Chekhov's Mistress

A Bookseller Responds

by Bud Parr

In response to my rant and some of the comments yesterday on The Strand, ing from San Francisco wrote a lengthy comment, which I thought I would bring up here to see if anyone wants to respond:

I work at a used bookstore and I love it! It’s really a pity that people would rather mail order than browse the real thing.

It’s so true that skilled buyers are paid next to nothing and get called “incompetent” for making any sort of error (Anne, are you sure your Stein isn’t a book club edition or a later printing of a first [without a jacket, this category of hardcover is worth much less]? That it doesn’t have mildew? That the bookseller didn’t price it at $3.00 instead of $30 by accident, in which case, you lucked out?). Customers (such as Anne) hold booksellers to extraordinarily high standards and are very unforgiving, I guess because people associate the written word with intelligence or perfection. I often have to work extra hard to disabuse customers of the notion they have walking in to the store; that I am a condescending intellectual snob who will judge everyone on their taste in reading. Sheesh, how could I be a snob when I know that my standard of living is laughably, ridiculously low? How could I, when I’m so stupidly idealistic that I hang on to my job despite this? I was called an “incompetent twit” for having to look a book up on a computer because I was unfamiliar with the (obscure) author. Anne calls the bookseller incompetent for filing the autobiography of AB Toklas under “T” — but if a bookstore has more than one copy of a book, doing something along these lines is par-for-the-course. . . that is, the customer who browses because they assume the staff is too unfriendly to approach might look under “T” instead of “S” for a variety of reasons — perhaps a friend recommended the book and they remember the title but don’t remember the author (and, out of fear that they will be laughed at by some condescending snob, they are reticent to ask anyone). Or the person looking for a particular edition of War and Peace might not find what they’re looking for but stumble across the Stein in the process and then see the great price and then buy the book and leave happy. Instead of grumbling.

The average bookseller does what they do because they love books. But love comes at great personal sacrifice, meaning, poverty.

And in big cities, I’m afraid, used bookstores lose loads of money to book thieves, which is part of the reason booksellers aren’t paid a living wage. Here in San Francisco the theives work in organized groups. I’ve caught them — they find the first editions on the shelves and mark them. Later, the second thief distracts the worker by bringing in boxes of books to sell and asking lots of questions. The third partner carries out the “reject” box — into which they scoop those marked first editions. They then sell those books on ebay or ABEBOOKS or Amazon. It’s big business. Asking people to check their bags is smart — it really is too bad that it’s inconvenient. But unlike jewelry stores in which the merchandise is kept locked up, booksellers know that books are meant to be touched, that the beauty of books is sensual and tactile. Or maybe it’s just the booksellers who revere books in this way?

I haven’t been to The Strand, though I’ve always wanted to see it. I’m sorry that used bookstores get such a bad rap because The Strand isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’m sorry that the books there don’t seem to be worth their market value (which, ironically, is drvien up artificially by online booksellers). I hope I’m not the only one who’s devastated if and when these spaces disappear.
posted April 12, 2006

comments

This more a riff on the above, but along the same lines:

My experience in the book trade was at two second-hand bookstores in downtown Toronto. Both had reputations, and the first, in particular, was known for rare books.

The owner of it was an alcoholic. I was so young and naive at that age that when he sent me out one day to buy two bottles of vodka, I thought he was simply getting me to do some home shopping. Most days, he took care of organizing the hard stuff himself. If an important customer was to show up, I was sent to purchase coffee.

I worked nights at the store. I really enjoyed looking through the books. It would have been easy to take one or two—and it was tempting. But I never did.

ONe night a customer seemed to shoplift. He picked up a book and didn’t return it to its rack. I confronted him and demanded he open his briefcase. I turned out to be wrong, and he was a whiney, self-important yuppie, and threatened to phone my boss over the incident. I told him to go ahead, figuring I’d behaved properly. But Larry, my boss, didn’t see it that way. I was supposed to only confront *genuine* shoplifters, not those who *seemed* to.

A while later, when I quit, Larry peevishly filled out on my job separation form that I’d been fired, thus preventing me from getting employment insurance. Jerk bosses and jerk customers—a nexus.

    – Finn Harvor (04/14  at  01:57 AM)


I think the misfiling I profited from is a funny & understandable mistake. I am not a collector in any serious sense and would be very willing to believe that my $3 first edition is not worth a lot more than $20--as you say, jacketless and a wee bit frayed, it’s got a long way to go before it reaches Christie’s.

I do not think that our railing against the Strand--which, as Bud says, still sucks--means that all used book stores are bad. I have deep fondness for many and still mourn the closing of Shorey’s in Seattle which was amazing and still reminisce about the wonderful Book Barn, some crazy barn we used to go to every weekend from New Haven.

    – Anne (04/14  at  03:18 PM)


The Strand is plagued by small-minded management who can’t cope with it’s corporate-sized immensity (though in some ways it’s hard to blame them: over 225 people work at the place which is run by a guy who’s father started it as a tiny little Book Row nook in the 20’s.) The bag checking takes on absurdist proportions because of the confused rules - don’t hate the security guards, they constantly get fired by the crusty old management at the side desk (I used to work at this store, by the by) and so do their best.  As for the misshelved and mispriced books - you have to understand that many thousands of books enter into this store every single day: it’s just not possible to keep them organized.  (Check out the gloriously anarchic miscellany on the third floor - in fact, if you want to avoid the line, go up to the third floor via the side stairwell and set your bag up there.) As for the rudeness and claustrophobic chaos of the place - well, that’s part of it’s history. Since the renovations in the last year, many many people have complained about the lack of choking dust clouds and industrial fans. But, with the Brattle (in Boston) and the Book Barn (in Niantic, CT) there is no better place on the East Coast to book shop. Half price paperbacks, half price review books, 97 cent proofs, huge dollar selections - gah! I went in just the other day, spent five dollars and left with six books I had either wanted or wanted once I saw. It more than merits the hassles for me.

    – Sam (04/18  at  11:26 PM)


Gee, I used to work at the strand and lots of other bookstores; unfortunately the fact that as writer, I also need to curry favor with these stores, brings out the weasely hypocrite in me, so all I’ll say is: if you’re in NYC or nearby, check out the Housing Works Used Book Cafe on Crosby between Houston & Prince, where I was also employed.  Nice people, amazing prices, new & used books all donated for a good cause, best rare book department anywhere, all proceeds help people living with HIV & AIDS.

    – Sara Gran (04/24  at  04:18 PM)


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