Every year I walk into the Armory in New York City for the Antiquarian Book Fair, I enter with the same fantasy you’ve probably had: unlimited funds to buy anything.
The New York Antiquarian Book Fair has become a ritual. I go to see books so rare that—once bought—they disappear. Gone from circulation, often forever. Until, maybe, an estate donates them to a library, or they quietly resurface on the market. Likely to wind up right back at the Armory.
In past years, my imaginary checkbook has picked up a true first edition of Ulysses published by Sylvia Beach’s Shakespeare & Co., a signed Catcher in the Rye, and The Genius of the Crowd—that exceedingly scarce Bukowski chapbook printed by da levy, most of which were confiscated by Cleveland police on obscenity charges. One copy I handled a few years ago even came with its original mailing envelope—possibly the only one still in existence with the envelope.
This year, two items had me biting my lip: a beautiful copy of Wallace Berman’s 7th issue of Semina and a fantastic letter written by Charles Bukowski. Berman’s hand-assembled artists’ book won.
Most issues of Semina are nearly impossible to find. All of them are rare. Semina inspired Volta. And the 7th issue was Berman’s most personal—entirely his own work, no outside contributors. And how about that photo of Tosh!?
As for Buk’s letter? Scroll down and tell me it’s not great.
Of course, neither came home with me. But that’s okay.
A small part of collecting is imagining what you’d own if money weren’t an issue. The real joy of book collecting? Knowing books don’t just hold stories—most of the time they are the story.
