In 2000, Subterranean Press published Triskell Tales– 22 Years of Chapbooks, by noted fantasy author Charles de Lint. This book collected together for the first time a series of chapbooks that de Lint had self-published, many as Christmas letters, from 1974 to 1999. It was a hefty book—over 500 pages— published as a signed, limited edition of 2,000 copies, at a cover price of $40.
In 2006, Subterranean Press published the “sequel,” Triskell Tales 2, containing six more years of chapbooks. The trade hardcover edition was listed at $40, and a deluxe limited edition at $125, all for a much slimmer book. In retrospect this seems like a money-grab, but I’ve never been too fond of the multiple state business plan for small press books. Either publish them without signatures in a moderate number of copies, like Arkham House or Golden Gryphon (usually around 2,000 copies), or a smaller set that’s signed by the author. The idea of “numbered, lettered, limited” variations just comes across as annoying. Do they need the more expensive books to subsidize the lower priced ones? Is it just a way to bump up profits? Don’t know, but I still find it annoying.
For many years I owned a copy of the first volume of Triskell Tales. When copies of the second book appeared for sale, they were usually well above my price point. A few weeks ago I came across a copy of the trade edition of Triskell Tales 2 at a reasonable price. There are seven tales in the book, along with an introduction. Two of the stories have brief “author’s notes” at the end.
Looking back, 2006 seems a long time ago now. Much has changed in the world since then, in real life as well as in publishing. Are there other “triskell tales?” Perhaps. Will they appear in collected form like these two books? Perhaps not. The past few years de Lint has experienced some personal issues, with his wife falling ill in 2021, then passing away in 2024 after many years battling the Powassan virus.
There’s been a vast gap of almost two decades since I last read any of my many de Lint books, and while I believe I possess more than half of his books, there’s still a vast number of them yet to find. Maybe his stories belong to a different time, a happier age, both in terms of fiction and reality. They are hopeful stories, serious stories, a type of fantasy unique to the late twentieth century.
After picking up a pair of Centipede Press books that were bundled together (see my comments on those books here), I saw that the publisher had dropped the price on another book that long had looked interesting. This was John McPartland’s Tokyo Doll (2023). Listed for $19 in their “Specials and Nearly Sold Out” section, well off the original cover price ($55, I think), it was hard to resist.
Tokyo Doll first appeared in 1953, early in McPartland’s career. McPartland is firmly entrenched in the American noir detective genre, the titles almost as shocking as the covers (at the time). In fact, all of his books appeared during the 1950s. Sadly, his life and career ended prematurely in 1958 at the early age of 47, shortly after he got into screenwriting in Hollywood. Unlike a handful of other authors from that decade, most of his books remain out of print.
The cover of the hardcover edition of Tokyo Doll is considerably less lurid than the original paperback edition. In fact, the Centipede Press cover is nothing short of amazing, and the image below hardly does it credit.
Perusing the first few pages, the prose is tight, hard as a steel blade, almost breathless in pace and atmosphere–all typical of that genre. This is a book I look forward to reading. It’s not Centipede Press’s first foray in McPartland’s books; they published See You in Hell in a limited edition in 2020. The cover on that book doesn’t look nearly as nice, though prices for it now are well above what I paid for Tokyo Doll, which was, I guess, “priced to move.” I think See You in Hell was published in a limited edition only; the publisher mentions 500 numbered copies for Tokyo Doll, but the one I picked up was the unsigned, unnumbered version, which is fine by me.
At the same time as I bought the McPartland book, I also bought from Centipede Press a book in their long running series, The Library of Weird Fiction. These books usually go out of print quickly, given that they are massive retrospectives of well-known writers of early twentieth century fantasy/horror fiction (see Algernon Blackwood, Ambrose Bierce, Bram Stoker, Edgar Allan Poe, H. P. Lovecraft, etc,). I’ve never been able to snag one until now (with one exception: a gift I bought for my wife, as she’s a huge Bram Stoker fan). This book in the Library of Weird Fiction contained stories by Frank Belknap Long. As his book was listed as one of the books nearly sold out, I picked it up at the (non-discounted) cover price of $60—unlike the Dune books, $60 is a cover price that’s at a manageable budget. Long’s name was familiar to me, but I don’t think I’d read any of his fiction, unless they appeared in some obscure collection. At over 800 pages, there’s a lot to absorb in terms of his short fiction.
The Library of Weird Fiction covers are uniform, with black and white photographs of the author. Owning a complete collection of these books likely is the mark of a true aficionado of that kind of fiction. On the secondary market the prior volumes fetch an absurd amount (well over $100-$200), so if I continue to collect the books in this series, I suspect I’ll need to make that happen when the books appear from the publisher, and not wait until they show up on the “almost out of print” section. There’s a brief introduction from noted scholar S. T. Joshi, and some photos of Long.
I’m more familiar with Richard Chizmar as an editor and the publisher of Cemetery Dance. Recently in a used book store I came across two copies of his 2019 novel, Gwendy’s Magic Feather. This is a sequel to a book he co-wrote with Stephen King. I stopped reading King’s books after the last Gunslinger novel, so I’d never heard of the first Gwendy book. But, as I’m a sucker for small press books, I picked this one up on the spot. King wrote the introduction, handing off the baton fully to Chizmar, rather than continuing to collaborate on the story. When I think of King’s writing, I’m reminded of the SNL skit where King (actor Jon Lovitz) is interviewed while he pounds out stories on typewriter (yes, this was before the computer…). King obviously has not stopped banging out stories, so any King collector needs a lot of shelf space.
Gwendy’s Magic Feather appears aimed at the juvenile market, with insanely short chapters and quite a few illustrations. It makes me wonder how many copies they produced and hoped to sell, especially with King’s name on the cover. If a pair of them ended up in the same used bookstore, did they really succeeded in that effort? Still, it’s available as a paperback, the story lives on. The short chapters, however, make me hesitate slightly to get into the book. That and the fact that it’s a sequel…
Even though there are nine Borderlands Press little books that I don’t have, all of which are either insanely hard to find, or far beyond prices that I’m willing to pay, I continue to buy new books in their series. The latest book in their “Past Masters of Horror & Fantasy Series,” of which this is their first in “Series V,” is a collection of stories by Arthur Conan Doyle. Entitled A Little Orange Book of Odd Orchestrations and limited to 500 copies, their choice of authors continue to surprise me.
I bought this copy from the publisher, who charges a premium for shipping the book in what’s basically a padded envelope mailer. C’est la vie. Still, I’d rather support the publisher, whenever possible, since that will help them to keep publishing books in this series.
My copy is numbered #17 of 500, and signed by the editor. With four more books in Series V before they either switch to a different theme, or decide to continue with “Past Masters” one wonders who is next on the list. Kipling, maybe? I expected Clark Ashton Smith (CAS), since they’ve published H. P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard, but so far that hasn’t happened. Hello, BP, I’m willing to edit any Jack Vance or CAS collection…
Between 2003 and 2008, Subterranean Press published three books by the noted fantasy writer, Charles de Lint, collecting many of his early stories. These books, A Handful of Coppers, Quicksilver & Shadow, and Woods & Waters Wild, were a few of the many de Lint books published by Sub Press around that time. Until recently, I’d remained ignorant of these books (strange, given the fact that I was a huge de Lint fan since the early 1990s). Over the years, I’d picked up only a couple of de Lint’s Sub Press books: Triskell Tales (2000) and The Road to Lisdoonvarna (2001), probably because the price at the time was “right,” of I found them in person at a convention (at that time I didn’t really buy books online). More than two decades passed before I bought any other of de Lint’s Sub Press books.
All of de Lint’s Sub Press books went out of print fairly quickly. Checking their web-site after the fact resulted only in regret and envy. Recently, as I’ve started looking more at the secondary market to find some out of print books, I’ve become aware of the other Sub Press de Lint books, copies of which now are available to purchase from online resellers. In some cases, the prices are beyond the original cover price, and a choice must be made. In other cases, I “go for it” and hold my breath as I await the shipment to see if the books matches the online description.
I bought the first two “early stories” books last year (2023), inspired as I was while in the midst of re-reading some de Lint novels. For many years I bought any paperback or hardcover de Lint book I could find in local stores (when that was an option, before the internet and bad business decisions killed several physical stores), then I took a break from SF and fantasy books. In the past couple of years I’ve looked back at favorite authors and tried to find books that I missed. Hence, the search for some de Lint books. Then, a few days ago, tempted by a huge discount, I bought Woods & Waters Wild, the last of the three collections of early tales.
All three books in this series that I now own are signed by de Lint. They’re not “limited” in the sense that they are numbered or granted some special format. The “signed, lettered editions” were listed at $175, $200, and $200, respectively, as stated inside the covers of my books.
Who pays such a price, I thought? Is a number in a book worth far more than $20, or the then original cover price of $40? To someone, sure. To me? Not so much. I have no idea how many copies were published in these states. They do say “signed, limited edition” in the jacket flap, but there’s no indication as to the limitation number. It would have been nice to see something, maybe on the last page of the book, stating that it was limited to X number of copies, whether that was 1,000 or 2,000 or other.
There are still quite a few of de Lint’s Sub Press books that I don’t own. Some are less tempting than others. I’ve already acquired Eyes Like Leaves and Promises to Keep. Some of these books appear to be aimed at the juvenile market. If the right opportunity arises, maybe I’ll try to get more of his books. There’s a measure of regret in any current purchase actions, as I’m not benefitting either the author or publisher. Either you jump right away and buy what the publisher offers, or you look for a dealer who bought books at a discount who now sells them at a premium, or a prior buy offloading their copies. Sometimes you get lucky and the seller offers the book at a discount. Buy it then, reader, buy it then.
My only quibble is that the publisher wasn’t consistent in their font and format used for these three books. This is a pet peeve of mine: if a publisher knows they are planning a series of books by the same author, don’t freakin’ change the format, especially on the spines, of the books in that series! Even the font inside the books is different. You’d think that different artists, editors, typesetters were hired with each book, and every one of them said, “let’s do something different!”
One of my major literary influences is Ray Bradbury. As far as I know, I’ve been reading Bradbury’s stories since my early teens. I recall stories from English textbooks in pre-high school in Zambia, tales in Reader’s Digest editions when visiting grandparents in Norway, to my first actual books by Bradbury when I’d moved to the US in the late 1980s. At first: paperbacks picked up in used book stores, either new ones issued by Bantam Spectra, or older, tattered editions. I don’t recall when I first read Fahrenheit 451, or when I watched the movie version from my birth year. Or when I read The Martian Chronicles, or The Illustrated Man, or Dandelion Wine, or the countless other books and stories he wrote. I known that I’ve rad some of them multiple times, and that I own 29 of his books—collections or novels.
I finally met Bradbury in person in 1996, at a book signing in Austin, Texas. He signed a recently reprinted hardcover edition of Fahrenheit 451 and a first edition of Quicker Than the Eye. I could not believe my luck.
To this day, a dozen years after his death, I still look for Bradbury books that I don’t own, and try to read these books right away. This includes the mysteries, such as A Graveyard for Lunatics and Lets all Kill Constance, as well as SF stories in various collections. He’s one of my top three authors in any genre, in terms of influence and importance.
This past weekend, Half Price Books was having a 20% off sale. Who needs an additional reason to visit a book store? Anyway, I visited a pair of stores in San Antonio. In one, I found a first edition of Kazuo Ishiguro’s fourth novel, The Unconsoled. In the other, I came away with a quartet of books. Prime among these was Bradbury’s Green Shadows, White Whale. To be honest, my jaw dropped when I saw that book. Back in 1992, when it first was published, I almost bought a copy. However, at that time I still hesitated to spend more than $20 for a book, even if it was by someone like Bradbury, and when I looked again in stores a few years later, it was gone. Not even a remaindered copy remained, if ever those existed. This time, I found a copy for $8, a bargain beyond measure.
Green Shadows, White Whale is a fictionalized account of Bradbury’s journey to Ireland in the early 1950s to write a screen adaptation of Herman Melville’s novel, Moby Dick, with director John Huston. Having recently visited Dublin, it struck a chord with me to find this novel. Dublin in 2024 isn’t really Ireland; it’s Disneyland with pubs. My apologies to the Irish, but I found Dublin over-crowed and full of tourists; yes, I was one of those tourists, so maybe part of the problem. Still, I looked back to a visit to Cork a couple of decades previously and found that city more genuinely Irish. Maybe I need to spend time in the countryside. Maybe no real place no longer genuinely exists: they’re all are aimed at tourists, all full of tourists.
I look forward to reading this Bradbury novel, to laugh and cry with him as he relates his experiences and fictionalized accounts of events. There will never be his like again.
