More from Joe Marchione:
I've owned 37 of Kinky Friedman's books over the years, 36 sold, one stolen. Currently have none in stock. So you're talking about a writer who was a sure (albeit low-to middle-end) seller and one I'd continue to pick up, though only at thrift/library sale prices.
All collected writers have a book that is particularly elusive and valuable. For Kinky it was Musical Chairs -- unusual because it was his fifth book. There seemed to be no particular reason for the scarcity ... no change in publisher or anything like that. It was a quintessential Allan book. You needed to know it was uncommon. You couldn't rely on cues like hey, this is his first book.
I remember once Allan had gone on a scouting trip with John Lelas. He and John came back into the store while I was working and Allan started unloading his haul. He took great delight when thefirst book I picked up was Musical Chairs. He nudged John and said, "See, what did I tell you.... First book he picked up." I imagined it was the coup de grace to a discussion that took place when Allan first found the book. I was happy that I provided my little bit of validation to his find (and, truth be told, secretly proud that my reaction was valued enough to provide some little bit of validation).
Straight from the database, here our sales of Musical Chairs. Read it and weep:
7/18/1998 $95 (In-store, retail)
1/28/1999 $125 (In store, retail)
5/5/2000 $80 (Collector, large in-store purchase with discount)
5/13/2000 $76 (Book fair, dealer sale)
8/10/2001 $90 (ABE)
12/16/2003 $72.25 (eBay)
2/16/2005 $19.60 (Dealer sale)
There are now 79 firsts on ABE with the cheapest VG copy starting at $5.75+ shipping. Sigh.
Yet more on Kinky (I'll bet this whole series of posts reads like a pathetically doomed attempt to garner search engine hits. So be it ;-) .... Posting and infilling from previously private correspondence with our blog host:
The more I think about it, the more I realize I'm selling Allan short in my original post. There are a number of ways a scout style seller like Allan would end up buying a book. One is what I implied in my first post, special knowledge... i.e., he already knew Musical Chairs was a good book. That's entirely possible. Allan had an almost 'Rain Man' like ability to file away information about any and every book that crossed his path.
But he may very well have been relying on his superior book instincts. Top notch book instincts were an essential tool in the survival kit of a real book scout. Back in the old days, pre- and early-internet, when you found a book you had not seen before, you *always* trusted your instincts and bought the book. ALWAYS! If the phrase "I've never seen this before" popped into your brain at any time while you were looking at books, you grabbed it. It meant something. You'd price it, put it on your shelf and know that someday, somebody would come along and have the exact same reaction (or even better, have a real collector come by and jump at the book with unrestrained glee). Now? Not so much (or, as I said in my email to our host "Forget about it! it. That phrase means nothing. Less than nothing. Better to listen to you hand-held scanner... more on that at a later date).
Join me, if you dare, in this annotated journey into the mind of a book scout on the prowl...
You've planned your route for the day, maximizing paths between stops and coordinating opening times. Now's it time to scout. There's always a bit of an adrenalin rush as you walk in to the sale or shop. If it's a place you've done well at previously or have never been to before, you may find you fingers twitching... an outsider may think it looks kind of like a gunslinger ready to draw but you know it's just nervous anticipation bordering on ritual, an affirmation to yourself that your hands are going to be busy here [One of the most important factors in a successful hunt is the belief that you will be successful. Go in expecting to find nothing and nothing you shall find. And this attitude cannot be faked... It can be created in various ways but no matter how you get there, you must *truly* believe 'Today is the Day!' and 'This is the Place!' (Was that from Cadillac Jack?). Each place can't be 'The Place,' every day can't be 'The Day' but if you don't believe it going in, neither shall ever occur.]
You pick a corner and begin. You go out of your way to scout to the top and bottom shelves. At sales, you always check the boxes underneath the tables. You know that most folks are lazy but you will go the extra mile (or squat, or painfully deteriorating knees) to find the book. [A collector couple with a young child came in to Valhalla back when Allan was here. In the course of the conversation, some reference was made to the 'little guy' and Allan deadpanned that he'd be great for scouting the lower shelves... Whether the couple, more collector than scout, got it or not, I do not know. But I got a kick out of it... what can I say, bookseller 'humor.']
All senses are engaged as you approach the books. Both sides of the brain are working in their way. Colors and shapes, titles and authors. [One of Allan's favorite stories about scouting was how he'd be looking at a row of books directly in front of him and find his hand reaching for something he hadn't seen yet... sure enough, the hand was grabbing for a good book before he even had a chance to process it.... Lacking the specific title, the story sounds apocryphal but if you had a scout-mentality, you knew there was plenty of truth in it.]
Some part of your brain is mapping these memories. Kind-of a "I saw this book here, to the left of the entrance and up... when I saw this one I was looking down and there was a window on my right." Part of you wonders why you are wasting gray matter on such trivialities but you know it just comes with the territory and you learn to embrace it.
Scanning the row of books is a lesson in paradox. You're looking for two kinds of books... ones you've seen before and ones you haven't. Most see this break-down as useless but you know better. The stuff you've seen before is easier to handle. The few titles you recognize as good and the vast quantity of drek. You grab the good, file the drek away and turn to the other set... stuff you haven't seen before. You've been doing this a long time so it's smaller than it used to be. You sort it in your mind... the book clubs, the trashed books, the reprint houses, all marked drek in your mind. Now for the fun part.
You pick up a book by an author and realize you have never seen it before. So you investigate further. You check the book list, if one is available. You count how many books the author has written, try to evaluate why you've never seen it before. Check the publisher, make sure it is a trade edition and a correct first (sometimes you can be thrown by re-issues or later Book Clubs editions.... the different dust jackets triggering that unfamiliar look that initially triggered you to pick up the book). Check condition. Check price. Make your decision and move on to the next one. You know they won't all be winners but you also know that if you come back and they were all winners, you can be damn sure you left some good stuff behind. [In short, mistakes are embraced. It is much easier to remember *not* to buy a book if you bought it once before and found out it was a turkey... ]
Repeat until broke... And if you ain't broke, ... oh never mind...
Posted by: Joe Marchione | November 03, 2010 at 05:40 PM
Finally! With this last post, I can put my finger on why it has been so difficult for me to describe the scouting experience. I mean, I can sketch it in broad outline, but fall short of capturing its essence. Now I know why. The act of scouting is *way* more non-verbal... right-brained, if you will... than even I could admit. I was blinded by the words, the titles, the thinking that we seem to do when we scout.
But when I am in the zone, at the critical moment when I am staring at a shelf or table filled with books, I am barely verbal at all. It is very much a matter of evaluating shapes, sizes and colors of the books and comparing them with the memory of shapes, sizes and colors of books I have seen and not seen in the past. That is where the magic happens. And even when I slowly shift the focus from right brain to left, I read the title almost as a song lyric, not for meaning but for sound.
Little wonder that when I sit in front of the screen, close my eyes and try to place myself in that scouting state of mind to capture its essence for this blog, I find my ability to describe what I am experiencing slipping away... I was a shuttle driver for awhile. I'd do plenty of talking as I drove to and from the airport. But anytime the driving got a wee bit dicey, I'd hear my voice trailing off as the right brain took over, judging relative distances and speeds. Same thing. Really.
Does this right brain magic happen all the time? Of course not. There are times I have to plod through each title. Concentrating, trying to remember whether I owned a book or not and if I had, whether it sold or not and if it sold, whether it sold for a lot or a little. I can have good days scouting like that. But rarely great days.
Do you know what finally gave it away? The fact that I kept getting drawn back to that useless bit about the relative position of the book in the book store or on the shelf or table. How did I describe it? "Wasting gray matter on .... trivialities." That's my nonverbal brain saying "HEY! What about me? This is important!"
I know, I know. A tale told by an idiot, signifying nothing. But I, at least, find it fascinating.
Posted by: Joe Marchione | November 03, 2010 at 10:52 PM
Allan died just at the dawn of the 'scanner age' of bookscouting. While you could find plenty of early adopters if you looked, the scanner people were by no means as pervasive as they are now. I know he did not think highly of the use of scanners. As I recall, he had as difficult time as I did putting a finger on exactly why they weren't 'right' (mind you, that's not 'right' in the moral sense) for him. I think I'm finally beginning to understand...
All that rambling above about scouting can be seen as prelude to my belief that 'Scanners Live in Vain.' Yeah, I know. That barely makes sense. But every time I see somebody with their little handheld devices, mobile cheat sheets, I can't help but think of this title, a widely anthologized science fiction short story by 'Cordwainer Smith' (Paul Linebarger). While I have my Luddite moments (no mobile phone, smart or otherwise, the only i- anything I own are my reading glasses), I am by no means a technophobe. I mean, I created my own database. I'm comfortable using most computer programs, have added memory, replaced internal hard drives, even power units on my various computers. And yet I resist those little hand-held scanning devices that have become ubiquitous at any place where large numbers of books are being offered.
There's really no rational reason for this. I happily check values on-line (with obligatory grains of salt [ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grain_of_salt ] always at hand), on really big purchases, I've been known to call other sellers (when I can find a pay phone anyway... maybe I need to re-evaluate that whole mobile phone thing), ask them to verify my gut (and be sure the market for the book hadn't collapsed while I wasn't looking). And, unlike many folks I know who eschew them, when I see a scanner being used, I'm not really bothered by it (though I find that in general, the civility and manners of those who use them leave something to be desired).
Up until today my intellect was in charge of all arguments against scanners. The left brain was in the driver's seat, pontificating about 'The Need to Use My Brain' and 'Not Taking orders from Machines.' But I knew the arguments rang hollow and could not stand up to any kind of rational scrutiny. But these two days of thinking about how I scout have helped me to understand why scanners are not right for me (and, I suspect, would not have been right for Allan). Anything that serves to turn off that frustratingly silent but wonderfully important right side of my brain is something I must resist.
Yeah, I could get a scanner to avoid the occasional mistakes in books bought and (the far greater error) books not bought. I'd promise myself that I'd only use it occasionally... only when I need it. But could I resist the dark side? A couple of good scores, some easy money and the next thing I know, I'm tipping trade paperback nonfiction up to scan their bar code, rationalizing that I'll get to the 'good' scouting, the fun part, later. But later would never come.
Posted by: Joe Marchione | November 04, 2010 at 11:45 AM
The scanner people were out in force at the FSFPL mini-sale I went to this morning. So many of them, in fact, that they are becoming an advantage for me and my old fashioned scouting style. With seemingly ever other person at the sale focused-in on new books with bar codes, I have considerably more time to get at the older treasurers. By all rights, I should celebrate every time I see a scanner person. But I can't. And today, I think I was able to put my finger on at least part of why they make me nervous....
Scanning is a repetitive task that requires short, quick movements. Most scanner people seem somewhat furtive in the use of their equipment (whether by intent or just as a by-product of the way they hold it in their hands I am not sure). The combination of these two behavior patterns reminds me *way* too much of tweekers (tweakers??? ... I prefer the double e but justifying it would lead me even farther afield than I already am)... methamphetamine users. Now, I'm not saying they are. Not at all. But as I see them move at the edge of my field of vision, 'tweeker' is the first thing that comes to mind. And once my mind registers that label, I cannot help but feel nervous and on the defensive.
The sale, you ask? OK. Not great. 20 books in 28 minutes. A nice dust jacketed stated 1st of 'The Horse-Tamer' by Walter Farley, a dust jacketed 1st of 'Lady on the Beach' by Norah Berg... plenty uncommon though probably not sought after. A Proletarian novel I'll probably wholesale to Bolerium, some BISB (Books I've Sold Before) and exactly 2 books with bar codes on them... a 1st of Snow Falling on Cedars (salable in 1st, though nowhere near what it used to sell for) and a 1st of Lives of the Monster Dogs (ditto). Still, couldn't think of a better way to spend my Saturday morning.
Posted by: Joe Marchione | December 11, 2010 at 03:41 PM