Once Upon a Tome: The Misadventures of a Rare Bookseller

by Oliver Darkshire

Eventually it dawned on me that if I didn’t ask for something to do, my ossified remains might eventually be found cradling the tiny desk in my arms by a team of confused archaeologists.

Managing the expectations and desires of collectors is the heart of the rare book business, a strange kind of symbiosis in which the least social of people, each allergic to daylight in our own way, come together to serve a mutually beneficial purpose.

The crown jewel of this trove, however, was a large writing desk with an expansive surface. The kind of desk a man in my position (still bestride a desk which would have been better appointed as a footstool) might covet. It made my current desk look like a paperweight. As the new layout of the shop began to crystallize, I began to angle for acquisition of the desk, seeing it as a form of karmic justice for my time shackled to Satan’s smallest escritoire.

Made me laugh out loud

All anyone can do is take reasonable precautions. Keep the books away from fire. Don’t throw them in a puddle. And remember to take delight in them.

I suppose that one of the burdens of management must be learning to live with macabre artefacts in your vicinity, as long as they boost morale.