THE JOYS OF BOOK-COLLECTING

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 235, 23 December 1927, Page 14

THE JOYS OF BOOK-COLLECTING

(Written for THE SUN.) HOWEVER much definite knowledge we may happen to have of the subject, and however much inner sense we have accumulated in our experience, we shall always make mistakes. That may be taken for granted. That is one of the fascinations of collecting. To-day, you may light upon a gem for a mere song, and sell it within an hour for a thousand per cent. more. To-morrow, you may unwittingly pass even a greater gem because you were not possessed of the necessary information. And how can we, in the face of thousands of books, be omniscient? If lire always knew, whers would be the joy of the chase; for hunting the scarce things in the beloved world of books is a sheer joy.

Naturally, if you have never thought of it before, but some chance word of m ne, or of somebody else, has set you thinking that you will begin to collect modern first editions, you are bewildered at the labyrinth of the whole business. I agree: the prospect does seem to be a vast uncohesive concourse of thousands of books, in which you will lose your soul in your effort, to find the desirable. This to me is just the stimulant necessary to set me out upon a voyage of delectable exploration. There is a great undiscovered land in front of you. I truly envy you as you set out upon your quest.

One never reaches the end of the delightful pleasures of making a library, and more particularly in the direction of the collecting of first editions. I always find it hard to make the seeker understand two things: first, just what immense joy there is in collecting, and second, just what and whom to collect. I try to give hints and suggestions that will, at least, be a guide.

In the beginning, you will meander quietly and joyously in gathering to yourself the books that appeal to you. And no subsequent pleasure in your collecting will ever equal those early delights. Later, you will smile at some of your purchases, and wisdom will help you to weed out these early non-essentials. Even now, after the happy travail of years, I am still rejecting early things.

Let us remember that a quantity of books will never mark you as a booklover. I have seen a couple of dozen of most choice volumes in the room of a master—poor in wealth, but rich in the love of books. His spirit was superlative. He knew that unknown art of possessing, not owning. That’s the way of your fine booklover. But while the fascination of modern book-collecting is a sheer pleasure, if we would be complete booklovers, we must not, as I have said, turn our eyes entirely away from book 3of other days. It is, goodness knows, a task full of completeness when we be-

gin to gather the first and scarce editions of to-day, but I suppose it is almost as hard again when we begin to explore the field of old books. I might fill several pages with suggestions as to what are the choice items. Even more. Yet, whatever I write, I fear there will be more than one reader who will say: “But the poor man has forgotten so and so . . ." That will appear to be true. But I will not have forgotten him; I shall have bothered my head why I could not find space for some reference to him and his books in this necessarily scrappy article. If I mentioned all the choice ones, experienced and new, my little article would resolve itself into a catalogue. So I must beg the reader’s consideration, and beg him accept the suggestions I here give as but a sample of the real thing. So much for my defence.

And yet, my list may prove acceptable to a great number. Others will fervently disapprove. While many will be lukewarm about it. I appreciate these three points of view. You see, judgment of who are and who will be the stalwarts in literature must always "differ. The differences arise out of a good or bad sense of selection. Some of us have a very precious capacity for valuation. Others are, shall I say, kindly literal in their estimation. It is just a case of how much, or how little is our intellectual, or perhaps our cultural capability of saying this or that is worth while. We must leave it at that. There is an inner light always guiding us. We must trim the lamp properly, see that its cruse of oil is ever sufficient, and all be well. It matters not a tittle if other people disagree with us. We must stick to our guns.

In spite of what Mr. Arnold Bennett said the other day in the Evening Standard about Conrad Aitken, I would certainly collect him. He is worth while. And look out for all the books by William Gerhardi, and A. E. Coppard, and Liam O’Flaherty. Their kooks have a quiet yet definite merit which tells a far ahead story for me. Mr. Gerhardi’s two books to read and to keep are “Futility" and the “Polyglots.” No modern library or collector should be without them. Coppard is truly superfine. As to that brilliant young Irishman, O'Flaherty, I wish I had all the books he has written. He will be —is already, as a matter of fact —a fine investment for those commerciallyminded folk who must turn their

books into money. And I’m giving you advice that some would call shrewd. If you want literature plus money value —I hope you want, at least, the former —go after the books of H. M. Tomlinson. Some think him greater than Conrad. I do, most assuredly. He has a finer style, and is much more human and understanding. It sounds revolutionary. But I detest running with the crowd. And I must not forget such writers as Gordon Bottomley, whom I don’t

know as well as I should, but whose imaginery is a thing apart from the ordinary. Or the exquisite poetry of W. H. Davies and Edmund Blunden. I make sure of buying every new book by these two men. And T. F. Powys, Forrest Reid, Stephen Hudson, the Sitwells, Virginia Woolf, and the other Woolfs —Humber and Leonard —Aldous Huxley—but there, I’m beginning to make up my catalogue. And what of those whose fame is established? We could fill a library of them. As I write, I think, casually, of just names—but names that make a gorgeous galaxy of modern literature: Lady Gregory, Walter de la Mare, E. M. Forster, W. B. Yeats, C. E. Montague, Sheila Kaye Smith, Lord Duneany; and so forth and so forth. G. H. GRUBB. London.