![Still Life with Bible by Vincent van Gogh](/https/www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/books/2024/07/12/TELEMMGLPICT000385340638_17207929190430_trans_NvBQzQNjv4BqHglMIiZKcnuDpqDyxlvx6-ob3xRgyFBBuWeMy0bp-TU.jpeg?imwidth=680)
From forgeries to foxed folios: The confessions of an antiquarian book dealer
Eccentric collectors, the eye-watering price of a first edition Fleming and what to buy for beginners
![Still Life with Bible by Vincent van Gogh](/https/www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/books/2024/07/12/TELEMMGLPICT000385340638_17207929190430_trans_NvBQzQNjv4BqHglMIiZKcnuDpqDyxlvx6-ob3xRgyFBBuWeMy0bp-TU.jpeg?imwidth=680)
Bookselling, at its heart, is a sort of matchmaking. Antiquarian bookselling is more like an arranged love affair between wealthy families, involving large sums of money and discreet negotiations. Anxious society personalities whisper in the corners of a ballroom about the match of the season: “He’s been seen with a copy of the Liber Chronicarum,” someone says. “Yes, I hear he made an offer of £60,000 for it,” comes the reply. As the word spreads through private newsletters (for select eyes only) and furtive phone calls within the book trade, the reactions are dramatic: “£60,000? Outrageous! Inexplicable! Unethical! We must get our hands on one at once.”
The history of bookselling is marked by monumental effort, deep passion, and frequent failure. The bookstore where I completed my apprenticeship, Henry Sotheran Ltd, stands as one of the oldest still operating under the same name, 260 years later. It’s a turbulent industry that rewards persistence, adaptability and an intimate knowledge of one’s client base. It also helps if you know how to fix a broken clock twice a day, how to navigate your way out of sinister cellars, and how to appease the store ghost, as most antiquarian bookstores in the UK are haunted.
And then there are the collectors. For dealers to make themselves indispensable to a collector, they must know the collectors’ preferences better than they do themselves. The stakes are high. Failing to meet expectations can undermine the collector’s trust in the dealer’s expertise and reliability; or worse cause a disruption of the delicate relationship between client and dealer, one cultivated over many years of polite haggling and countless hours spent quietly perusing an atlas or bestiary together.
So, what turns a browser into a collector, and a collector into a hoarder, and a hoarder into a buried god king sitting on a throne of hidden treasures? The way in which a bookseller answers this question determines whether they sink or swim (or, if, like most, they paddle along against the prevailing current, which somehow always seems headed towards a waterfall).
The archetypal collector is uncharitably assumed to be reclusive, eccentric or even a little dusty (I would maintain the best things are). Perhaps it is true to a certain extent, and this is because access to the world of antiquarian books has always been gated behind the perception of a high knowledge barrier for newcomers. After all, not every hobby requires one to learn an entire new lexicon just to get a foot in the door. If you know whether your book is foxed, the seismic difference between a good and a very good copy, or how to identify divinity calf, then you’re on your way, though most of us still pull out a copy of Carter’s ABC for Book Collectors every now and then.
![Henry Sotheran Ltd: one of the oldest bookshops still operating under the same name, 260 years later](/https/www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/books/2024/07/11/TELEMMGLPICT000384952768_17207121040330_trans_NvBQzQNjv4BqLFvFcbCCSSPOPEZoCZQZEmScts_MJCIICfhGZ0ARPWw.jpeg?imwidth=350)
With our noses deep in reference books, it’s easy for booksellers to keep their heads in the sand. But time moves on whether we like it or not, and even simple tools like email and search engines have inexorably pulled antiquarian bookselling into the new century. It has become apparent that there are as many kinds of collectors as there are kinds of books.
From palimpsests to photography, the antiquarian book trade runs the gamut across a staggering array of colours, textures, languages, formats and artistic disciplines. A medieval manuscript is, by any measure, a completely different object to a bejewelled binding from the 1850s, or a signed movie script, each of which might hold its own unique appeal in the eyes of the right collector. A collector of stories might desire a copy of Boccaccio’s Decameron, perhaps the Ulm version which featured in a recent sale at Christie’s, supposedly the earliest version of the text to appear at auction in over 70 years. From the same sale, one might prefer the scribbled letters of Einstein, neatly doodled in the frantic hand of a genius. Or maybe a first edition of Victor Hugo’s Notre-Dame de Paris, in an ironic cathedral binding, might tempt you.
Books are a kaleidoscope of potential reasons to fall in love, holding value not only in their text, but in their typography, their bindings, format, and a myriad other hooks baited to ensnare the collecting spirit. I once knew a woman who exclusively collected editions of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, and had an entire library dedicated to a thousand glittering variations of that same book. Another client purchased so many Wagnerian books from us that he ended up abandoning stacks of boxes full of works which he never quite got around to collecting from the shop.
![A first edition of Victor Hugo's Notre-Dame de Paris, in an ironic cathedral binding](/https/www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/books/2024/07/10/TELEMMGLPICT000384952610_17206080909050_trans_NvBQzQNjv4BqqVzuuqpFlyLIwiB6NTmJwfSVWeZ_vEN7c6bHu2jJnT8.jpeg?imwidth=350)
For the rookie book collector it can all seem a bit overwhelming. Rare book shops have their own niches and specialisms. You might go to one bookseller for your Dickens, and another when a Trollope tickles your fancy. Even if you find a bookseller who shares your interests, building trust with them can be a slow process. This is especially true when dealing with sensitive issues like questionable provenance, a book in poor condition, or (heaven forbid) the allegation of a forgery.
That being said, the history of forgeries is entertaining in its own right, and the curious should consider acquiring a copy of Joseph Hone’s The Book Forger (2024), which relates the infamous and skulduggerous tale of Thomas James Wise. Wise was a well-known bibliographer who, it transpired, not only created false first editions in his free time, but invented entire imprints to make his forgeries the most valuable books on the market.
In the bookstore, we often find that during quiet moments, between madcap auctions and bustling fairs, people come to us hoping we will divulge our secrets. “How do you price your books?” they ask, with curious expressions. “Is there a manual somewhere? Or a hitchhiker’s guide?” Alas, no. Booksellers traditionally use a combination of institutional knowledge, supernatural hunches and reams of sales records to determine prices. It is easier now than it used to be. There was a time when we had to pull volumes of the encyclopaedic American Book Prices Current from dusty shelves to look up old auction prices. These days, we can find an abundance of information online.
![A detail from The Bookworm by Carl Spitzweg](/https/www.telegraph.co.uk/content/dam/books/2024/07/12/TELEMMGLPICT000385340452_17207935337480_trans_NvBQzQNjv4BqTdtWUWQzXyHGUJvWrgBRMIb9TB4EkRg8CnyGXlwbIUM.jpeg?imwidth=350)
The free flow of information and the growing online presence of the rare book trade are transforming it in many ways. Demand is rising for previously underappreciated books, and pioneering booksellers can be found championing them, such as the Second Shelf in London, a specialist in rare or rediscovered women’s literature. Meanwhile, other books which were long-considered rare and expensive are now found to be more common (but you’d have to pry that particular information from my cold, dead hands). Some books continue to increase in value year on year. For a time, early Ian Fleming first editions were a byword for ever-increasingly expensive, and a first edition of Casino Royale in its dust wrapper can still command an eye-watering sum due to its relative scarcity, even if it’s a little shaken (but not stirred).
Things move more quickly now. You can no longer spend a week mulling over whether to buy a book, while the ease of accessing many different bookstores and marketplaces means we often compete for books with our colleagues and even our clients (if you’re a collector with a treasure to sell, you no longer have to write a hundred letters, or settle for the closest bookseller, you can shop around to any bookstore in the world). Meanwhile, big auction houses like Christie’s and specialists like Forum, with their slick and user-friendly online platforms, have become popular with collectors seeking privacy or bargains. These platforms admirably keep pace with surging demand and skyrocketing prices.
New voices and perspectives are the lifeblood of a thriving community, and it is an exciting time to be involved in the book trade, which is still glacially adjusting to new paradigms of fast-flowing information and quicksilver ripples in the perception of what is valuable. For newcomers to the rare book world, whichever side of the counter you stand on, know that the barriers to entry are lower than ever. And if you stand by the window, you’ll have the best view of the next scandal to rock the industry (I hear it’s worth £45,000).
Oliver Darkshire is the author of Once Upon a Tome.