BOOK COMMENTARIES

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A collection of bookish notes by Michael

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INDEX

June 14, 2001

    What with all this SF and Fantasy coming through the store (Scott and I madly processing and pricing and, well, ogling too - we do read some of this stuff) I had almost lost track of what had been going on before.

    Ever read any Peter Ackroyd? A few years ago I stumbled across an old worn copy of The House of Doctor Dee and just ate it up. I'm a sucker for anything to do with early modern europe, and this book deals with the problems of temporality as well. As an added attraction, so to speak. Well, we have in a copy of Ackroyd's Life of Thomas More. Our esteemed author is also a literary biographer of note (the Dickens comes to mind)Ö no, I haven't read that yet. I haven't read most of Ackroyd. I did read English Music and enjoyed it immensely. The More bio. I was supposed to be telling you about the More bio. It is a handsome package, Holbein reproduction on the dustjacket, book in nice square shape.  Looks very interesting and, being Ackroyd, maybe a bit controversial.

    Another item of interest to meÖ I might mention I am only detailing items of personal interest, for whatever reasonsÖ is this work from Paris, 1817, leather covered boards, front hinge a little broken, written by a fellow called Bouilly. Now that name's familiar but I can't place it, and I have been dreadfully lazy on this one. The title is Conseil a ma fille and there are some fine interior illustrations.

    Ronald Searle is an old favorite of mine, and his Big Fat Cat Book came  in the other week, to my great delight. Almost like seeing an old friend. You can see the line of development to Steadman , though Searle is, I think, maybe more disciplined and certainly friendlier.

    And  for the Abrams book fanatic, The Unknown Modigliani by Noel Alexandre. Maybe the best art book in for the last month. Iím still waiting for an Abrams complete Canaletto to waltz in the front door. But then I couldnít bring myself to sell it.

             Life of Thomas More, by Peter Ackroyd. Chatto and Windus, 1998. $24.
             Conseil a ma fille, by J.N. Bouilly. Chez Rosa. 1817. $40.
             Ronald Searle's Big Fat Cat Book, Macmillan, 1982. $20.
             The Unknown Modigliani, by Noel Alexandre. Abrams, 1993. $125.

    I actually got around to reading some of all that SF and Fantasy that came in the other week. There was an old fantasy favorite whom I shall not mention, a disappointing pot-boiler of an affair .What did I expect? But I did manage to find time one quiet afternoon to read a few chapters of Back in the USSA by Kim Newman and Eugene Byrne.
       Some of you may know of Newman as the writer of a number of vampire novels, not a genre I have an especial interest, but I recall a collection of short stories he wrote, sort of  detective-noir-meets HPL.  Well, Back in the USSA is engagingly done, if the beginning chapters are any clue, various historical and even non-existant cultural personages (the Blues Brothers) set in an alternate United States which had the 1917 Revolution instead of Russia. Al Capone instead of Stalin. Kurt Vonnegut instead of Gorbachev. And so on.
    One item Iíve heard about but never have actually seen is Paul Carusí  The History of the Devil and the Idea of Evil. This is a hardcover edition from Bell Publishing, late ë60ís, I think; the present edition is only available in paperback for US$19. Carusí work is very nicely illustrated with plenty of clear engravings and woodcuts from throughout history, East and West, and he covers a lot of ground, if not in a great deal of detail. An interesting addition to anyoneís collection of the history of ideas.
    I had forgotten that Gahan Wilson wrote as well as drew. And such complementary short (in some cases, very short) stories to his bizarre and wonderful illustrations. Here we have The Cleft and Other Odd Tales, a first edition U.S., copiously illustrated, of course. Iíve been dipping in and reading the odd tale (and believe me, some are very odd) and chortling in spite of myself. My favorite so far is the Manuscript of Dr. Arness, a dry and amusing tale especially to such a Luddite as myself.
    At this point I can indulge in an Iain M. Banks rant, as we have in a copy of his latest space opera, Look to Windward. Put succintly, I love anything this guy writes, the contemporary stuff ( which he pens under Iain Banks, no M.) as well as the space opera. Brutal, humourous, thoughtful and undeniablely  sympathetic to the human condition. I donít know if he ever will surpass Use of Weapons or Against a Dark Background, but Look to Windward is a fine addition to his Culture novels. My only caution would be to readers unfamiliar with his Culture novels (delineating a true post-scarcity society) may find this his latest a bit hard going. I would suggest reading Consider Phlebas, first.
    This last item has been here at Old Goat since opening, and I forgot all about it for the last few weeks. But Scroggins, one of our regular browsers, reminded me of it . It doesnít look like much from the outside (a rather plain dull purple paper pamphlet, oversized) but it is worth a close look. Published by the Agnes Etherington Art Centre in Kingston, Ontario, Entrances and Exit : the Garden as Theatre by Geoffrey James is an astounding collection of black and white photographs, taken in various Italian Renaissance gardens. There is a short essay, written by the photographer and curiously about the unpublished photos in this series, yet bringing it all together.

    Back in the USSA by Kim Newman and Eugene Byrne. Mark V. Ziering Books 1997. First Edition. $25.
    The History of the Devil and the Idea of Evil by Paul Carus. Bell Publishing 1969. $20
         The Cleft and Other Odd Tales by Gahan Wilson. TOR 1998. First Edition. $18.
    Look to Windward by Iain M. Banks. Orbit 2000. Paperback $12.
    Entrances and Exits: the Garden as Theatre by Geoffrey James. Agnes Etherington Art Centre. 1984. $12.

    Books keep coming in and going out (which is the whole idea, isnít it?) but if youíre trying to keep tabs, thinking youíve found something to tell other people about, as on this column, or even, ahem, put aside to be read real soon, I promise, and right back into the store in no time; well , no such luck. Like Neal Stephensonís The Diamond Age or Keeganís The First World War. Sorry, theyíre both gone already. At least I did get around to reading the Stephenson.
    Thereís a whole whack of the old Ballantine History of the Violent Century paperbacks, mostly on the Second World War. Theyíve become more collectible in the last ten years or so, much to my surprise. These are in good to fine condition, and are selling for between eight and eighteen dollars each. I find them kinda weird, and compelling , in a horrible sort of way. Like viewing a fatal accident.
    The surprise of the week has been a work by Maurice Sendak, on books and book illustration, titled Caldecott and Co. It seems mostly made up of columns and addresses Sendak has made over the years (seems, yes; do you think I have time to read all this stuff?) and has a nice cover illustration by the master himself. Books on books never last long in used book stores so I donít expect this one to be around long. Some chapters on Beatrix Potter and George Macdonald (maybe I can read that one during lunch), even one on Disney, of all people.
    Jack Lindsay wrote a number of works on classical literature and civilization back in the mid to late last century. An Australian who moved to the U.K. in the ëTwenties,  Lindsay is one of those rare birds, a readable academic. Helen of Troy is an unusual exploration of the many aspect of Helen in classical culture, and attractively illustrated  with black and white line drawings.
    Iíve always meant to read Lewis Mumfordís The City in History. Yes, heís cranky and covers almost too much ground for a mere six hundred pages or so, but thereís so many ideas just from browsing through the book, and it looks nice and grand and weighty sitting there on your shelf, even without a dustwrapper. Books do furnish a room. Now, if I can only find a hardcover copy of Traces on the Rhodian ShoreÖ.
    I have a soft spot for travel books of any type, probably starting with Peter Flemingís News from Tartary. The travel bug is like malaria; you have it for life. The fellow who brought in Richard Gerlachís Pictures from Yemen didnít seem to think we would find anything about it, being printed in East Germany in the early sixties. Naaah. You would  be surprised, I said.  For  once I didnít have to eat my words. What a pleasant book; attractive colour front cover, clear text, a section of colour photos and then the main body of the work, photography, in black and white,  of a Yemen I suspect has long vanished.
 

    Caldecott and Co.: notes on books & pictures, by Maurice Sendak. Farrar, Strauss and Giroux. 1988. First Edition. $35.
    Helen of Troy by Jack Lindsay. Constable, 1974. $20.
    The City in History by Lewis Mumford. Harcourt Brace, 1961. $25.
    Pictures from Yemen by Richard Gerlach. Editions Leipzig, no date. $80.

    Well, we survived the heat wave but I think next year we will install some air-conditioning (albeit reluctantly). An entire set of Dickens came in, paperbacks published by Mandarin books and with introductions by Peter Ackroyd. No, wait a second, it looks like the intros are cribbed from Ackroydís biography (of Dickens). Nice uniform editions, a classy white job with a small illustration in the corner by Pentagram.
    Scott reminds me of the dozen or more Philip K. Dick paperbacks that have arrived, ranging in price from The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch (fair: $5) to (fine: $30).
    Being a reader as well as a collector of Patrick OíBrian, I was intrigued by this Cambridge hardcover: Select Naval Documents, covering a good range for such a slim volume (Henry VIII to Nelson). Ralegh on strategy, pay of officers in 1653, illustrations from the first pocket signal book, findings from the court-martial after the loss of the Royal George in 1782. Just the sort of thing to dip into over breakfast.
    I read the first chapter to Steven Heightonís The Admen Move on Lhasa and was hooked. Heís a poet, lives in Kingston ? Scott says heís heard of him on the CBC. Iím concerned over our increasing preference for the virtual over the visceral (as I write this onto our website) and it would be real braincandy to see what somebody else ? somebody better with words, for instance -  has to say about it. And its one of those nice Anansi paperbacks.
    The cooking section is filling up. I like to keep an eye on the mediterranean stuff, though I donít think anything will ever surpass the impact Pino Luongoís A Tuscan in the Kitchen, for me (what do you mean, itís my kitchen and I can do whatever I want?) . But Italian Regional Cooking, a Culinary Travelogue... well, itís a little light on the travel aspect but an interesting and handsome book all the same. Iím going to try that bread salad sometime.
    The eccentricity of this column is The Secret Museum of Mankind, a reprint by Gibbs Smith of a 1941 five-volume work by Manhattan House. Theyíre not even sure of the original publishing date. Itís a vast collection of black and white photographs from all over the world, with captions such as "grace of poise and charm of feature distinguish this Arab maid, whose gala attire has been chosen with characteristic good taste." A wonderful  and bizarre book.
    A fair number of British history has come our way recently, books on Elizabeth I, Jan Morrisí Folio Society edition of Pax Britannica, histories of Ireland. The Oxford Illustrated History of Tudor and Stuart Britain came out in 1996, finely illustrated and the contributors range from Amy Louise Erickson (on Family, Household and Community) to Wallace McCaffrey (on Politics in Age of Reformation). I already have a copy of this sucker so you can be assured I havenít borrowed it to check for typos.

    Select Naval Documents edited by H. W. Hodges and E.A. Hughes. Cambridge University Press, 1927. $28
    The Admen Move on Lhasa by Steven Heighton. Anansi 1997. $10.
    Italian Regional Cookery, a Culinary Travelogue by Lotte Mendelsohn with original recipes by Bea Lazzaro. Font and Center, 1993. $12
    Secret Museum of Mankind , forward by David Stiffler. Gibbs Smith, 1999. $20.
    The Oxford Illustrated History of Tudor and Stuart Britain, edited by John Morrill. Oxford University Press, 1996. $27

February 7, 2002

    Jeezus, where did the time go? Well, thereís no excuse and I do apologize to any of you folks out there who have been checking here and, you know, thereís absolutely nothing new.
    Well, thereís lots of new stuff in here since August, of course, but especially in January, when about nine boxes  of good, mostly scholarly non-fiction came in all at once. Amongst other things, a very attractive paperback of Irish legend published by Faber and Faber: Over Nine Waves. These are fine retellings by Marie Healey, and have pleased such as Colm Toibin and Nuala Ni Dhomhaill. At least, so claims the back cover. No, really, they read better than the Penguin collection....well, the Penguin collection reads aloud well; itís sorta like the difference between Sir Thomas Malory and Rosemary Sutcliffe. If you know what I mean.
    Also on Faber is a book on those preserved bodies they find in various marshes in western Europe. The Bog People, by P.V. Glob (Iím not making this up) has lots of interesting photos and is a good introduction to the subject. Neither of these two books are in that little bitty paperback format; no, they are of a nice and comfortable size. Just the thing to read in bed.
    Boy, did we get a lot of history, especially Early Modern. I really had to keep my mitts off of those. Hereís a history of the relationship between Spain and Hispanic America by Carlos Fuentes, called Buried Mirror. Beautifully illustrated and well-written, a fine refutation to the old quip about the Spanish American Empire as having no history other than its beginning and ending. Along with Diazí purported "Poor Mexico; so far from God, so near to the United States." Fuentesí book (this is what weíre talking about, isnít it?) is of a good heft, nice Velasquez on the cover, print isnít too small. But too heavy to read in bed.
    And speaking of heft, they donít make them like they used to at Oxford any more. Iíve recently been given a copy of Strachanís History of the First World War, just the first volume and still clocking in at over a thousand pages... still the familiar Oxford blue boards but lacking the Oxford arms on the spine. What is the world coming to. I always found that comforting, if only to glance up on the shelf. We have a slightly worn copy of C.S. Lewisí grand old English Literature in the Sixteenth Century, the 1954 edition, no dustwrapper but shield still prominently on the spine. Itís right next to George Steinerís After Babel, in the Literary Criticism section. The Steiner is paperback, also Oxford; first published back in 1975, it was the first novel look at the process of translation since the eighteenth century. And I think this is the first copy in paperback Iíve ever seen.
    Finally, one day when Scott was here all on his lonesome there arrived a whole box of books on film. You know, cinema. So I had to find room to make a film section. Oh, the horrors of the used book trade. This book, Hall of Mirrors, Art and Film Since 1945, is a big, slick exploration of the relationship between cinema and the visual arts since the war. It came out in conjuction with a exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles, in 1996. And its bigger, but not heavier, than the Carlos Fuentes.

    Over Nine Waves,A Book of Irish Legends, by Marie Heaney.Faber and Faber, 1994. $9.
    The Bog People, Iron Age Man Preserved, by P.V. Glob. Faber and Faber, 1998. $10.
    The Buried Mirror, Reflections on Spain and the New World, by Carlos Fuentes. Houghton Mifflin, 1992. $26.
    English Literature in the Sixteenth Century by C.S. Lewis. Oxford, 1954. $40.
    After Babel, Aspects of Language & Translation by George Steiner. Oxford, 1998. $15.
    Hall of Mirrors, Art and Film Since 1945, organized by Kerry Brougher. MOCA Monacelli, 1996. $40.

    This book on Tibet came in last January, and itís big and beautiful and I donít know how I managed to overlook it. Tibet: Journey to the Forbidden City, Retracing the Footsteps of Alexandra David-Neel may have an unwieldy title but the photos are awesome (a number of them double-pages) and the conceit intriguing; David-Neel was born in Paris in 1868, travelled and was taught extensively in Tibet; we have a number of her works here, under Buddhism or Travel. Or both. So these two (the authors) took the trouble to journey to Tibet seventy years after David-Neel, a journey in both space and time, so to speak.
    Have you ever been to Los Angeles? Maybe you live there. I have a sister in Long Beach but she insists thatís not L.A., not really. If you havenít to either, Mike Davisí City of Quartz  is a good introduction to the place. It came out in í90 so itís a little dated but not that much and as its focus is on social history and architecture itís still relevant.  A city of extremes, of conspiracies (perhaps against the rest of the United Snakes).
    We did get a slew of those old Readerís Union hardcovers the other day. I do so love them: nicely constructed, of a handy size and principally on history and travel, two subjects admittedly close to my heart. Readerís Union was a sort of higher-quality book-club, back in the ë60ís and ë70ís, from Britain. One in particular, Peter Leviís The Light Garden of the Angel King, Journeys to Afghanistan, is timely and relatively scarce. Levi was a classical scholar and poet; the photography by Bruce Chatwin. The original edition was published by Collins. I wonder what it looked like.
    I was rummaging through a car-load of what looked like mostly book-club fiction and found in its midst a first-edition of Cecelia Hollandís third book: The Kings in Winter. Are you familiar with Holland? Sheís been published for over thirty years now and still going strong, writing historical fiction in a clean, spare prose. Her first half-dozen or so were published by Atheneum and very attractively designed by Harry Ford. If you havenít read Holland yet, you can do well by picking up a recent work of hers: Jerusalem, set in Palestine before the Third Crusade.
    Speaking of history (am I speaking?) what came in the other day but a volume from Hans Delbruckís venerable old History of the Art of War: The Barbarian Invasions. It originally came out in the 1920ís but still remains fresh and relevant today. The good professor had an endearing habit of puncturing old historical myths, such as the moral-decline theory of Romeís fall. This edition even has a wonderfully cheesy nineteenth-century illustration on the front cover. Unfortunately the book, a trade paperback, isnít sewn in quires. In a university press, you would think they would go to the expense of properly binding such a book. Oh well.

    Tibet, Journey to the Forbidden City, Retracing the Steps of Alexandra David-Neel by Tiziana and Gianni Baldizzone. Stewart, Tabori and Chang,
        New York, 1996. $30.
    City of Quartz by Mike Davis. Vintage, New York, 1992. $10.
    The Light Garden of the Angel King: Journeys to Afghanistan by Peter Levi. Readerís Union, Newton Abbot, 1973. $20.
    The Kings in Winter by Cecelia Holland. Atheneum, New York, 1968. First Edition. $35.
    The Barbarian Invasions (History of the Art of War volume two) by Hans Delbruck. University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln, 1990. $20.

    I spent two evenings (a little while ago) rummaging about in the basement of a retired professor of history. He was a pleasant old duffer, and we came away with over a hundred books from a life-long collection. His wife had died and he was selling the house; it always feels a bit odd, or sad, when Iím on these kind of expeditions. Picking over the detritus of someone elseís life.
    Which, in a sense, brings us to archaeology, though thereís more involved than that in Bruce Triggerís The Children of Aataentsic: A History of the Huron People to 1660. A huge double-decker hardcover published by McGill-Queenís back in 1976, it draws (critically) on the ethnography of early european explorers and missionaries, as well as archaeology and early recorded history. Trigger is intrigued by the conflicting motives of different groups within as well as without Huron society and revises some widely accepted interpretations on the way. Well-mapped and handsomely printed; unfortunately it looks too good to read while eating breakfast. I think Iíll stick to atlases for that.
    In non-fiction, I keep returning to material on the First World War. I just finished Fussellís Great War and Modern Memory ? and I think our copy has already sold ? and there was the first volume of Hew Strachanís massive work (still in progress) on the whole war. Iím very tempted to jump into Niall Fergusonís The Pity of War, but Iíll leave it out for you folks just yet. So I havenít read it yet, but I keep pulling it off the shelf and leafing through. His argument is blunt and provocative: the First World War was entirely Britainís fault. "The result of the mistaken decisions of individuals who would later claim to have been in the grip of impersonal forces". A nice solid trade paperback, almost five hundred pages with the usual photos and maps and diagrams. I find it interesting that all these books on the Great War are coming out at such a time.
    Just the other day Scott landed a whole pile of Classics Club hardcovers. They are very attractive little books ? are you familiar with them? Grey cloth boards, black and red embossing on the spine; they cover a lot of ground thematically. These ones are in very good condition, as new I would say, and they look great scattered all about on our shelves. Just idly picking four out, thereís The Iliad (Samuel Butler translation), Selected Essays of Montaigne (Donald Frame translation), Erasmusí Praise of Folly  and Selected Short Stories by Chekhov.
    You might be familiar with the Hamlyn logo on stacks of remaindered books in the front of Coles or similiar chain bookstores, but years ago there was a Paul Hamlyn Books out of London which published some very fine work. Medieval Drawings is one of these; it came out in 1969 and I still see copies of it around every few years. It deals in drawings from european manuscripts from the 6th to the 15th centuries. Thatís a good length of time; attitudes towards drawing changed quite a bit and the book attempts to portray that as well as the enormous variety of line-drawing in that period. Everything from illustrations of allegorical poems to moralizing animal legends and pictorial guides to ethics. The reproductions are sharp and of a good size. No squinting here.

    The Children of Aataeentsic: A History of the Huron People to 1660 by Bruce Trigger. McGill-Queenís University Press. London and Montreal, 1976. Two volumes, $120.
    The Pity of War: Explaining World War I by Niall Ferguson. Basic Books, New York, 1999. $13.
   variousClassic Club editions, Walter J. Black, Roslyn, New York, 1970. $7.50.
    Medieval Drawings,  edited by  M.W. Evans. Paul Hamlyn, London and New York, 1969. $30.

    I have to admit to a passion for the Renaissance and, well, early modern europe (perhaps that should be Capitalized). Iíll snoop about in whatever comes our way, though I try to keep my paws off and leave it on the store-shelf. This item that just came in, The Queenís Conjuror, reminded me of Peter Ackroydís excellent The House of Doctor Dee. The Science and Magic of Dr. John Dee, Advisor to Queen Elizabeth I, by Benjamin Woolley, is firmly based on his diaries - I didnít know those existed - and the authorís travels in Deeís footsteps across eastern Europe. His was a fascinating life and there are even connections with the early attempts to develop trading links with Muscovy. Come to think of it, I read about that in Dorothy Dunnettís Lymond novels.
    A somewhat older work is A.S. Atiyaís A History of Eastern Christianity,as first released by Methuen in 1968. A fine solid book, regrettably without a dust-jacket but in green cloth and with a fine heft, there are sections on the Copts, Nestorians, Armenians and others. Itís the kind of book I canít resist just opening up at random and, well, reading about the survival of Nestorian Christianity in Iraq into the twentieth century. And I find Atiyaís prose to be quite accessible, even conversational in parts.
    A few months ago I mentioned a novel by Cecilia Holland: The Kings in Winter, a first edition of her third novel. It sold in a few weeks; we now have a second printing of her second novel, Rakossy, also published by Atheneum back in the late sixties and also attractively designed by Harry Ford. Itís placed in Hungary in the sixteenth century, just as Sulieman the Magnificent was set to invade.  She has a new book out, The Soul Thief, set in Jorvik (York, England) in 950 A.D., and will be the first of a five novel series. I am very much looking forward to reading these.
    My love for historical fiction can probably be traced to reading Watchfires to the North, an historical Arthurian by George Finkel. That led to Rosemary Sutcliff and the illustrator Charles Keeping. We have an Oxford large-format paperback of the retelling of the Beowulf legend, text by Kevin Crossley-Holland and illustrated by Charles Keeping. I have always admired his work for Sutcliffís books, especially The Silver Branch and The Lantern Bearers. I find his style striking yet atmospheric. This one on Beowulf has plenty of his idiosyncratic, moody illustrations draped around the text.
    That was Keepingís style, as he mentions in The Telling Line, Essays on fifteen contemporary book illustrators. Other covered include Victor Ambrus, Jan Pienkowski and Quenton Blake. As you can see, the range is wide and maybe I should stress they cover more than childernís illustrators. The bibliographies look complete and the book is handsomely made and, of course, very well illustrated in colour and black-and-white.
    Going well beyond illustration is the work of Patrick Woodroffe. You can buy prints of his paintings on the Web nowadays but in my youth (my youth!) where you found Woodroffe was principally on fantasy and science-fiction paperbacks and rock albums. I was happy to see he is still going strong, and selling art and prints directly rather than commercially, if you know what I mean. We have a copy of his Mythopoeikon, from back in 1976; a collection of his paintings, etchings, book-jacket and record-sleeve illustrations. He found, back in the flush of his ë70ís success, that the commercial work was interfering with his muse and was happy to return exploring his own personal mythology. But the commissioned work, he explains, provided a routine, a discipline, as well as paying the rent.

 The Queenís Conjuror; the Science and Magic of Dr. John Dee, Advisor to Queen Elizabeth I by Benjamin Woolley. Henry Holt, New York, 2001. $19.
 A History of Eastern Christianity by A.S. Atiya. Methuen, London, 1968. $60.
 Rakossy, by Cecelia Holland. Atheneum, New York, 1967. Second Printing. $35.
 Beowulf; text by Kevin Crossley-Holland , illustrations by Charles Keeping. Oxford University Press, 1982 (1992 reprint). $7.
 The Telling Line; Essays on fifteen contemporary book illustrators. Julia McRae Books, London, 1989. $40.
 Mythopoeikon: Fantasies, Monsters, Nightmares, Daydreams; by Patrick Woodroffe. Fireside Books, New York, 1976. $25.

    Well, the other Cecelia Holland we had, Rakossy, went out just a few weeks after that posting (above); we havenít any other Hollands in since. I did get around to reading her latest, The Soul Thief, set in Tenth? Eleventh? century England...mostly...it was very good, very moody and weird, even. And beautifully written.
    The holidays came and went; I didnít make time to bring things up to date here. I donít know if anyone actually reads these notes; if somebody who does wishes to comment, or rant, whatever, they can always send me an e-mail. Its terrible being a borderline illiterate and helping to run a bookstore, but I do the best I can. I may even answer your e-mails.
    Amongst other travails, I have been helping out Scott in setting up our inventory database. Not everything! Just what we think will go out on the internet. And, as usual, when you run over what you have in detail like that ? Iím sure there are many of you out there who have experienced this ? you are startled over what is actually there. This book on Prehistoric Avesbury, for instance. I thought we sold this over the holidays. It is such a nice book, even if you see it here and there ? not that uncommon, you know ? but such fine black and white photos, a few in colour; the dedication to William Stukeley, the fine line drawings.....I had forgotten how attractve this book was.
    Now, Koenigsbergerís The Practice of Empire is not in the least an attractive book, and not for every taste, but I find this fascinating: losing yourself in another world, the minutiae of administrative life in sixteenth century Hapsburg Sicily. Peasant distrust, corruption in the (by modern standards) tiny spanish bureaucracy, the intolerable local aristos and their feuds: I just love that stuff. Maybe Iím mad. Shelve it next to your copy of Braudelís Mediterranean World and watch them duke it out.
    This sort of thing can be very handsomely produced. Take, for example, The Gallery of Memory by Lina Bolzoni. First published in Italian in 1995, the University of Toronto released this translation six years later, It is a beautiful book: acid-free paper, cloth boards, a colour illustration section with black and white illustrations in the text, an attractive colour dustjacket. And the text! A classic work on memory culture in sixteenth century Italy, studying a "striking paradox": the diffusion of oral culture reaching its apogee at the same time as the birth of the printed book.
    Another attractive book I forgot we even had was Daidalos and the Origins of Greek Art, by Sarah Morris. This book won a number of awards back in 1994, when it first came out. Wasnít there quite a bit of controversy starting, back then (or earlier) over the degree of Egyptian or Levantine influence in Greek society? I imagine this was one of the contributors. Covering Art History, Archaeology and Mythology, Morris suggests the origins of Greek art will be better understood if myth is used as a paradigm (perhaps an overused word). Again, a fine roomy attractive text, but, of course, too big to read in bed (26 by 19cm).
    We do have a couple of, um, special Tolkien editions. The Lost Road and other writings (from the History of Middle-Earth) is the first U.K. edition, and scarce. The Unwin hardcovers are pleasantly understated compared to some American editions. This one is no exception. We also have in a Harper Collins slipcase Hobbit, with the Masterís illustrations. Itís handsome, nicely bound and of a good heft, but not as nice as the older Houghton Mifflin editions from the Seventies, I think, also slipcased and with Tolkienís illustrations (including a number of colour watercolours). Since viewing the Jackson films Iíve become an unapologetic Tolkien fanatic (my second youth, already) and I will only mention how surprised I was, on reading them again, at the beauty of his writing ? fully poetic at times ? and its mythic strength. Take that, Sarah Morris, what you will.

Prehistoric Avesbury by Aubrey Burl. Yale University Press, New Haven and London, 1979. $26.
The Practice of Empire by H.G. Koenigsberger. Cornell University Press, Ithaca and London, 1969. $25.
Daidalos and the Origins of Greek Art by Sarah P. Morris. Princeton University Press, Princeton, 1992. $25.
The Gallery of Memory: Literacy and Iconographic Models in the Age of the Printing Press by Lina Bolzoni. University of Toronto Press, Toronto, 2001. $40.
The Lost Road and other writings by J.R.R. Tolkien. Unwin and Hyman, London and Sydney, 1987. First U.K. edition.  $75.
The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. Harper Collins, London, 2001. $60.
 

June 27, 2005

Mr. Lake was by a few weeks ago. He spends much of his time in the Far North, poking around fossils and arrowheads and wotnot. He has a passion for old books. I know, because some of them end up here. Mr. Lake actually reads these items: eighteenth-century editions of Sir Thomas Browne, or Tacitus. When he's done reading them, he often sells or trades them for others. Which is how we ended up with a French edition of Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield: a little 12mo published by Didot (Voltaire's publisher, I'm told) in the Year Seven of the French Republic. And the text is in English. Nice paper, and the boards aren't so bad either (there's a little bookworm damage on the lower spine). How utterly cool. And how on earth did it end up here? Whose hands did it pass through?
    I'm more familiar with Ralph Roeder as the author of Catherine de Medici and the Lost Revolution than anything else. It's a fine examination of the changes in politics during the French Wars of Religion. Terrible and fascinating - how ghoulish of me. Roeder's The Man of the Renaissance has been kicking around the shelves here for a few years, and if I didn't already have my own copy I'd probably just haul it home. It's a fine-looking book, sturdily bound in cream and red, nice typeface. Over 70 years old and lacking a dust-jacket, it still looks better than books a fraction of its age. And Roeder translates so well into English, it seems.
    We've had this handsome little hardcover in the store for a few years, and everytime I passed it I would try to remember what was so familiar about the author, Gordon Daviot. Then, just the other day, I remembered: it's a pseudonym of Josephine Tey. Author of one my all-time favorites, The Daughter of Time: a pro-Richard III polemic thinly disguised as a murder mystery. The 'Daviot' we have is a 1938 edition of the London stage hit, Richard of Bordeaux.
    We've also had, since the film was released, a few paperback editons of Patrick O'Brian's Master and Commander. I prefer the Geoff Hunt covers to the movie tie-ins; I've been fortunate enough to find almost all my paperback copies as such. Having read the entire series (21 volumes) twice over, I suppose I'm something of a fan. Oh, I don't know what it is about them: the dry wit, the "Jane Austen Meets C.S. Forester" writing style, the two main characters ( the Irish Republican/Spy and his best friend, a Tory Landowner/Sea Captain)...those earlier paperback editions, in mass-market format, are getting mighty scarce...
    I remember reading Rogue Primate in the lunch room at A Second Look (it was more like a lunch nook). That was a few years ago, but the thesis stayed with me: the idea that before humans could domesticate plants or animals, they had to 'domesticate' themselves. This leads on the more controversial views on competitive struggle for existence, sustainable development and animal rights. Critics on both the Right and the Left were angered by this book. Very interesting and thought-provoking.

The Vicar of Wakefield by Oliver Goldsmith. P. Didot, Paris, 1799. $75.
The Man of the Renaissance by Ralph Roeder. The Viking Press, New York, 1935. $20.
Richard of Bordeaux by Gordon Daviot. John C. Winston, Toronto, 1938. $25.
Master and Commander by Patrick O'Brian. HarperCollins, 2002. $10.
Rogue Primate by John A. Livingston. Key Porter Books, Toronto, 1994. $11.

October 8, 2005
   
    Four books published in London, and one written there (by a Canadian).

    We have a copy of Cecil Parrott’s biography of Jaroslav Hasek, who wrote The Good Soldier Svejk. If you read Svejk, read an unabridged edition - I think Penguin has one of those in paperback. Sviejk is an archetypal Everyman, who combats the stupidity of his superiors by pretending to be even denser than they are. The inanity of war is given particularly harsh treatment. Parrott, who was British ambassador to Prague in the ‘60’s,  translated that complete edition. Hasek himself was a ne’er-do-well journalist, practical joker and tramp; the biography makes for fascinating reading.
    I first came across David Jones as the cover illustrator for my edition of the Mabinogion (an old Penguin paperback). I’ve since discovered his poetry. The Anathemata is a paean to Britain: Roman Britain, the Arthurian legend, the 1914-18 War (the author was a participant). A wonderful, dense, convoluted work. Auden considered it one of the finest long poems of his time. I would shelve it next to my Tolkien.   
    Then there’s Teach Yourself Bee-Keeping. It is British rather than North American, it is dated; it is utterly charming. There’s notes on how to make your hives out of what looks like scrap lumber, and points on bee-keeping etiquette, like hauling pots of honey to your neighbors to keep them on your good side, and perhaps limits to the number of hives in a suburban yard.
    Paul Murray Kendall wrote works on 15th century England; his biography of Richard III still quite common in paperback (we have one here, somewhere). The Yorkist Age is not quite so available. This is a fine Allen & Unwin hardcover, in full cloth boards and decent paper for the text. I’ve always liked Kendall, an academic who comes across as almost conversational in his prose, and even-handed in his treatment of the House of York. And those Allen & Unwin hardcovers from the ‘50’s and ‘60’s are so nicely bound.   
    As I’ve mentioned, I’m very fond of Tolkien and went back re-reading The Lord of the Rings and The Silmarillion after the Peter Jackson films were released. But there isn’t much in contemporary Fantasy that I’ve cared for: some C.J. Cherryh, anything by Jack Vance....then there’s Steven Erikson, a Canadian living in London, UK. The brutality in his work makes me a little uncomfortable, but - the sheer extravagance of his imagination! And Erikson bases his work on his own study of Anthropology, in a manner reminiscent of Tolkien’s own work based on his study of Philology. Erikson has worked as both an anthropologist and archaeologist, ended up in a desk job in London, England, and wrote his first novel during his lunch breaks. We have a copy in recently of Deadhouse Gates, the second tale of the Malazan Book of the Fallen. These are not Tolkien ripoffs, nor middle-brow mass-market pot-boilers disguised as fantasy novels. Not to everyone’s taste, but definitely different.

    The Bad Bohemian by Sir Cecil Parrott. Abacus, London, 1983. $9.
    Anathemata by David Jones. Faber and Faber, London, 1979. $13.
    Teach Yourself Bee-Keeping by A.N. Schofield. English Universities Press, London, 1951. $15.
    The Yorkist Age by Paul Murray Kendall. George Allen & Unwin, London, 1962. $30.
    Deadhouse Gates by Steven Erikson. Bantam Press, 2000. $11.50.