I’m a huge fan of Clark Ashton Smith. I arrived there via Jack Vance, having once read that Vance’s fiction was somewhat similar to that of Mr. Smith. In the 1990s I was lucky enough to find some paperbacks with Smith’s fiction. Later, I acquired the Arkham House edition of A Rendezvous in Averoigne, a collection of Smith’s stories. I devoured all his stories, and found his personal history just as fascinating. From there, I bought a book that contained some of Smith’s letters, then a pair of trade paperback reprints: Lost Worlds and Out of Space and Time. After that, the set of books published by Night Shade Books, which collects many of Smith’s stories. Along the way, I looked into trying to find original publications, which meant Arkham House.
Although I own a handful of Arkham House books, much like their other earlier books — that is, anything prior to 1975 — their Smith publications were often far beyond my budget. Other than 1988’s A Rendezvous in Averoigne, I have Tales of Science and Sorcery from 1964, plus a collection of his letters published in 2003. However, I’m not brave enough (or crazy enough) to shell out the money for the earlier Arkham House editions.
So, to my surprise I recently came across a book called The Dark Eidolon and Other Fantasies, published by Penguin Books in 2014 and edited by S. T. Joshi. I almost put this book back, as I probably have all of Smith’s short stories in various volumes. Then, as I checked the table of contents I found that it contained not just a selection of his short stories, but a long list of poems as well. In all, there are over 40 of Smith’s poems in this volume. Since most of Smith’s Arkham House books (and earlier ones) these days fetch a premium, I’ve read only a fraction of Smith’s poems.
I have an affinity for Smith’s poems; one my of favorite books is Tim Powers’ The Stress of Her Regard, which takes its titles from word within a poem by Clark Ashton Smith. There’s a certain symmetry there, and now I can finally read more than a snippet or two of Smith’s poetry.
Now and then I stop by a local used book store chain. There used to be a couple of them nearby, but one closed down a few years ago, and now it’s almost a chore to visit any of them. There are four of them still in San Antonio, but three are somewhat out of my way. The one that’s closest also is in the process of moving. Still, it was on my way as I drove out of town, so I swung over there for a few minutes of browsing. Sometimes in Half Price Books I walk away with nothing, sometimes I end up with with an armful of books (rarer these days), and sometimes I end up with one or two books.
Today, I picked up a usual book: the collected science fiction stories by Erle Stanley Gardner, under the title, The Human Zero. This hardcover book, published by William Morrow in 1981 (edited by Martin H. Greenberg and Charles G. Waugh), bore a sticker with the low price of $5.99. The book, which was published in 1981 and had a mylar cover over the dust jacket. Erle Stanley Gardner wasn’t a name I expected to see in the science fiction section. After all, he’s known for his large body of work in the mystery genre, especially Perry Mason. Yet there it was, and, sucker that I am for SF from the 1980s, I immediately grabbed it from the shelf. As I stood there, I flicked through the pages, and found an interesting paper stuck somewhere in the first third of the book, a receipt from Amazon. It was dated nearly a quarter of a century ago.
I won’t name the person, but he’d ordered the book from Montclair Book Center via Amazon back in 2003 for $20. That same evening, I looked up the name and learned that this person had passed away in 2025, at the age of 88. Strange to think that 23 years ago he’d ordered this book, then at some point stuck the printed receipt amidst its pages, almost like a bookmark. Then, after his passing, it’s likely that his relatives had brought this book — and probably others from his library — to Half Price Books, unloading many of his treasured memories, and gaining a few cents in return.
Ah, yes, I’ve sold some books to HPB in my time; I’ve dropped off boxes of books at their counter, stood there and accepted their low prices, listened as others who stared at them person quoting them their “offers.” Do you take it? Do you walk away? Most people just sigh and say, “Ok.” Then they take their receipt to the front, gather their handful of cash, and forget about those books as they leave the store. It’s been a while since I last sold books there. I’m more inclined these day to give away any extra books, rather than listen to low-ball offers.
Sure, I’ve sold a few books to HPB, but I’ve bought far more. Sometimes, I’ve paid a premium, well above half price. Sometimes, half the cover price. In this case, Gardner’s book, which was published at $12.95 in 1981 — forty-five years ago! — was listed for only $5.99. This was almost at half price, matching the name of the store. Meanwhile, in a glass-fronted shelf, another rare book by a different author was listed for $3,000. In other instances I’ve seen rare books well above what I would, while I’ve also found equally rare books for a fraction of their original cost. It’s a strange business, Half Price Books. And yet, I go back whenever possible. It makes me I wonder, though, will my children one day drop off some of my once-treasured books at a place that pays a few pennies for items that were my treasures?
This book also had a stamp with a date, one of those rotating stamps where you set the day, month and year. I could not erase this stamp, like I could the penciled cost from a prior seller, with a regular stamp. Instead I tried a “sand” stamp. It worked too well. Just as I thought I had the ink erased, I rubbed a hole in the paper. It was my first such test of a sand stamp, so I had no idea what to expect. I came across a couple of paperback anthologies at the same time, and bought those. The same stamp, with different dates, appeared in those books as well, so they must have come from the same person. I’m sure there were other books in the shelves from that person, but I didn’t see any other titles I wanted. I think, were I to come across any more with the dates stamped into the books, that I would leave them there.
One of a handful of paperback books that I store in a plastic wrapper is K. W. Jeter’s Signet edition of Infernal Devices.
This book, published in November, 1987 is inscribed to me by Jeter, whom I met back in 1989 or 1990 at a science fiction convention in Austin, Texas called Armadillocon (I’m guessing it was 1990, since my inscribed copy of Farewell Horizontal was published in 1989, and I probably got them both signed at the same time). Subtitled “A mad Victorian fantasy,” this book was one of the pioneering Steampunk novels in the 1980s and 1990s, along with Jeter’s own Morlock Night, and several books by James P. Blaylock (another of my favorite writers, but not necessarily for the Steampunk angle).
After I read Infernal Devices, I went on to buy many more books by Jeter, both in paperback and hardcover, whenever I could find them. I don’t have all of his books, especially some of the earlier paperbacks (Mantis, The Dreamfields, Soul Eater, Dark Seeker—all are out there somewhere). Jeter wrote across many genres, though mainly SF and horror; In the Land of the Dead, Mantis, and The Night Man fall into the horror genre (Recently, I was lucky enough to get a hardcover copy of the Morrigan’s edition of In the Land of the Dead). He also has written fantasy books, such as Morlock Night, and the trilogy that started with Infernal Devices. Every time I’m in a bookstore, I check the “J” section for anything by Jeter. The man’s just a great writer. I’d say that I rarely have any luck, but this past weekend (as I was waiting for the hardcover edition of Infernal Devices to arrive, I found a copy of Noir, almost as if the planets had aligned at that moment. Two or three years ago I found a near-fine copy of Seeklight, Jeter’s first novel, but that’s about it these days.
I was aware, of courses, that a hardcover edition of Infernal Devices existed. In all the years since it was published, and since I bought the paperback edition, I never came across a physical copy in any bookstores or at any of the science fiction conventions which I attended in the 1990s and early 2000s. By pure chance, however, I stumbled across a copy online recently, and knew I had to have it. In what condition would it arrive, was the question… Thankfully, it looked almost new, and fit right in with my other Jeter books.
Jeter since followed up with two sequels in the world of Infernal Devices: Fiendish Schemes (2013) and Grim Expectations (2017) — such brilliant titles! Tor Books published the hardcover and trade paperback edition of Fiendish Schemes. In 2017 Angry Robot published Grim Expectations as a paperback original. They also published the previous two books in a nice matching set of trade paperback books. It’s a long way from 1987 to 2013. While I devoured Infernal Devices fairly quickly, I’ve so far struggled to get into the sequels. I’m suer I’ve changed as much as Jeter, but now that I have the hardcover edition of Infernal Devices, maybe it’s time to try again.
I’m slowly narrowing in on one of my current goals: collecting all the books published by Dark Harvest, a small press active from 1983 to 1992. In that decade of activity Dark Harvest published over 50 books, from horror to science fiction to mysteries. My latest addition is Ray Garton’s Crucifax Autumn, a horror novel from 1998. With this book, only four remain on my list: a pair of Lawrence Block books, a horror anthology, and the first book ever published by Dark Harvest, back in 1983. Two of those four might prove to be impossible to find.
Ray Garton (1962-2024) was a noted horror writer. He was the author of over 60 books, the most notable being Live Girls. In an old interview he talks about the genesis of that novel, while walking through Times Square in the 1980s. On my first visit to the US back in 1987, I got lost on the New York Subway and exited long before my actual destination. I ended up walking south for countless blocks, also passing through Times Square. This was before the cleanup, before Times Square became a massive and relatively clean tourist attraction. My experience in Times Square in 1987 was similar to that of Garton’s: it was like walking through another planet, full of garish signs and pulsating neon, even in the middle of the day. Unlike Garton, that strange side of life didn’t interest me, and I’d never dove in that world to write a novel.
Garton was a published writer by age 22. He was awarded the 2006 World Horror Convention Grand Master Award, wrote short stories, novels, novelizations, and even ventured into the YA market. I’ve only read a trio of his books (Lot Lizards, Methods of Madness, plus his Borderlands Press collection, A Little Gray Book of Grim Tales), as I rarely read horror, but in my experience Garton’s a tough, no holds barred writer. As someone who saw himself as a person born to write, and kept at it until his death, Garton went far, far too soon at the age of 62.
These days I rarely — if ever — come across a decent copy of any Charles de Lint books in a used book store. It was a shock, when this past weekend I came across a near-fine copy of Spirits in the Wires, in a hardcover edition for just $5.99. Until now I’ve seen just the occasional trade paperback edition of this title, and none in a decent condition. Any time that I come across a de Lint book that I don’t have, it’s a moment of celebration.
Published in 2003 — over 20 years ago now! — Spirits in the Wires touches upon the early moments of the Internet. How bizarre it is, for someone like myself who witnessed the birth of the internet, who delved into the World Wide Web back when it first was formed, to now look back and almost wish it never was invented. Yet, here we have almost 450 pages of a novel centered around the idea that some of the spirits of faery have moved to the aether of ones and zeros, bits and bytes.
Although I own a mix of paperback, hardcover, and specialty press books by Mr. de Lint, there’s still over 20 of his books that I lack. Recently, I’ve added a few of those missing books. Some of those additions remain unread. Isn’t that the best part about owning books, finding books that have yet to be discovered? Sometimes I think so. Having read close to 30 of de Lint’s books, I love the fact that there are still nearly two dozen that I haven’t read. I may never read them all, but I so envy anyone who reads his fiction for the first time. Treasure it, for there are few writers (if any) like him.
Back in the 1990s, a good friend of mine who also was into genre fiction recommended the writer, Charles de Lint. I was more into science fiction books at the time, and not so much fantasy (unless it was books by Jack Vance). Still, under pressure I bought a couple of de Lint’s books. After reading these, I was hooked. I mostly bought paperbacks back then, but in short order I had a baker’s dozen of his books. Most were in great shape, but for a pair of hard-to-find titles I had to set aside my distaste for battered books with broken spines; my copies of Mulengro and The Riddle of the Wren have yet to be replaced by better versions.
Charles de Lint’s books, although marketed as fantasy, aren’t your typical fantasy books. I’ve heard his fiction mentioned as “urban fantasy,” which means you don’t see any swords, dragons, or princesses waiting to be rescued. Yet, there’s magic in his books, shape-shifting, a sense of wonder, a definite mythology, and a strong feeling that you want it to be real.
Not content with just paperbacks, I started buying any de Lint book that I could find. Over time, I’ve acquired 34 of his books, and read almost all of them at least once. He’s seen success with major publishers, and has a loyal fan base. Several of his books have been published by small press publishers, often at a premium. This is especially true of Subterranean Press, which has published almost two dozen of his books. In some cases these books are quite limited (Moonheart comes to mind). In others, they’re published in editions between 1,000 and 2,000 copies. That should be enough to satisfy any de Lint fan.
While the majority of de Lint’s urban fantasy stories take place in his native Canada, blending in Northern-American folklore and European folklore (especially the Celtic variety), he occasionally ventures into south-west regions of America. Medicine Road, published in 2004, moves a pair of characters from his novel, Seven Wild Sisters (Subterranean Press, 2002) into Arizona. Two of the seven sisters from Seven Wild Sisters, Laurel and Bess Dillard, are musicians. As the novel opens they’re in Tucson, as part of their current tour. Where it goes from there, I have yet to discover, as I just acquired the book a few days ago.
Medicine Road was published in two states: a trade hardcover edition, and a signed, leatherbound edition. My trade edition is signed by both de Lint and illustrator, Charles Vess. I like the cover of this edition, and the illustrations from Vess are quite captivating. Vess has illustrated several of de Lint’s books, bringing to life many of de Lint’s characters.
Starting around 2000, I mostly stopped buying a lot of SF and fantasy books, even by authors that I liked, such as de Lint. I’ve started reading some SF and fantasy books again, and de Lint is high on my list. There’s still a dozen Subterranean Press editions of de Lint’s books that I don’t have. Even though many of them were published nearly two decades ago, to me these are “new” books. Some of them are just harder to find than others.
Acquiring the Subterranean Press edition of Connie Willis’s short story collection, The Winds of Marble Arch and Other Stories, intersects nicely with a pair my current book collecting goals. First, I’m always on the lookout to find books by Connie Willis. Second, Subterranean Press does a great job with each of their publications, and for any small press aficionado, this is one of the best publishers out there.
For many years I owned just one book by Willis. Up until sometime in 2024, that book sat gathering dust somewhere in my bookshelves. I think I even considered purging it, despite it being a hardcover edition in great shape. I needed more shelf space, and wasn’t sure if I’d ever read it. Then, in 2024 I bought a pair of Willis’s books: the Subterranean Press edition of All Seated on the Ground, and the Ballantine Books edition of All Clear. Although I own just less than 10 percent of Subterranean Press output, these days if I can acquire another one of their books to my library it’s a memorable event.
The Winds of Marble Arch, is a collection of 23 of Willis’s short stories. Published by Subterranean Press back in 2007, this novella may well have been my first foray into Willis’s fiction. I found it quite funny, so I started looking for more of her books. Most are now out of print, so finding any her books has often been challenging.
The Subterranean Press edition of this book is a hefty volume. Within its 700 pages, ranging from short stories to novellas, there’s more than enough short piece of fiction to savor. She’s another person born to write, and I wish I’d started buying her books sooner. Still, discovering another “new” writer is always a great experience.
Under the pseudonym of Leigh Nichols, Dean R. Koontz published several paperback novels in the late 1970s through the early 1980s. Then, starting with The House of Thunder in 1988, Dark Harvest turned these books into hardcover editions with Koontz’s own name on the cover. Koontz wrote many other novels under different names before he struck it big in the horror/suspense field on the level with Stephen King; his first best-selling novel, I believe, was Strangers (1996). By the time these Dark Harvest editions rolled around, Koontz was on the bestseller lists almost as regularly as King. Now, several years after the Dark Harvest books originally were published, I’ve slowly acquired editions of all the five Dark Harvest Dean R. Koontz books. Many of those pre-Koontz-named novels appeared ripe for a reissue. Hardcover editions were a nice way to honor that legacy, as well as give burgeoning Koontz fans nice editions. Hardback books tend to be more durable than paperback editions.
The Dean Koontz books from Dark Harvest — you would think, with the template in place, maybe they could be consistent in design on the spines. Instead, we have four of the five books with “Koontz” in horizontal text, and one with “Dean R. Koontz” in larger font and vertical.
Shadowfires (Dark Harvest, 1990) was the first Koontz book I ever read. Since then I bought a few mass-market hardcovers and paperbacks of his books, though I don’t consider myself a Koontz collector. My copy of this Dark Harvest book is far from perfect. The dust jacket is slightly torn due to improper handling and the fact that I’ve owned it for a couple of decades without ever adding any Mylar protective cover. For many years I stuck it with my other Koontz books behind a layer of other books, in an almost forgotten bookshelf. Then, a couple of years ago, I came across some other Dark Harvest Koontz editions, and I thought, “Why not?”
So, from a single online dealer, I bought a trio of cheap Koontz Dark Harvest books: The Key to Midnight, The House of Thunder, and The Eyes of Darkness. Of those three books, The Key to Midnight (1989) is my only pristine copy. Both The House of Thunder (1988) and The Eyes of Darkness (1989) have light foxing on the top and bottom edges, despite arriving still in their original shrinkwrap. Maybe that’s the issue, and the foxing happened due to dampness and improper storage? At any rate, I was quite disappointed.
I did, however, in 2025 read all three newly acquired books. This took place many years after I’d read Shadowfires. I came away with the impression that all these Nichols/Koontz novels follow a formula: they feature a female and male protagonist thrust into certain situations that upend their lives. In Shadowfires it’s an ex-wife haunted and hounded by her former husband, yet aided by a new boyfriend. In The House of Thunder, it’s a woman haunted by an earlier accident who finds herself in the midst of a mind control experiment and who, along the way, gains a new boyfriend/admirer. In The Eyes of Darkness, a supposed dead child comes back to haunt a mother, who is also supported by a new boyfriend. With The Key to Midnight, a mind-control experiment shunts a woman off to Japan, only to have her memories unlocked by a (sort-of) random encounter with a detective, who also becomes her boyfriend. Maybe, because I read three of the novels in quick succession, and then went back and re-read Shadowfires, it just seemed that each novel followed that same thread.
Then, there’s The Servants of Twilight (1988). This novel was the last of the Koontz Dark Harvest books that I acquired, in March 2026. From online descriptions of the book, this is supposedly the best of the five Leigh Nichols books. Yet, there on the dust-jacket, in the section trying to hype of the book, are the words: “Christine…and the one man who’s risked everything to help…are running from the hounds of death.” Well, it’s the same theme as the other four, isn’t it, Mr. Nichols? Anyway, I’ve yet to read this book, so maybe it will surprise me.
Three years after I wrote that the Central Texas bike ride known as Shiner GASP was permanently canceled, news came out today that it’s back!
Originally created in the late 1970s, riding from Austin to the Spoetzel Brewery in Shiner, at just over 100 miles. It was later moved to an out and back starting and finishing in Shiner, with options for 25, 50, and 100 miles.
The ride takes place this year on May 18, and here’s hoping that it’s back to stay!
I don’t claim to know Mr. Bradley Denton. I met him exactly once, at someone’s house over two decades ago. At that time I’d probably read a few of his books, and liked them. As an awkward fan, of course, I muttered something complimentary about his books. No doubt he’s met many a fan, so it meant nothing to him. I may even have asked him to sign a copy or two of his book that I brought along with me, possibly a hardcover edition of Lunatics, or the trade paperback edition of Blackburn. Maybe not. I do own such signed copies of his books, but maybe I also bought them from Book People in Austin, as this bookstore tends to have a lot of authors show up for signings. I frequented Book People quite often back in the 1990s; I don’t recall being there for a Denton signing, but I’ve come across signed copies of books in their shelves, left over from authors who signed any extra books for the store.
Either before the day I met Denton, and definitely since, I’ve picked up every one of his books that I came across. His titles are varied and unique, from Buddy Holly is Alive and Well on Ganymede, to Laughin’ Boy, Wrack and Roll, and One Day Closer to Death. At one point, I struck gold and found copies of the pair of short story collections published by The Wildside Press in 1993 — The Conflagration Artist and The Calvin Coolidge Home for Dead Comedians. These two books were published in a special limited hardcover edition of 400 numbered and 26 lettered copies. They were both signed by Denton and artist Doug Potter, as well as Steven Gould, who wrote the introduction. Laughin’ Boy, published by Subterranean Press, was limited to 750 copies, and came out long after I met Denton, but I have the recollection (maybe right, maybe wrong), or mentioning that I’d heard he was writing this book. The pages of my copy of Wrack and Roll, a diminutive book from Headline in the UK in 1987, are already darkened with age. I’ve never found the paperback edition of this book, but I’m sure there are copies out there, somewhere.
In Denton’s own words, he’s a “semiobscure fiction writer” (One Day Closer to Death – 1998). Maybe he saw the writing on the wall already back then. As of this writing, it’s been a dozen years since his last published book, Sergeant Chip & Other Novellas, a collection published by Subterranean Press in 2014 as a signed/limited edition of only 750 copies. And then…nothing.
Along with Lunatics (1996), perhaps Denton’s most famous book is Blackburn (1993), a collection of tales about a serial killer. This pair of novels, along with One Day Closer to Death and Buddy Holly, received mainstream hardcover editions. Maybe it’s the semiobscure thing that caused the ink to dry, but by God, Denton deserves better. He’s a master prose writer. His stories are captivating, and his characters memorable and unique. And yet, nothing after 2014. I simply have to shake my head.
All this came to mind after I recently acquired a hardcover edition of Blackburn. I already had the trade paperback edition, a signed one to boot. But, I missed out on the hardcover when it first came out in 1993. Now, it joins the rest of my Denton books. Perhaps it’s time for a re-read, not just of Blackburn, but the other ones. I’ll hoist a glass to you, Mr Denton. If you’ve stopped writing, then thank you for the stories, and the memories. If not, then I hope to read more of your stories one day.
