Last night, at the end of a long work week, on a whim, I stopped at Black and Read in Arvada. I'd not been there for a year, maybe longer. I'd thought of it, many times, but there was always a reason not to. I was too tired. It was cold, and the air smelled like it would snow before I got home. There was nothing in particular I wanted. Or there were things in particular I wanted, but amazon.com or barnesandnoble.com were searchable and more convenient and I can get online and select what I want and not get distracted by other books (not at all true, but I keep telling myself that.) But I had a whim. And feeling whimmy (not quite the same as "whimsical", but in needing a particular word and not finding it, I made one up) I got off the bus and walked in. Walking out an hour later with seven books and a CC receipt for $34.56 (notice both numbers: Magical, no?) I thought of a possible additional reason why I'd not been there for awhile: Black and Read is a
dangerous place.
It's also a very wonderful place. Basically, the store is divided in two, each with its own entrance but connected by narrow paths and doorways which may or may not meet fire codes. (There are ceiling sprinklers all over, and with that much book paper, one fervently hopes they would work if ever needed.) They have at least one of everything. You might have a difficult time finding it, but it's probably there. They probably have
Inkheart - and I don't mean Cornelia Funke's
Inkheart, I mean the book
Inkheart that book is about, which young Meggie and her father Mo search so desperately for, before the evil Capricorn finds it. I would not be at all surprised to find a copy in Black and Read. Whatever you are looking for, you might very well find it there; it is like a very compact Amazon.com. You might find your book in the mystery section, the young adult section, or the classics section. Every section has floor to ceiling bookcases, with only head-high cases in the center, presumably so you can orient yourself without the aid of a compass or GPS device. Paperbacks, book club edition hardcovers, leather-bound volumes; hundred year old books and current best-sellers (i.e., a stack of "The Hunger Games" at the checkout counter - I resisted!) DVDs and VHS (78% of the world's remaining videocassettes have ended up in that store.) Music CDs, cassettes, and LPs. Books on gardening, history, the occult; comics and Harvard Classics and dime store thrillers. Yep, a little of everything. In short, it is a booklover's dream.
I went in specifically looking for two things: first, some of those Bantam leatherette bound Agatha Christie from the eighties. At one time the store had a whole bunch of them, when i didn't want them. Now I do, and they don't. So I move on. I was also in the mood for old books. Lest anyone think purchasing new (or new-old) books at a time I'm trying to declutter, is incongruous with that goal, be it known that I am trying to send three books out the door for every new or new-used book I bring in. I think I am closer to one-for-two than one-for-three, but that is my goal. These old books can be new treasures. Books previously loved and cherished which for reasons unknown but temptingly worth speculating about, have ended up in used book stores. Tonight I might have not found the Agatha Christie I was looking for, but I found a number of gems and pearls which insisted I adopt them.
First I found
"World's Great Detective Stories" from Walter J. Black's Readers Service, 1928. In the early eighties I'd bought a couple of volumes from this now-defunct service but really wasn't pleased with the tan faux leather bindings and bright lettering stamped unto the cover and gilded top page edge; the combination produced an overall effect of gaudiness. A few years ago I came across an earlier edition of the Works of Victor Hugo, bound in red cloth, minus the gilding, making for a more attractive, and my my own comparison, a more durable volume. I'd searched in vain for more of these volumes, but until tonight had come up empty. The story titles I didn't recognize although I knew the authors: Twain, Poe, Doyle, Kipling, Stevenson, Chekhov, and Dumas and others. But my curiosity was most piqued by "D'Artagnan, Detective". A Musketeer moonlighting as a detective? This sounds promising...
Next,
"The Four Million", by the master of the short story, O. Henry. It is the volume containing two of my favorites, "The Gift of the Magi" and "The Cop and the Anthem". This edition was printed in 1910, red cloth, with only the merest hint of separation of pages. A steal at four dollars. There is however more to treasure in an old book than hand-sewn bindings and copyright dates older than one's parents. This particular volume had a little yellow stamp inside the front cover, a stamp which made me think of trading stamps my mother collected when I was a kid. The stamp reads:
"From the P.O. News Stand
27 W Park Street
BUTTE, MONT.
Books, Stationery,
Magazines, News,
Novelties & Cigars"
and this in turn sparked my imagination about what kind of place this was, and when this place was (before zip codes, it would seem?) - and it caused me to recollect Christopher Morley's
"The Haunted Bookshop" and its pipe smoking proprietor. I'm not at all fond of the smell of tobacco however it is smoked, but that stamp inside the book calls up another time as well as another place - and suggests a story or two behind the initial owners of this book.
Three more O. Henry volumes, green cloth, 1917 printings of
"The Trimmed Lamp" (hosting a couple more of my favorites, "The Last Leaf" and "The Purple Dress"),
"The Voice of the City", and
"Sixes and Sevens". Each in decent condition, each a bargain at two dollars each - two bucks for 95 year old books! But wait - there's more! Again, there's some
history attached to these older tomes. A previous owner or two lived five miles from my current residence. I do not know if it is one or two people; there are two addresses on the same block, one written in ink as H.H. ____ and the other stamped in ink as Harold H. Same person, in a new residence? How many years later? Father and son? In the same hand as the written ex libris are the words "Cambridge Mass. Feb. 20 1919." I wonder about inscriptions like that. I wonder about the people who wrote them; what led this person to this particular school, what course of study was his? I know he had great taste in literature (for he liked the same books as I) and I wonder if someday someone will wonder about what I wrote in my books. I wonder how many in-between owners there might have been - if others, like me, felt there's something not quite right about scribbling out 93 year old inscriptions to write in my own name. It's almost like lending someone a book and when it is returned you discover that not only did this person highlight
your book, the highlighted
the wrong passages!
Next I found "The D.A. Calls it Murder" a non- Perry Mason mystery by Erle Stanley Gardner. No special attachment here, it merely looked interesting. Excellent condition for being 22 years old. Probably sat on a shelf because it looked pretty - but maybe the previous owner simple read their books with great care.
Finally, a small little volume of
"A Texas Ranger" by N.A. Jennings. It will be 20 years old this Christmas; I looked up the publisher, Lakeside Press, and learned they've publish one book every Christmas since 1903 and they don't sell them to the public but rather give them as gifts to their employees. Boss gives you a book for Christmas? Awesome! The book itself is a book on a recommended reading list I read last year for reluctant boy readers. Well, I've never been reluctant to read, but the experiences of an eighteen year old doing border patrol in 1875 sounded like a darn good read.
Now all I need is the time to read...
