“Hah.  So you’re a collector yourself, then,” she said, amused.  “Except you don’t collect the books.  You collect the stories about them.”

“You know, I think you’re right,” he said.  “I’d love to hear more about your uncle, and how he came into possession of these.”

“He never talked much about his former life, before my family came to this country.  He was a gardener, but that’s all I know.  That, and these books were his treasure.  And he gave them to me…” (more…)

“So what’s it worth?”

“As a book?  Maybe twenty bucks.  But let me ask you:  What’s that story worth?  And every bit of it’s true.  No, this I won’t sell — not for twenty, not for a hundred.  Someday, to the right person, I’ll sell it.  Because that’s my job; it’s why I’m here.  But it has to be someone the story means something to.”

She nodded now, understanding.  “Because there aren’t many of that kind of collector.  I’d imagine most are only in it for the money.” (more…)

“I’m just trying to understand.  Not why these books are special, but why any of that matters at all to us.  Isn’t it all about the money?”

“With some collectibles, it’s the story of the book rather than the one written inside it that gives it its value.  Look, here,” as he brought down a battered volume from the shelf over his desk.  She moved closer, interested despite herself.  “Lady Chatterley’s Lover, pirated knockoff, 1939.  A three thousand copy run.  It’s a cheap reprint, and even if it hadn’t been soaked in what looks like salt water it wouldn’t have (more…)

“No, it’s true; I shouldn’t buy it.  But I’m lousy at business, which is why I’m a bookseller.  If I wanted to get rich, I’d sell drugs or something.”

She laughed, startled; he went on.  “I’m in it because of the stories — the ones about the books as much as inside the covers.  This Thackeray set, for instance:  One day, twenty years from now, a collector will wander in and see it.  I’ll tell him the story of Tauchnitz the publisher, and he’ll be fascinated — the whole tale of the great linen factories of Bohemia, this curious series of English books printed in Germany, the international (more…)

“…It’s lovely, beautifully if plainly bound, has some historical interest, and is worth about eighty bucks.  Which means I pay forty.”

She blinked.  “But my uncle told me it was a great treasure — that he was…”  She was shocked; clearly she’d expected a lot more.

“He was wrong, I’m afraid,” the bookseller said as kindly as he could manage.  He had himself fallen in love with the little set, even though he knew it would never sell.  “The trouble with genuinely rare books is… well, they’re rare.  You’ll probably never see more than a couple in your entire life; I’m in the business, and I’ll only (more…)

“…and a three-volume edition of Pendennis, by Thackeray; second printing.  Rebound recently — and very well — but printed first in Liepzig, of all places, back in 1849.”  The young man turned from his computer screen to confront his visitor, who was by now visibly bored.  He sighed, but slogged on.

“Like most of these, it’s old, but not particularly valuable.  The true first edition (more…)