own blood too.

            That is right:  Blood in the old New England home and in their old New England ‘things’ (antiques).  The blood as the street is surveyed from the front doorway.

            In the sun

            Shine. (Part Five).

            Does the sun shine on all of this?

            Not really.  It is ‘around’ for three seasons of the year.  And is “hot” for the forth season.  A porch rocker will suffice for this forth season... “in the shade”.  The summer season in not the ‘good time’ to ‘go in’ and ‘look’ at the “antiques”

            “IN THERE”.

            No.  I like February.  And your (the reader’s) efforts to collect antiques are not around then either.  Did not notice that... did you.

            I do.

            When a door is closed... or actually locked... with its key kept in the lock... and all may ‘see their breath’ in the room that is locked by the closed door... is that room exactly the way it has been... historically... in the ‘this old New England home’ with its blood (hot blood?) dependence there too?  Do these hot blood dependence actually STEAM in that room on this one closed door New England February morning... when I have been “called” “to account”?

            By proxy?

            By vote?

            By summons.  Usually.

            Very strict rules:

            “GOD”

            “Good taste”.

            “I know”.  (Part Five)

            “GOD

            It is cold today”.

            That is when an English... American Federal Period... Neoclassical looking glass... is taken off the wall for the first time following a same family registration of two hundred years.  I lift the looking glass off the wall for the first time in two hundred years.  I carry it outside through the front doorway and across the frozen lawn to my truck cab and “PUT IT” “behind the seat”.  That was a dirty deed.

            Wasn’t it.

            Then we talk about the Strawberry Festival in July.

            And how Elmer Mason is about to die.

            The old home’s furnace sings its song

            It is cold today so that’s not wrong

            The church was cold last weekend too

            But there was nothing anyone could do.

            It is horrible... harsh and simple?

            No.  It is the way it really is with the ‘old things’ in the old New England homes.  That is (exactly) how it happens.  No riding roughshod.  No phony sophistication that bandies “I LIKE” as a judgment of taste.  No; the museums ‘like’.   In this world; in this realm.  Where one sees the breath and feels hot blood.  It is honor.

            It is privilege

            It is

            Good taste.

            Now then... return and look for yourself.  YES... YOU... this time ...go BACK to that room and LOOK at the wall and SEE the... light vertical rectangular spot... a light SHADOW that shows there was... long... a once ‘hung there’... right there... now missing excepting the single tack ‘there too’.  And say nothing

            AT ALL

            About what ...YOU... see:  KEEP YOUR FOOL MOUTH SHUT.  Have the ‘good taste’ to do that.  And your not going to own that looking glass either.  You will not buy it.  It is...

            “Too expensive.”

            For you.

            You don’t know what your looking at.  You don’t know what it is.  You don’t “I like it” anyway.  You don’t.

            You sand the floors... instead.

            And never hear that Elmer Mason... is... “finally”... dead.

            After the roughshod imperative is an ‘endeavored to be applied’ by a smattering of ‘those idiots’... it is shamefully denoted that they are not speaking of ...or even noticing... the light shadow blank space on the wall of the cold dark... locked... room.  No.  They have not ever reached for a looking glass.  But they do have a “drawer full” of their ‘table linen’ that, well, they “never use”.  Seating furniture is never used either.  That would require them to chase the BRAINS out of their ‘my butt’.  That’s right:  Just breeze through the dining room.  You wouldn’t decorate it that way... anyway.  I know; you’d “let the sun in”.  The old rug is taken out to be hauled away?  No.  I get that before anyone does that; I am the ‘taken out’ and ‘haul away’.  You never notice; never see this.  You see the floors of course, and amplify that “They are not that bad in THAT ROOM (the old dining room).  “The floors in some of the (cold dark locked) other rooms are even better”.

            “Once those rooms are cleaned out”.

            We get that done; the cleanout crew.  We said ‘take fourteen days’ but were done in ten.  We knew that before we started; that we’d get it done... “early”.  Or do we?  What if the selling of the old looking glass ‘keeps it (the old New England home) alive’... one more year.  Just that nominal remittance... keeps the old New England home full of old New England antiques... “alive”... “ONE MORE YEAR”.  It is a dirty job... but I do it.

            I arrive and find the dependence all self-tied (bound) to the mast of this sinking ship.  Will I share the (hardtack) biscuits and moldy cheese?  DRINK THEIR WELL WATER too?  Of course I do.  Actually relish it.  The little storied jokes of Elmer Mason’s life now creep into conversation.  Let me just say that he was well known for his ‘too much interest’ in one of the postal clerks.  That went on for forty years.  “Everyone knew about it”.  And it is funny... because Elmer was “ a little funny”

            Himself.

            I stand on their threadbare rugs and do not wipe my feet (Part Four).  They never look at my boots anyway.  They are the dependence... on me.  This visit we are in a room that I don’t recall admission to excepting one time, two decades ago... the we did ‘walk through’ the ‘this room’.  I recall.  “Porcelain” I hear my self saying.  “Silver Plate”  I say.  “This here though; perhaps this is a little something here.”  I feel the hot blood.  I see the steam vapor.  This room is “quite cold” today.  It is a “water pitcher” I am saying.  “Made in New York”.  “Coin Silver” “Not sterling”.  “It is too old to be sterling.”  “Eighteen forties probably”.  “Brought it home on the ship”.  “It was a present for his wife”.

            OH NO I DO NOT SAY THIS LAST.  I KEEP MY FOOL MOUTH SHUT.  NO need to anchor the water pitcher as family.  As dependence.  No... just brush by that ... “is obvious”.  No one wants to hear that.  It is cold in this room today.

Where is this room... Anyway?

            “Twelve hundred you said”.

            “Yes.”

            “That will suit us just fine”.

            “It is from one of the finer families of the village.  Very few things like this turn up.  I look for them.  In there; these old homes:  The things in there are better than the homes.  The homes just hold them.  Hoard them.  I know these homes well.  I can spot these homes very easily.  I know what to look for.  And how to manage what I see.  It is done with good taste.  Good sense.  Everyone agrees of course.  The other options are ‘vile’.  And have ‘bad taste’ (crass decorum).  On the next Sunday the eldest sister goes to church.  No one knows ‘a difference’.”