First Edition Books

Nope, this isn’t some whimsical hammering on the chest, it’s a brief look at which editions to buy when collecting rare books. As a little spoiler; this won’t provide a set of rules that determine which edition to collect; it’s never that easy. So, what are we talking about exactly, and why Britain vs America? Well, it’s not always Britain vs America, particularly not if you’re not collecting English language books. But when searching for a book, it’s not always clear whether one should purchase the first US edition, the first UK edition or some other edition. Of course, it's not always a decision between UK and US editions, but that’s the most common choice. I’m going to outline the primary points for consideration.

1. Follow the Flag

This is a common consideration, but what does it mean? It suggests that when collecting books by a particular author that you should buy the books published in that author’s home country. Home country doesn’t always mean where they were born or raised, it often means where the author resides, or wrote their works. An author like Isaac Asimov might’ve been born in Russia, but that doesn’t always mean that one should collect Russian first editions. Asimov left Russia for the US when he was three; in this particular case follow the flag means the US. T.S. Eliot? Born and raised in Missouri, sojourned in Paris, worked in London. Not as simple. Eliot was an American, and whilst his major contributions to the literary world, both as a writer and publisher, were very much centred in Britain, he was still an American. If you’re following the flag, you’re probably going to buy the American editions. Generally, following the flag will lead to the preferred edition (the term preferred edition is used to denote which edition most people prefer to buy), though this is by no means a role. Of course, it doesn’t apply to a lot of authors, Camus for example might be desirable in the English, so it’s impossible to follow the flag.

2. Print Runs

This isn’t as subjective as most of the points here because the fact is that most often, books are printed in the UK with a smaller print run than in the US. There are fewer readers in the UK than the US. A book printed here with a print run of 1,000 might have a run of 3,000 in the US. Of course, it’s not a hard-and-fast rule; there are plenty of books printed in the UK in a higher volume than in the US, particularly when one considers dates - some books by British authors might not have seen a US printing until decades after. So, again, it’s not possible to pick a title and say with certainty that the US edition is more common than the UK edition, though it is somewhat likely to be the case.

3. Demand

Sometimes demand determines which is the preferred edition. This is a cyclical relationship. An increase in demand subsequently increases the demand. It’s sort of like a slow-burning example of hype. Take Arthur C. Clarke’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. A British author, working with an American director on a British-made film. Marginally, the US edition is the preferred edition, but that’s primarily indicated by the price. There’s a strong association with it being the book of the film, and films are usually made in America. But what about A Clockwork Orange? British writer, American director, filmed in Britain. The British edition is the preferred edition. The situation is almost identical, the only real differences are print runs (which aren’t commonly known), and the fact the 2001 has American lead actors, compared to Clockwork Orange’s British leads (HAL is Canadian, so I don’t know how that fits in). The point is that sometimes the demand surpasses the points of consideration and this perpetuates throughout the years. I’m not suggesting that this is the case with the two books above, just that sometimes certain editions are preferred for sometimes arbitrary reasons.

4. Aesthetics

This is an easy one, as long as you can be completely objective about what constitutes good design. If, like everyone else, your appreciation of art is subjective, then you can be happy in your decision-making. Some books just look and feel better than their counterparts. Take an author like Haruki Murakami, a Japanese writer. The UK editions have been, in my opinion and that of most of our collectors, much nicer in the UK editions than the US, at least they were initially. Bringing a designer on like Chip Kidd has been helpful in settling the balance, but, for many, the UK editions are just nicer.

5. Historic Trends

This is one of the most important factors for many collectors. Let’s say you were seduced by a beautiful British first edition of a Robert Heinlein book, and for the next few years you bought all his hardbacks that came out in the UK. Now, ten years later, you find that there are some really cool jacket designs on the US editions (Starship Troopers) or some seminal works that are much more valuable in the US (Stranger in a Strange Land), or simply that everyone’s telling you that the US editions are the preferred editions (they are). Are you going to stop collecting the UK editions? Probably not, you’ll probably keep filling your collection because historically that’s been the trend for you. Tie this into the other points and it changes more widely; historically Terry Pratchett books have been preferred in the UK edition, so the latest book is preferred in the US, regardless of all other points.

6. Priority

Historically, this was the most important point for a great deal of collectors. The idea, for numerous, sometimes arcane, reasons, was to collect the earliest edition. If a British author published a book in the US five days before he or she published it in the UK, then these collectors would buy the US edition, even if it were ugly and had a huge print run. That’s the first edition, that’s what they want (proofs often don’t matter to these collectors; again, these things are somewhat particular).

7. Value

For some, the most important point. Which copy of Childhood’s End should I spend my money on? Well, he was British, the British first edition had a smaller print run, the US was a year earlier, British firsts are generally preferred. Aesthetics? Both pretty awful, I guess the US edition just clinches it. So not too clean cut. The US edition is four or five times more valuable than the UK, though four or five times more common. This, for some, is all that matters. It can be argued that the preferred edition is the most valuable edition because people are willing to pay the most for it. It’s not that simple though, of course, it never is - take scarcity, for example, if there are 100,000 copies of a book it will be very cheap, but could still be the preferred edition.

So, to summarise, this is another vague and non-scientific article on book collecting. I’d love for it to be scientific and I’m sure in the hands of another it would be, but the fact is that every book has its own merits, it’s up to you to reconcile it with your collection.

A lovely copy of William Morris’ Kelmscott Chaucer came to market recently (last year, but that is recent in book collecting). It sold for in excess of £100,000, quite an increase on the £20 it originally sold for in 1896. If you’d put £20 in the bank in 1896 on an exceptional deal that promised you 5% per year but you were locked in for four generations, you’d have a balance of about £8,000. In fact, to get more than £100,000 back on your original £20 over the course of 12 decades, you’d need a fixed interest rate of around 7.2% (assuming monthly compound interval; you’re fixing for 120 years, you set the terms) to realise more than £100,000. It’s astounding how big a difference an interest rate makes over a long period (20% puts you at nearly half a trillion, I’m sure there’s a book plot where that happens somewhere).

You see, that example just shows how buying rare books is a much better nest egg than putting the money in the bank, creating a pension, investing in stocks and shares, property. Actually, it doesn’t, the example shows you nothing. Firstly, banks don’t do that, though sadly it’s the interest rate that seems more elusive than the 1440 month term. Secondly, you didn’t buy a Kelmscott Chaucer in 1896 and will never have the opportunity to get one at that retail price. Thirdly, you won’t live until you’re 120, modern science might think you will, but modern science neglects the social armageddon (wherein nobody looks up from their phones for months, all physcial interaction ceases, until the last human dies on a toilet waiting for a like on Instagram, thinking it’s because nobody likes their duck pout rather than the fact that nobody else is left alive. That or Zombies).

Fig 1. A facsimile, we haven’t had the 1896 edition, but that’s a different story.

So what is a good example?

Well, Sotheby’s sold a copy for just shy of £20,000 in 2000. It wasn’t pristine and lacked a couple of ties. But still, £20,000 nowadays for it would be cheap. It wouldn’t be a £100,000 copy, but certainly more than £20,000. Let’s £40,000 as there’s a similar copy on the market at that price. Doubled in 15 years, that’s not bad. An average interest rate of 3% over the last 15 years, would have given you £31,000. So that’s great, £9,000 extra, and you have had a Kelmscott Chaucer to look at for 15 years, albeit one lacking ties and a bit skewed and probably in a box - damn you Sotheby’s selling such junk.

So that’s a great example?

Well, it’s certainly more realistic. But let’s face it, the Kelmscott Chaucer is probably the most desirable book ever produced (if you don’t count that gaudy, bejewelled Rubaiyat that’s currently being devoured by lampreys beneath a smug iceberg at the bottom of the Atlantic). If a book was ever going to maintain demand over the decades it would be the Kelmscott Chaucer. So it’s an unfair book to chose.

On top of that, £40,000 is the market price. It’s also the price at which that particular book hasn’t yet sold for. That’s not to say the price is wrong, it just hasn’t found its buyer yet. It will, I’m sure. Books, even desirable ones, can take a good while to sell (interestingly, the £100,000+ fine copy I referred to above sold almost immediately, rarity and condition are the power-combo). Books just aren’t that liquid. I read a piece the other day about the legendary bookdealer A.S.W. Rosenbach, in one letter to Frank Hogan he’d written: “I am as hard up as the devil and I would appreciate it more than I can say if you send me a check for $4,180.″ That was something in the realm of £75,000 back then but still a fraction of the amount Rosenbach was used to dealing with, also, it was 1933 and a bit depressiony. Still, the point is, Rosenbach, needed money and yet he had shelves full of ridiculously nice items. Books aren’t liquid.

So, you’re resigned to the fact that it’s going to take a while to sell, but you want the money so you email your favourite dealer who offers you £20,000 for it. You ring your second favourite dealer who offers you £25,000. You ring that dealer who you thought was a little bit hairy and creepy, he offers you a staggering £30,000 for it, because he has a customer for it and...you never get the other reason because the phone call tails off into mumbling and, you think, some version of vocal snoring. You realise you might as well have had the money in the bank.

You take the book to Sotheby’s, after laughing at the condition and joking that they can’t believe they sold such junk (ah, the dot-com bubble) they tell you it should have a low estimate of £35,000. You smile and set the reserve. They tell you their fees are 25%. They tell you their buying fees are 25%. If it sold for £40,000 you’d still only be at £30,000 (assuming no other fees).

You think about putting it on eBay or Amazon but it has no barcode, and your pictures aren’t at the right resolution. Plus, nobody can get in touch with you because you can’t use their inane messaging system. On top of that you get crazygeoff74 offering you £250 and 37 metres of copper pipe every few days, increasing his offer gradually to £273.50 and including a 1994 Ford Fiesta without an MOT or carburettor. you decide eBay isn’t the way to go.

Selling books is hard, not always hard work (often hard work), just hard to do. There are five Kelmscott Chaucers on the market, the finest book ever produced, there should be none. It’s a hard game.

So what is a good example?

Well, that’s kind of the point. There aren’t any useful ones. There are plenty of books that have increased well beyond inflation and bank rates, but there are plenty of stocks and shares that have done that too. If retrospective review gave a series of flawless, reusable guidelines then they’d be guarded jealously or the market would collapse. Let’s try Birdsong for example, I recently sold a copy for £150. Retail was probably around £15 a decade ago. Great example, it’s a great book, well written, quick to reprint so scarce, but common enough to keep the market buoyant. You should’ve bought them years ago, whole carrier bags full (and you’d have got the bags for free back then). But I’m fairly sure I’ve sold copies in the past for £300. So is the price dropping? Maybe, maybe it’s done, maybe it’s a dead book, maybe it’s demand has dropped, there was a TV show, maybe that changed things, maybe it Faulks’s curly hair that nobody likes, maybe the hype’s died down, maybe the good collections all have copies now, maybe it’s just taking a few years to gather speed again, maybe people have forgotten about it because it hasn’t quite got over that awful wave of desire for modern books over those tried and tested for generations, maybe, maybe, maybe. If you like the gamble, be my guest.

Fig 2. Birdsong, we’re currently out of stock.

It wouldn’t be unreasonable to ask why I’m telling you all this, someone whose living is to be made from selling books and should be encouraging people to buy them as investments, because selling books is all we do right?

Well, other than the fact that nobody reads this blog (I could be telling you to stop buying books and collect PDFs on floppy disks, it wouldn’t matter). the truth is that most collections we buy we pay more for than the collector did. The reason I’m telling you this is because I don’t like to hear the disappointed tone in emails when I suggest to people that their collections aren’t worth what they think (I assume it’s a disappointed tone, you never can tell with emails, they may be elated, if only there were some kind of emotional icon one could use).

So, why do some collectors get more than they paid, and why do we disappoint some collectors? Here’s the rub. Most of the collections we buy are from collectors who’ve bought for the love of books. I’m going to capitalise that THE LOVE OF BOOKS. These are people who have spent decades, usually, finding the finest books for their collection, hunting rare items for years, taking them to conventions dressed as Spock to get them signed. Their love for the books has enabled them to get the really desirable things, things they’ve had to wait years for. Things other people want, and if other people want them then so do we (sometimes).

The corollary (I hate that word, it sounds like it needs a couple of extra consonants) is that there are collections that we don’t want. I’ll give you a real example. It was a couple of years ago, I got a call about a collection of modern firsts. Sounds great, I said. All in fine condition, she said. Even better I said (secretly thinking that the collection was either wrong or her idea of fine was inaccurate). Nearly all signed, lined and dated, she said. Alarms bells started ringing (if a quote from the book is so vital to the resale value, then it ain’t that rare). She sent the list. I looked through it, all post-Harry Potter young adult type books, super-hyped and now worthless. I told her that I wouldn’t be able to buy the books. She replied telling me that she would take any sensible offer. I suggested £250. She replied that she wanted to get at least some return on the £12,000 she’d spent. I didn’t actually want the collection, I just thought that I’d pull a few out for reading copies for our daughters, and do the rest as a single lot - take a chance I thought...£12,000 would’ve been taking a chance, if that chance were zero.

That was a collector we’d disappointed, but she’d bought the books without due consideration, she all but admitted this on the phone telling me she’d seen what Harry Potter had done and thought that if other people were paying that much for books that they must be a good investment. The thing is, they weren’t Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. They hadn’t appreciated over five or ten years, none of them had. And I mean none. There were certainly some books in there that would appreciate, just not yet, not for a long time.

The other reason I’m telling you this is that collecting for investment polarises the market. When an investor buys a book for £100 some part of them is thinking about the resale value. This is fine, as a collector I sometimes do that, most collectors don’t have unlimited funds so it’s natural with expensive purchases. However, the one thing that’s better than thinking about the potential value is thinking about the purchase price. If you think the £100 book is an investment and is going to increase in price to £200 over the next few decades, then even better, pay £50 and you’re not only quadrupling, you’re hedging.

That’s fine too, get yourself a bargain. Don’t expect it from a professional bookseller, many do offer discounts, but it’s not an entitlement. And whilst we’re talking about discounts, remember that you don’t buy from a reputable dealer to get a bargain, you work with a reputable dealer to build a relationship. Believe me, constantly haggling on price or expecting a huge discount will put you to the bottom of a dealer’s list when they’re trying to place a book.

The price isn’t an issue really, the problem is the demand for non-highlight titles. An author’s lesser-known works have a lower demand than their popular, highlight items. This has always been the case, The Day of the Triffids has always been more expensive than Jizzle, it’s a better book (it’s not better than The Chrysalids though). But Jizzle shouldn’t be ignored (weirdest sentence I’ve written this week). If you allow the potential future price on a purchase to dictate your decision, then you will end up with a fairly mundane collection. Of course I’m a bookdealer, I’m going to say that right? I want to sell you all my junk that nobody else wants. Not really, to be honest, we sell the lower demand items just as well as the higher demand items. Thankfully, the investor-collector is still a minority, most of our good clients want the stuff that’s impossible to find, some of it we’ve never even heard of. I’m not writing this to bemoan the investor-collector, some of them are great, I’m writing this to highlight the pitfalls.

Fig 3. Currently in stock, possibly undermining this article.

Which brings me onto the next point, that collecting for investment can work. But it rarely works, at least not consistently and over an extended period, without the assistance of an expert. We have a great client who buys primarily highlight items, though he does supplement this with books he likes (a little too much he thinks). When he first sent me a wants list I noticed that most of them were expensive highlights, but there were a good number that were just great books printed in high quantities. His collection will fare well. It is well rounded and though he hasn’t bought the books for future value, I’m confident that for most of them the demand will not lessen. He is an expert collecting what he loves.

Compare this to the post-Harry Potter collector who spent £1000 on some Potter-Clone-Magic-Werewolf-Powerbadger book, only to find it unsellable now at £20 and you’ll see my point. Not an expert. Book collecting is a long game, a decades long game. If you’re not an expert, find a dealer who is and work with them, but you need to question why you’re buying books if you don’t know anything about them. They won’t tell you what books are good investments and which are poor investments, most don’t care a dot for that. They will however give you expert advice on building a collection.

If not for investment, then what for? For the love of the books, the joy of the hunt, the pleasure of the possession. It’s a bizarre, barely-rational, generally-demented, passion is book collecting. Those of you who are collectors in the truest sense know this already, I’ve got you to the bottom of the article and you feel fine, perhaps even a little better about your collection. If you’re buying purely with the expectation of financial gain, then I hope I’ve given you a little insight into the potential concerns with that.

Now and then we get asked for advice on creating a book collection. Most of our collectors know exactly what they want to collect and how to go about it, but for new collectors it can be a difficult task.

One of the biggest sticking points, particularly over the last decade or so, is concern about getting the key titles. We were recently offered a collection of Ian Rankin books, it was a nice collection, mostly in decent shape, but lacked the key title, Knots and Crosses. The collector was looking to sell because he couldn’t justify spending £1000 or so on a nice copy, and an ex-library copy just didn’t seem right. So he planned on selling the rest of the set to finance a purchase of Knots and Crosses and taking it from there.

This is something we see increasingly; the price of collection highlights has increase hugely over the last couple of decades as the true scarcity of these items is better known through improved information access and the demand is similarly increased as their prices become more visible. We’re going to talk below about various strategies to deal with this.

Accept that Goalposts Move

Now, it’s important to note that the vast majority of collectors don’t have a goal in mind when collecting. At first, yes, most do, but as that collection grows, the goalposts move - nearly always. Sometimes this is manifest through a sell-off, where the collection is sold to finance a new one. Sometimes the completed collection becomes part of a collection and other interests take precedence (I’ve got a full set of Heinlein’s UK hardbacks, I’m going to get the US hardbacks now or I’ve got all Bernard Cornwell’s books, I might move onto Patrick O’Brian now). Most often though, the side collections and diversions take seed much earlier on, particularly when opportunity offers.

The best thing about this though, is that this is good and almost vital. 

Accepting this leads to accepting the fact that collecting is about the journey not the result.

Accepting this lessens the impact of completion; the collection will never be complete so that missing volume isn’t as vital (tenuous point in some cases)

Accepting this vastly improves the chances of finding books for the collection. The joy is in the chase of course not the capture.

How to Pick a Starting Point

A lot of people specialise, we have collectors who just buy Stephen King proofs, others who just buy Nebula award winners. These kind of collectors have often been through the process of deciding what they want and are acceptant of the limitations and costs. But if you don’t have a specific definition, or even if you do, our recommendations are as follows.

Build on your Interests

If Haruki Murakami is your favourite author, then perhaps that would be a good place to start. Write his name on a piece of paper, but nothing further. If you like modernism, write that on the piece of paper. Books with high production values, write it on the paper. Books you’ve read, write it down. The Vietnam War, write it down. Significant moments in the history of literature, write it down.

Perhaps your interests aren’t as clearly defined and you’re interested in curious inscriptions, true rarities or forgotten books. Still, write it down, but take a moment to think how those rules are defined. Books with curious inscriptions - does the inscription have to be by the author? What defines curious? True rarities - What defines a true rarity? No copies on the market, unrecorded in bibliographies? Forgotten books - Are these books that have been out of print for fifty years? Perhaps they don’t have an entry in Wikipedia? Perhaps there’s no reference online? Once you’ve produced the definition, write it down.

Maybe you want to just collection books that take your fancy - then you don’t need this list. You’re happy, your horizon is wide and distant. Guard you secret jealously.

Think About your Budget

This is one of the most important things to consider. Try not to think about what you might be able to afford in the future (it will never be enough), think about how much and how often you want to be able to able to invest (invest in the enjoyment not the financial return). Here at Hyraxia Books we have collectors who know the books they want and will pay for them over a number of months. That’s fine, and they’ve usually accepted that that means fewer purchases. Others don’t like to do that, they enjoy the buzz of the chase so would rather spend £100 one week, £50 the next, £250 a month later. They might spend £1000 over a year, and think that they could’ve got one really nice book, but generally it’s more about the chase.

For many, this is just an as-and-when - you know how much you’re willing (or able) to spend on your collection. It’s just useful sometimes to take a step back and realise that many of the expensive books aren’t out of your reach, it might just take a bit of planning.

So with that in mind, pick a handful of prices, or better still, a range of prices you’re willing to pay. It might be wide £25-£2000, or it you might have thought that you’d like to buy a book every fortnight, so your range is £50-£100. Alternatively, you might have an idea from shopping the kind of prices that you consider: £500, £750, £2000, £1500. Write them down on your paper. The range isn’t as vital as understanding budget constraints, but it helps keep your collection in check. If you’re looking around the £500 mark, £10 books might lessen the collection, and similarly, if you limit yourself to £10, then the £500 book might tower over all the others.

Vitally though, the prices are secondary to the collection. This is important. If you want to get every book written by John Steinbeck then you still might need to plan, but your range should reflect the requirements of the definition.

Think About The Books

So, on your paper you have your budget and your interests. You have to now decide how they are going to reconcile. So if you’re interest is George Orwell and your budget is £500-£2000, you are not going to get a full set of first editions in dustjackets. If your interest is Magic Realism, and your budget is £25-£250, then you’re not going to get a first Argentinian edition of 100 Years of Solitude. So how do you reconcile that?

Let’s be practical here. If-you-try-hard-you-can-achieve-anything doesn’t apply. The majority of people will to spend a couple of hundred on a book every now and then will never spend a few thousand. So to reconcile you have to add a little further detail to your piece of paper. So, if you wrote T.S. Eliot as your interest, and your budget doesn’t allow for the first edition of The Waste Land, then you need to think of alternatives, for example:

Later editions

First editions from other countries

Limited editions

Signed copies

Copies in lesser condition

Interesting copies

Magazine printings

Write those things below the list, and now those editions apply to T.S. Eliot. You now don’t have a problem, well, you do, you still can’t have that first edition of the Waste Land, but even if you could, you might not be able to have a signed First Edition, and even then, you ain’t getting the manuscript.

Of course, this is entirely unacceptable for some, perhaps even for most. Later editions, second impressions, jacketless copies are simply unacceptable to some. In that case, you need to think about payment plans or be incredibly diligent in your searches. 

Think About the Scope

So, you’ve written down your list of editions to satisfy your interest in Iain Banks, but your conclusion is that you wouldn’t be happy with a US first edition of The Wasp Factory where the others are all UK first editions, and your wife or husband won’t let you spend £50 a month for the next six months. This is when you start to widen the scope. If you collect all the other books, but are lacking The Wasp Factory, then you’ll be sitting with an incomplete collection until finances improve, a bargain comes along or the spouse is silenced. So widen the scope a little from the off. Perhaps it’ll include Banks’ science ficiton novels, perhaps it’ll include proofs, or interesting signed copies. Maybe you’ll increase the scope to include other Scottish writers, or similar books / authors you’re interested in. Having a larger set of books that would fit in your collection means that you’ll always be further from completion, which sounds bad, but it means that you can always improve your collection and you’ll be happier with it.

Our own personal collection approaches the scope from two sides to try and approximate a good plan. It’s essentially a cross-section of Speculative Fiction. I love Haruki Murakami, I’ve had all his first editions, all his limited editions, all his deluxe editions. I got a copy of Sleep, one of 45 copies only to read on the colophon that there 15 additional reserved copies that I was very unlikely to get hold of. It’s also a £3000-£4000 book. These two facts told me that I would not be in a position to complete a Murakami collection, not for a while anyway. So I would be looking at an incomplete collection, but not incomplete in a good way, incomplete in an irritating way. So I sold some of it as our first catalogue.

I still like Murakami though, and he still needs a place in our collection. So we restricted ourselves to four of his books. And as our collection is a cross-section of Speculative Fiction, they have to be speculative. So for us personally, four is key. I don’t know why four, it just seemed right for us. So I got my piece of paper and wrote Speculative Fiction on it (actually a spreadsheet). Then I created a dozen boxes with four entries. The first box said Murakami in it, the second said Robin Hobb, the third said Magic Realism. At that point, the collection had blown wide open. The cross-section wasn’t just authors any more, it was genres and categories. The next box was Edwardian Weird Tales. Now we were getting specific, but to me the definition of our collection was coming into focus; it was a description of speculative fiction right across the board, from the earliest stories to the most recent. Each area of the genre was to be represented by either four key or interesting titles, authors or oeuvres. Once the oeuvres were included the scope was enormous. I wrote Greek Myths in one box. Now the scope was ridiculous, but completion was in sight, and could even be surpassed. Take one section for example, Cyberpunk. Not a huge fan of Cyberpunk, but I like it in our collection. I need to pick four books, not even key titles; there are more than four key titles so it’s just a representative selection. We added a signed copy of Neuromancer, UK first edition. The key title, as good as it gets (actually not, a proof would be nicer, or a copy inscribed to Bruce Sterling...manuscript?). Book number two hasn’t been bought yet or decided. It could be the Nov 1983 issue of Amazing Science Fiction Stories (though that doesn’t fit with our budget requirements). Snow Crash? Yep, it has to be Snowcrash, maybe I won’t get the Bantam first edition at the price I want, so maybe we’ll go for the Subterranean Press edition from a couple of years ago. The point is, the books that could make it into our collection are many more than there is room for. And maybe in a few years I’ll upgrade that Sub Press edition, maybe I’ll stretch it to five books.

A final word on scope, is that as the boundaries of your definition become more and more vague, your collecting becomes much more fun. Start to include ephemera, prints, meta-works, anthologies etc.

Think About Condition

You will hear it from everyone condition, condition, condition. It’s the collector’s equivalent of location, location, location. I’m sure if we had some tedious, uninspired TV show that’s what it would be called. But as anyone who’s moved house knows, location is just one factor. Condition’s important, always go for the best that you can afford...no always go for the best that works within your budget. Yes, a fine copy will increase in value a little quicker than a very good copy, and may be easier to sell. But I wouldn’t worry too much if it’s so restrictive that it affects the balance of your collection and collecting. Does that copy of Dr. No have to be fine? Are you happy spending a little less and getting a copy of Thunderball as well?

Learn When to Say No

Even if your funds are limitless, and some essentially are, you still just don’t want to amass. Amassing dilutes the collection, it lessens the highlights and achievements. If you find yourself in the position of buying 200 books from a friend who has lost interest in collecting books and has moved on to coins (I shudder at the thought). Then buy them, treat yourself to those you really like, those that fit in with your definition or those that offer a new branch that you really like. Get rid of the others. Sell them to a dealer, take them to auction, or just put them in a box in the loft.

If you don’t, you’ll end up losing sight of the (ever changing) definition. It will lessen the impact of your own collection, particularly if some of those books surpass your treasures in terms of value and / or prestige. Of course, like I say above, this might be an opportunity to expand your definition and that’s fine, but you need to think it through.

Collections Can Shrink

Book collecting is a long game, it takes years, a lifetime, several lifetimes. Your tastes will change, as will your budget, as will the market. Keep this in mind because some of your treasures will lose their appeal, some will lose their value. There’s nothing wrong with trimming off the fat now and then. Similarly, if you have a copy that’s a little poorer than you’d like, maybe missing a jacket or even an ex-library copy. Maybe you loved Colin Dexter when you were forty and it was on the TV. When the time is right, sell it. You might make a loss, you might make a profit.

The important thing is that you don’t let books stick around when they no longer fit the definition, or if they just don’t suit. I do this as a dealer, I usually price faded copies quite low because it’s my bug bear. They stare at me on the shelves - they have to go.

Don’t take this too lightly though. If you have a nice Brighton Rock in dust jacket, that just no longer appeals to you, bear in mind that it might take a couple of decades to get another copy.

Ignore the Above

Ok, that works for me, it works for a lot of our collectors. But for many people, increasing the scope, or removing edition restrictions totally undermines their collection. In that case, keep your definition tight, buy just exactly what fits that definition and ignore what I’ve said.

A Word About Investments

If you look at the selling prices of many books from 20 years ago, and compare to now, you will immediately be aware of how wealthy you could’ve been. Similarly, if you look at the results of the last 20 FA Cup Finals, you will be immediately aware of how wealthy you could’ve been. Don’t collect with a view to getting a decent return. It might happen, it might not, some books will go up in value, some will go down. Collect for the chase, even if that chase is for a bargain. 

Having said that, do bear in mind that the vast majority of books will be worth much less than retail price in the future. Salman Rushdie’s Fury will never be worth more than £10-£20. Even if his next book is better than the Divine Comedy, Fury, will always be a cheap books. There are thousands of them. Having this in your collection might be necessary, but understand it’s value - it’s not a financial investment, it’s part of a collection.

Midnight’s Children on the other hand, the Booker of Bookers. It’s already expensive, but surely it’ll go up in value? Right? Maybe. The Booker prize might cease in 2025, and fade into obscurity. But it’s still a good book, a great book, it’ll always be remembered, right? Maybe. Lots of great books have been forgotten, lots of great books are cheap.

If you’re concerned about a return on investment, take into account the scarcity, market values, copies on the market, time on the market, quality of the writing, significance of the author to literature in general, significance of the book specifically, anything unique?

Conclusion

Dracula, by Bram Stoker. A 1927 edition published to tie in with the first Broadway production. The novel was presented at the Fulton Theatre, directed by Ira Hards. The present copy is an exceptionally well presented copy, in a fine dust wrapper.

We get enough people at book fairs, sellers included, asking us what Speculative Fiction is that we thought an explanation was merited.

Note: I have no intention of arguing the case that science fiction and fantasy are as much skilled works of art as regular literature; that argument has been covered enough times and it bores me. Time determines what is art not genre.

As the term suggests speculative fiction is fiction that involves some element of speculation. Of course, one can argue that all fiction is speculative insofar as it speculates what could happen if various elements of a story were combined. Yet we feel that this term is descriptive enough to encompass the type of literature we want to categorise. First, a word about genre

Book genre is of limited use and is often more harmful than good. If you went into a bookshop and asked for literature, you'd be taken to the fiction section. If you said that you were looking for any Darwinian literature you'd be sent to the science section. At some point it was determined that literature suggested artistic merit. Yet we also use it to cover a particular grouping of written works. The point is that classifying the written word is a little futile as common usage will usually dictate what that classification envelops, and common usage is of course open to interpretation. Genre does however allow boundaries to be set for marketing purposes; if a reader enjoyed a number of books in a certain genre then there's a reasonable chance they'd enjoy other books in the same genre. From a critical perspective, understanding genre helps align a work of literature with one's expectations; certain tropes and mechanisms are, to some extent, more acceptable in one genre than another.

Now, this element of speculation. The speculation in speculative fiction isn't concerned solely with speculation over how various story elements might interact, but speculation over the fabric of those elements. A work of speculative fiction takes one or more elements of an otherwise perfectly possible story and speculates as to what would happen if that element existed outside of current understanding or experience. Essentially, it's writing about things that aren't currently possible. The Road by Cormac McCarthy is a father-son story of survival, nearly everything is contemporaneously possible, except one thing the setting of the story is plausible future. 

When you pick up an Agatha Christie, a Jane Austen or a Graham Greene, regardless of how the story unfurls, and how perhaps unlikely the story, it's always within the realm of possibility (poor writing and deus ex machina aside). Yet a Philip K. Dick, a Tolkien or a Stephen King will always seem impossible, given current understanding.

The word current is key, to allow inclusion of scientific speculation. A seminal work like Kim Stanley Robinson's Red Mars has a lot of the science in place to explain how the colonisation of Mars might / could take place (I assume the science is correct; it doesn't matter to me personally but I know a lot of readers are particular in this area). The speculation is on how plausible, but currently theoretical, scientific and technological advances might solve a problem. 

There is a slight grey area where such scientific knowledge and its technical implementation exists and is currently possible and a good story has been written about it. Imagine a book about travelling to the moon written in 1969. Imagine it's not an adventure, it explores personal relationships between the characters and their heroic journey. For someone unfamiliar with planned space travel such a book would seem like science fiction, yet it was of course entirely possible in 1969. I personally wouldn't classify such a work as speculative fiction as it doesn't fit the definition, but I'd certainly class it as science fiction if I were to market it as it would fit the bill for many readers. Similarly a book like Psycho, it's a work of horror but there's no supernatural element and it's plausible and possible given current understanding.

For books like The Hobbit or Carrie the current part of the definition becomes less important; Middle-Earth neither has nor probably will exist, neither will telekinesis. Of course, as science progresses some things that are currently implausible will be come plausible, if not possible. Space travel being a great example; progress is constantly being made.

Speculative fiction is also an umbrella term so includes the majority of works in the fantasy, science fiction and horror genres, also smaller genres such as magic realism, weird fiction and more classical genres such as mythology, fairy tales and folklore. Many people break speculative fiction into two categories though: fantasy and science fiction, the former being implausible the latter being plausible (in simplistic terms). This is helpful for those interested in having some sort of technical foundation upon which to build their speculation, and those who aren't.

When one thinks of science fiction, one thinks back to the 1930's and the Gernsback era, perhaps earlier to Wells and Verne. One might even cite Frankenstein. When one thinks of fantasy one thinks of Tolkien, perhaps Victorian / Edwardian ghost stories, Dracula, perhaps Frankenstein. It seems comfortable to think of these things as modern endeavours. Anything earlier often falls under the general category of literature (in the non-speculative fiction sense). Take More's Utopia, you'd find that under literature or classics, not under fantasy. Similarly Gulliver's Travels. Again, this is just marketing; there's no reason why Gulliver's Travels should not be shelved next to Lord of the Rings other than to meet a reader's expectation.

At Hyraxia Books we like to think of certain classic works not simply as works that have contributed to the literary canon, but also as works that have contributed to the speculative fiction canon. For us, Aesop's Fables, Paradise Lost, The Divine Comedy, Otranto, A Midsummer Night's Dream, The Iliad, The Prose Edda, Beowulf and the Epic of Gilgamesh are not simply classics, but also speculative fiction classics. We don't like to think of the genre starting in the last two hundred years, we like to think of literature (in the non-speculative fiction sense) having branched off from the speculative rather than the other way round. We like to see how that story has played out over the millennia.

Edwin Abbott - Flatland - The First Edition

Earlier in the year we were asked by the organisers of the York Antiquarian Booksellers Seminar to prepare a guide for how booksellers should grade books. This is of course something useful for book collectors too, and helps them understand how booksellers grade their books. Bear in mind though that each seller is different and each buyer's expectations are different so treat these more as guidelines.

Notes

Grading is a guideline and does not replace a condition description (see below).

Grading is commensurate with age.

Condition grading is based on the cumulative effect of the flaws.

Grading doesn’t have to be subjective, but in bookselling it generally is. One should not ignore how a book ‘feels’, particularly if that lowers the grade.

Grading should be consistent.

It may be helpful to grade a book and its jacket separately.

The following lists relate flaws to condition grades, it should be noted that this is just an overview and will vary significantly with books or different ages. It can be assumed that this grading applies to a book and jacket from the 1960s.

Poor

Poor books are exactly as they sound. Condition doesn’t get any worse.

Binding

Disbound

Incomplete

Significant loss to leaves or plates

Splits causing separation

Pervasive foxing

Thorough water damage or bleeding to the leaves from the boards

Partial jacket (greater than 20% loss)

Significant discolouration or obvious staining

Detached panels or flaps

Heavily soiled

Multiple ugly and lengthy tears

Jacket

Partial jacket (greater than 20% loss)

Significant discolouration or obvious staining

Detached panels or flaps

Heavily soiled

Multiple ugly and lengthy tears

Good

Good isn’t as good as it sounds, it means that the book has significant flaws. Sellers often compensate by describing a book as ‘good only’ to indicate that good doesn’t mean a nice copy.

Binding

Significantly split but holding.

Missing endpapers

Grubby leaves

Loose leaves

Chips or tears to the boards

Obvious staining

Jacket

Trimmed

After market lamination

Significant loss

Heavy chipping

Numerous and unattractive tears

Heavy fading

Obvious tape ghosting, particularly to the outside

Very Good

Flawed, but presentable

Binding

Heavy bumping

Noticeable lean to the spine

Some soiling

Foxing to edges

One or two short tears

Small tears or chips to boards

Jacket

A few tears, if many they should be short and fairly unobvious.

Moderate chipping

Tape ghosting to the inside

Moderate fading

Near Fine

Near fine can often be seen as a book with one or two flaws that stop it from being fine. 

Binding

Bumping should be unobtrusive

Spine lean should be minimal

Discolouring to leaves should be slight (except where unpreventable)

Rubbing and soiling to the boards should be minimal

Foxing should be slight and localised (e.g. to the fore-edge)

Jacket

Fading should be slight

Price-clipping should be neat

Closed tears should be short and unobtrusive

Light rubbing

Fine

Fine does not mean flawless

Binding

Bumping should be very minimal

Soiling should be virtually absent

Leaves should be clean and free of foxing

Fading should be minimal and hard to spot

Binding should be tight

Ownership inscriptions only where it doesn’t detract

Private library bookplates only where it doesn’t detract

Jacket

Bumping should be minimal

Jacket should be unfaded

Other Grades

A restored dustjacket should be graded as RESTORED not fine (etc.).

A rebound book should be graded in a similar fashion to original bindings.

FAIR often sits between poor and good.

AS NEW and VERY FINE usually refer to pristine copies

I was looking through the shelves thinking which book to write about next and I came across Stapledon's Star Maker. I'd read it recently and it's a remarkable book (rather, it's an ongoing read*). I thought it wouldn't be suitable as it was re-published as part of Gollancz's SF Masterworks series, I thought it was still culturally significant. Yet, looking through a number of 'greatest science fiction' lists (I know I shouldn't do that). It was notably absent, even from Pringle's list. Looking through the NPR list World War Z was in the top 50, but no Stapledon. Anyway, I'm not here to rant on relative merit, I'm here to talk a little about a classic work of literature that seems to be slipping.

So, a little about the author. Stapledon's known as much for his academic work as for his fiction writing. His earliest academic publications were in the realm of philosophy and psychology, though these were preceded by a couple of volumes of poetry from 1914 and 1923. his philosophical ideas around society and community passed through into his fiction, starting with Last and First Men of 1930. Stapledon's works was read by many of the next generation of SF writers.

Star Maker itself was highly acclaimed by a number of contemporary writers including Woolf, Wells and the outstanding Borges. Arthur C. Clarke is noted for having been highly influenced by the novel. Within the first few pages, Stapledon does something I absolutely love in science fiction; he dismisses entirely the science. We're taken on an odyssey to the edges of our galaxy with no mention of the method. That's not to say the science is lacking, Freeman Dyson's Dyson sphere was based in part on Stapledon's idea. His discussion of a collective mind is also quite a forward-thinking idea for the time.

It is a tricky book though, I had to rest after the first few pages because the overall feel of the writing is quite colourless - it reads more technical than dramatic. However, given the breadth and depth of ideas therein it is certainly an important milestone in the history of speculative fiction, particularly as it exists in that hinterland between the birth of science fiction and it's full flowering.

The book was published on the 24th June in 1937 (initially intended to be the 10th) by Methuen. The first issue is identified by having blue boards with red lettering. Here's a link to our copy of the first British edition in the Bip Pares jacket: £2750

Featuring a selection of fine, rare and illustrated books. Including a number of rare fine French editions and Oscar Wilde books. The PDF can be downloaded here also.

Everett PA, Visionary Publishing Company, 1936. Hardback first edition and first impression. Fine book with a little dustiness to the boards and a wrinkled spine (this is due to poor production quality and is as published). The jacket is fine (many were issued following publication, hence why it's not uncommon to find very nice copies). One of only 200 copies. Single page errata sheet included.

Ken Kesey - One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - Methuen, 1962, UK Signed First Edition

London, Methuen, 1962. Hardback first edition and first impression. Inscribed by the author "For / Erik / Kese". The signature is accompanied with Kesey's Totem Stamp. A near fine book in a very good jacket. Some bumping to the spine tips. Jacket spine with some browning. Two small punctures to the rear, probably from a staple, passes through jacket, lower board and a couple of gatherings. Generally decent with a little ageing. Jacket designed by Kenneth Farnhill. A highly-challenged and regularly banned book, best known for the five-times Oscar award-winning film.

A new collector got in touch recently to ask our opinion on an inscribed book. He was concerned because the book was signed to someone else. I pointed out the various merits and flaws with the different types of signatures. It seemed apt thereafter to share this on our blog.

Signed or Inscribed

This is an oft mentioned argument. A signed book is one where the author has scrawled nothing but their name on the book. An inscribed book on the other hand usually carries the name of the recipient in the author’s hand [often an inscribed book will just carry a greeting without a name]. Of late there has been debate about the various merits of the two types of signature. I’ll outline below the merits of each.

A signed book

An inscribed book

An inscribed book is usually signed to someone else and carries their name. People often find this less than desirable because every time the owner examines the signature they are reminded that the book isn’t signed to them personally. This is just a facade of course, as a book purchased signed or inscribed has no connection with the purchaser anyway. But it is easy to see how the anonymous signature could be preferred. That being said, here at Hyraxia, we believe the more ink on the page the better. If a collector looks to buy only books signed without an inscription then they are often dismissing inscriptions that could have merit of their own; even a few brief words can give a deep insight into the author’s manner and make an ordinary book something special.

A book inscribed without a name.

Of greater significance is where an author signs without inscription by default. In these cases, such as with Graham Greene, an inscription is preferred. These signatures are both scarcer and more collectable as Greene generally inscribed books to people he knew.

The final point to consider is forgeries. A forger is less likely to risk exposure by writing an essay on the title page. That said, an expert forger will likely find it easier to dupe a buyer if they inscribe the book too. Either way, there is more room for error in an inscribed book than a signed book.

Presentation Copies

Presentation copies are often preferable to a regular signed copy particularly if signed by the author. Presentation copies are books signed and presented at the author’s behest, not the recipient’s request. This is significant because they are often scarcer, but also because there is an implicit, if somewhat forgotten or hazy, connection between the recipient and the author.

A presentation copy signed on behalf of the author

We mentioned above that presentation copies are preferred, with the caveat of them being signed by the author. Wealthier or busier authors would often have a secretary or publisher sign a presentation copy on the author’s behalf. One should always be cautious when considering a book signed ‘with the author’s compliments’ or similar. This is often autographed by someone else, but still collectable. Earlier books were often signed in this manner, seek advice from an antiquarian or rare bookseller if you’re unsure.

Association Copies

An association copy is generally the best state of a signed book. An association copy is a book that has been signed by the author and subsequently owned by someone with whom there is an explicit connection to the book or author. These can be books signed by the author to a relative or friend, someone well known in particular other authors, people involved in the publication or people associated with the content of the book. It is always important to seek further provenance for association copies. A book signed “from Roald to Quentin” seems likely to be for Quentin Blake, but one must assess this based on evidence at hand – ask a Roald Dahl specialist if he ever signed books to Quentin Blake.

An association copy from Thea Von Harbou to her Hairdresser

An association copy from Asimov to Brunner

One can also find association copies that are unsigned, these are still desirable in their own right.

Dates

Often authors will write a date beneath their signature. It is generally accepted that a date closer to the publication date is preferred, primarily because this implies that the book was signed close to the publication date. Collectors prefer earlier signatures for two reasons: firstly, there’s an implicit connection to the book’s publication – in the same way first editions are collected, there’s a desirability to collect things in their earliest appearance; secondly, early signatures are often scarcer and more attractive as authors are less well-known and take a little more time and care over the signings.

A book signed and dated (in this case prior to publication)

Often one will see signatures pre-dating publication, these are usually where an author has signed a batch of books for a shop prior to publication, but there are some books where the pre-publication date signifies a presentation copy; the books have come from the author’s personal allowance.

Signature Age

As authors age and attend more and more signings it’s not uncommon to see their signatures change, as noted above. The classic example is Terry Pratchett whose signature shifted from a full forename and surname in an attractive scrawl to what is essentially a symbol. We recently handled a collection of signed Pratchett books each of which held a contemporary signature and the progression was quite obvious. The early signatures are scarcer and indicative of a contemporary signing.

A recent Pratchett signature

An early Pratchett signature

Other than scarcity and desirability, one can also use signature ages to determine the authenticity of a signature. A copy of Pratchett’s latest book with an early signature is highly unlikely, and should be viewed as suspicious.

Bookplates

Bookplates come in a variety of forms and from a variety of sources. The least attractive arrangement is when a book is sold with a signature ‘laid in’. Oftentimes the signature will be on a scrap of paper, a publisher’s bookplate or a generic plate. There is no implicit connection between the signed paper and the particular copy of the book. This is simply something that the seller has put together to make the sale more attractive. This particular arrangement can, in our opinion, be worsened when the plate is pasted down by the previous owner.

A publisher's bookplate (pasted in by the publisher)

Sellers do sometimes sell books and signatures in this format for the legitimate reason that they were purchased in that fashion and therefore the connection between the two is created through the provenance.

There is an exception to this rule when the book is published or sold in that particular state. For example, we have in stock a set of Philip K. Dick’s Collected Stories that were signed by way of a signature strip from a cheque. We also have a Murakami limited edition for which the publisher sent the author a group of plates to sign for the limited edition, which the publishers then pasted in. This is common with limited editions. An edge case is when a bookseller requests a number of plates from the author or publisher and then sells them on. We find that these are generally less preferable.

A book signed by way of a cheque (also a presentation copy)

Finally, bookplates are much easier to forge. There’s no risk of damaging a rare book and mistakes can just be binned. We’ve even seen high-quality photocopies of bookplates.

This is of course a matter of taste, but with regard to collectability one should opt for a book signed directly to the bound page or as published (in the case of tipped in leaves).

Scarcity

The final thing we’re going to look at is scarcity of a book in a signed state. If you find that you have the opportunity to be particular about the manner in which a given book is signed, then the chances are that signed copies are not particularly scarce on the ground. The phenomenon of ‘books with added value’ seems to be fairly recent borne most likely from the Harry Potter craze. Publishers wanted to create the next Harry Potter, collectors wanted to buy the next Harry Potter. The publishers printed first editions in huge quantities because the demand was there. Out of the high demand came a demand for collectable copies. Limited editions (both from the publisher and the bookshop) became more common, but also did books with various additions. By various additions we mean signatures from the cover artist, illustrators, and all manner of people associated with the book, additional sketches, dates under the signature and the recipient’s favourite line from within the book written by the author, ephemera from the publication including posters, bookmarks, postcards, bags and all manner of things. The publishers plough so much into marketing the book that the authors do huge tours where before there might be only a couple of signings. So the first editions are signed in huge numbers and are not rarities.

Signed, with a date and line from the book.

Our recommendation with these type of books is to err on the side of caution. You need to ensure that you’re buying for desirability and not for value because there’s a very good chance that you’ll be overpaying. One also has to understand how much value that embellishment actually adds to the book.

Quality

By quality I mean the actual standard of the signature. Collectors will often prefer a signature written in a nice pen and not in a hurry. It's easy to spot a sloppy signature.

Provenance

The stronger provenance you are offered the better chance you have of being secure in your purchase. Provenance doesn’t mean a good story to go with the book, it refers to evidence supporting the book’s reported history.

The important thing to note with provenance is to not be fooled by it. We were recently offered a signed T.S. Eliot book, the book was presented with a letter of provenance. It was a great story, the dates and association all lined up, there were associations with editors of magazines that Eliot wrote for and the names on the inscription all were accounted for – even the date had corroboration. However, the signature felt wrong as did other signatures for that the seller was offering. It was such a complex ruse too that holes appeared. The point is that it was so confidently presented that it was difficult not to believe the provenance.

Limited Editions from the publisher are pretty much guaranteed to be authentic, but are not always more valuable than signed first editions, particularly when printed in runs of 1000 or more. The provenance here is inherent.

A signed limited edition

Things such as ticket stubs, photos of the signing or promotional material can help, but these are not a sure fire way of guaranteeing an authentic signature. Of late, holograms have been used to authenticate a book as holograms are difficult to forge. While this pretty-much guarantees that you’re getting an authentic signature, it also suggests that the book was signed at a mass-signing, which to some extent reduces the desirability.

A hologram

Similarly, a history of the book at auction, doesn’t guarantee authenticity, but it does suggest that someone with a great deal of experience has looked at the signature and deemed it authentic. The same can be said with Certificates of Authenticity. These vary from a hand-written note guarantee to a full-blown holographic certificate from a reputable company. All the latter says is that someone has deemed the signature authentic and perhaps even guarantees that should it be proved inauthentic the buyer will get their money back. The problem is that it’s very difficult to prove a signature inauthentic. Often, experts in the trade will be asked their opinion to examine a purported forgery, which brings me back to my point of asking a member of the trade in the first place.

Another good bit of provenance is catalogue descriptions of the book’s previous sales, or receipts etc. from a previous seller. This chain of sales constitutes a good bit of provenance and again shows that experts have examined the book and deemed it authentic.

In this post we'll be looking at John Webster's The Duchess of Malfi and the White Devil.

This is just the second post on our blog and already I'm breaking the rules somewhat. To remind you, the idea of this blog was to look at works of speculative fiction that have fallen from the general reader's view. These are books that may well be beloved of the scholar and classicist, but for the general reader of speculative fiction they may as well be from Mars (OK, that's a terrible analogy, it would've been better to say that they may as well be from earth).

So, why the John Webster then? Well, the answer I've come to is that there is a strong element of myth and horror in both The Duchess [of Malfi] and The White Devil, with their dark subject matters. I admit though, this is not enough to warrant inclusion. So how about the fact that they're not actively promoted in modern culture. Again, a massive lie, both are currently being performed in London, the White Devil by the RSC no less.

So, I ask myself again, why did I pick the book? Well, the honest answer...all my speculative books were packed ready for WorldCon, and this was the only one that look remotely speculative left on the shelf [and I'll admit, I know very little about either play]. However, I'll justify myself by treating this as an examination of something I read recently noting that there was an element of lycanthropy in The Duchess. Coupling this with the disturbing undertones of his works we have a sort of proto-horror without the supernatural element. For the sake of brevity we'll focus primarily on The Duchess, though The White Devil does have a couple of ghosts in it, which I'm pretty sure plant it firmly in the speculative camp.

John Webster, as many no doubt know, was a 17th century playlist remembered for his dark and macabre Jacobean dramas. The plays he's best remembered for are the two aforementioned, with The Duchess being first performed privately around 1612-1613. He is credited as having provided some of the groundwork for the Gothic movement in literature of late 18th / early 19th century. Though it would be a stretch to describe his work as Gothic, it certainly slithers along with the same unsettling backdrop. Webster is one of only a handful of playwrights who have had their works under almost constant performance since first publication

The Duchess was first performed publicly by The King's Men, the company of actors to which Shakespeare belonged and who first performed his plays. The date of performance seems tricky to tie down but the consensus seems to be between 1614 and 1621. The first edition of the book was published in 1623. 

So let's have a look at the particular edition of the book that we have in stock [Bodley Head, 1930]. Like I said before, the book looked somewhat speculative sat on the shelf. To be more precise it looks like a work of the developing genre of supernatural horror from the turn of the century, adorned with a typically decadent design more familiar to book buyers of the 1900-1910 era. The book is illustrated by Henry Keen, whom I assume provided the device on the upper board and spine which are repeated on the jacket and the illustrated endpapers. Little is known about Henry Weston Keen. He died in 1935 in Switzerland and was born in 1871. Christie's sold a set of five signed lithographs in 1995 for £225. Now if we were to very liberally compare him to the bastard child of Goya and Dore, that £225 would be a supreme bargain. Alas, his work isn't Goya or Dore, nor is it Clarke or Beardsley, though he does appear to borrow elements from all the aforementioned. That said, his work does have a slightly sinister resonance, particularly the vignettes. If one were to savagely remove the plates from the book and present them to a bookish type, one wouldn't be surprised if they thought they were from a book of Gothic horror. The Cardinal's Window plate is particularly Gothic with the looming tower to the left of the frame. 

The book carries facsimiles of recommendations by fellow dramatists William Rowley and Thomas Middleton, and a John Lane. This last name is proving difficult to research primarily because a much later John Lane was a publisher, ironically, a partner (with Elkin Mathews) in Bodley Head. The best guess we have is a poet of that name who the Dictionary of National Biography has as being active around 1620, apparently a friend of Milton's father who published only two pieces - I assume that reputation far outweighed publication prowess in those days.

The facsimile title page notes that The Duchess was performed at Blackfriars privately and then publicly at The Globe. The White Divel was first published in 1612 [spelling is correct as per title page - I'd be interested to find out why it was spelt as Divel, it doesn't appear to by etymologically linked]. The title of The Duchess per the title page is The Tragedy of the Dvtchesse Of Malfy, auction records show two copies, both from the 1930s, one listing reports that this was the first play to record the names of the characters with the actors - an interesting note. This copy sold for £12 with some leaves provided from a later copy. The second copy was seemingly complete and sold for £55 (£3,500 with inflation). Major British institutions hold copies including the BL, V&A, NLS and Leeds University (I may pop and see it). Anyway, that's not the book I have.

So, finally, to the lycanthropy claim. Well, whether we're talking about a physical transformation from man to wolf to man, a reported transformation, or a metaphorical transformation is not really the point. It seems that it's likely a literary device with lycanthropy not only accentuating the beastliness of Ferdinand but also taking a swipe at Catholic prelacy, power in general and emotionally decay. But there's certainly something deeper wherein Webster is suggesting that emotion can to some extent dictate the physcial. Either way, this is certainly a narrative element of speculative fiction, and so I feel justified in including it here!

Let's have a look at a few lines, and you can judge for yourself:

"PESCARA: Pray thee, what's his disease?

DOCTOR: A very pestilent disease, my lord, They call lycanthropia.

PESCARA: What's that? I need a dictionary to't.

DOCTOR: I'll tell you. In those that are possess'd with't there o'erflows Such melancholy humour, they imagine Themselves to be transformed into wolves; Steal forth to churchyards in the dead of night, And dig dead bodies up: as two nights since One met the Duke 'bout midnight in a lane Behind St. Mark's Church, with the leg of a man Upon his shoulder, and he howl'd fearfully; Said he was a wolf, only the difference Was, a wolf's skin was hairy on the outside, His on the inside; bade them take their swords, Rip up his flesh, and try: straight, I was sent for, And having minister'd unto him, found his grace Very well recover'd."

To summarise, while Webster's plays might not be for the regular reader of speculative fiction, they certainly gel nicely with those readers of speculative fiction with a penchant for the weird and macabre, particularly those who enjoy the works of Hope Hodson, Machen, Blackwood etc.

Our copy is available here: Link

The Riding of Lancelot by S. Fowler Wright (1929).

The Riding of Lancelot is Sydney Fowler Wright's take on a scene from Arthurian mythology. But before we look into the book itself let's look at the source material. King Arthur's as old as Britain, his story stretches back fifteen centuries and has never perhaps been as vibrant as in the last century. Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia Regum Britanniae [The History of the Kings of Britain] introduced him to the English via Latin from the Welsh in the first half of the 12th Century. Now don't assume that a grand title such as this book has would suggest a good place to look into early English Arthurian sources, because Monmouth's book was one of the original works of alternative history wherein he peppered his history with elements of credible fantasy. Geoffrey introduced to the canon Merlin, Excalibur and Guinevere - that's not to say they were his creation, but the written word being what it was, his was the first detailed recording in this form (with early fantasy literature it's better to think of a web than a timeline, each author adding his own spin). Chretien de Troyes, a French writer from around the same time, plugged in Lancelot and the holy grail. But it wasn't until the 15th century that the mythology found an expansive story in Thomas Malory.

In a similar way to how Tolkien gathered together northern European mythology in Lord of the Rings, Thomas Malory gathered Arthurian legend.The book was originally intended to be titled The Whole Book of King Arthur and of His Noble Knights of the Round Table, but was retitled Le Morte D'Arthur [The Death of Arthur] and was one of the first books printed in England (by William Caxton), an ode to its importance if ever there were one. The earliest obtainable copies of the book come from 1634, which was at least the sixth edition of the book and nearly 150 years more recent than Caxton's printing from 1485. None of the intervening editions are likely to come to market (an early 16th century fragment came to the market in the early 1970s). The British Library own a manuscript from a few years before Caxton's printing. I mention this printing history largely because the books go through new translations, have material added to them and get edited and even rewritten. Each iteration of the story alters the cultural landscape a little, adds a new gem, or omits something that offers food for thought.

It's important to consider the conditions under which a book is written and published, the writer's education, first language, social standing etc. because all these things affect the writer's bias and interpretation of the folklore they're they're trying stabilise. For Malory this is particularly important. He could quite easily have been from Westeros, his claims included being a knight of the shire, a member of parliament, being fluent in both French and English, reasonably well educated and somewhat wealthy. But toward the end of his life he took a violent turn and his claims included extortionist, horse thief, general thief and rapist. He even broke out of prison and was involved in subterfuge in the Wars of the Roses. He was ultimately jailed though, and it was in jail that he wrote Le Morte. Like I say, Westeros would suit him well. Now if you take a person like that and get them to write a book, particularly a book on something they have first hand knowledge from both the moral and amoral sides, then you end up with something that lasts five hundred years.

Anyway, we're getting into too deep a history, so let's get back to Fowler Wright's book. It's sufficient to know at this point that Malory's Le Morte D'Arthur is kind of the first version of the Arthurian legend that we're all familiar with and for the 500 years or so that it's been in print it's been an invaluable source for many, if not most, of the subsequent interpretations. 

S. Fowler Wright was a fairly prolific writer, particularly of science fiction and was one of a handful of British writers to fill that gap of gestation between Verne and Wells and the forthcoming wave of golden age science fiction from the US. He's largely forgotten today, but there are readers out there still. His first published work was another Arthurian work, published ten years before the present work. Reading through various biographies it would appear that Fowler Wright was a strongly moral man. Now a comparison between himself and Malory isn't really applicable, but one can assume that the vantage points were quite different, and thus their rendering of the myth would be quite different.

The book itself is a joy to read, within the first five pages there's action involving knights, a chase scene between knights, a fight between knights, a castle containing a knight and a forest with a knight (bloody Lancelot sleeps through the whole thing). I think that's more than Robert Jordan put in entire books. As the book is a poem you take the pace of reading somewhat more carefully, parsing each sentence slowly and deliberately within the structure, but the image that is created is very similar. The flow and rhythm of the book brings you very much into the scene. The story itself is quite faithful to its source, Wright has even used iambic pentameter as did Malory. it is drawn from book six of Le Morte with a few minor characters replaced with more familiar ones. Wright also rounds the story off a little at the end by adding a kiss with Guenevere. On top of this, there's something quite special about reading a book that's this old and quite well presented. It undoubtedly adds to the reading experience to think you're reading the story as it was first read a hundred years ago.

It's difficult to say how this book in particular contributed to the current snapshot of fantasy literature; it is absent from many bibliographies, present in only a handful of academic institutions, scarce and out of print. And since the book is out of print and has been since Wright self-published this with a print run of 500 copies in 1929 it's tricky to find. I'm aware that I'm building the book up just to say that you can't read it, this isn't my intention. Rather, I would hope you might take away the impression that next time you're in a bookshop and you see an old leather bound tome with a somewhat intriguing title then buy it (obviously only if they're not overly expensive for the gamble), you might be surprised. I have attached the first few pages, which I urge you all to read, just so you can get an impression of the landscape.

So, why am I writing about a virtually unobtainable book, something by virtue of the fact that it's written by a forgotten author and is out of print is evidently unimportant? Well, because it should be remembered. This interpretation is a good one, and by studying it we are keeping it fresh in the collective mind of fantasy. It is an important work in the Arthurian oeuvre and deserves a bit of attention. But I don't bring it here to tell you just how important it is or its history, I bring it here to illustrate the point that to find good fantasy doesn't always mean sitting and waiting for the publishers to show you a pre-publication trailer of a new book, or even believing the hype. No, there are stories out there, good stories that have survived millennia, stories that take a bit of hunting to find and a bit of time to read, but stories that are rewarding. We talk about the changing landscape of fantasy, but we can't truly appreciate this without looking at the history of it.

I read a list recently of the 25 greatest fantasy novels. The vast majority of books on the list were first published in the last 20 years. Now while it's unlikely that the fantasy published in the last two decades represents 90% or more of the best fantasy of all time, it is understandable why this list appeared as it did; most of the stuff readers buy is new stuff, so there's a bias toward that. There is of course the angle that the literature that is published now builds upon all that has come before it so has the advantage of a good palette of colours. However, fantasy, being the oldest form of literature is an incredibly rich and varied canon, and it would be a shame to think that not enough people are digging deeper. 

As rare booksellers we generally look for books that have contributed to the cultural landscape. It helps us feel that our job is more than just buying and selling. Most books from the last couple of decades haven't had the chance to contribute fully, or rather their contribution hasn't yet been fully realised. So the majority of our stock is pre-21st-century. There are some exceptions where the cultural impact is undeniable (Pratchett, Martin, King, Rowling) or where the books have helped progress the variety and strength of the canon (Hobb, Mieville, Abercrombie), but on the whole the fantasy literature we deem 'important' has had at least a generation to permeate the cultural membrane.

Of course, important and great aren't necessarily the same and it takes a lifetime to reconcile the two. A lot of the time we read what we feel is entertaining, because we aren't always interested in how it impacted the canon. There's nothing wrong with that. But at the same time, there is a lot of important writing out there that is great (there is also important writing that's bloody boring). I'm thinking of writers like William Morris, E.T.A. Hoffman, E.R. Eddison, Edmund Spenser, Thomas Malory, and pieces such as Beowulf, Gilgamesh, The Odyssey, The Mabinogion. These are writers and works that have had an incalculable influence on the books of the last 20 years, and continue to do so.

I am slightly biased toward this area of fantasy because these are the scarcer items and these are the items that collectors buy because of their importance within the canon, so they are good stock. But at the same time, in my research and reading I've found these to be great and entertaining reads. So I thought I'd write some pieces based around rare books and important works of speculative fiction (i.e. fantasy, science fiction and horror) that are more often seen in university libraries than in the Waterstone's fantasy section.

Alistair Maclean - The Guns of Navarone - Collins, 1957, UK Signed First Edition

London, Collins, 1957. A fine copy with a short closed tear to the top of the jacket only a few mm. Some light edge wear and a slight lean. Signed without inscription by the author.