Category: books (Page 6 of 18)

I have a decent collection of unique SF/Fantasy/Horror hardcovers. Many of these are from small press publishers—vs. mass-market publishers like Tor and Baen. Some are from defunct mass-market publishers, lost in the mists of near-time (1970s and 1980s, with publishers like Doubleday or Blue Jay). When I buy older books from dealers or other collectors, the books usually come with mylar protection over their dust jackets. When I buy direct from publishers, or newer books from (cough) online major outlets, the books usually arrive with no extra protection. It’s up to the buyer at this point.

Until recently, when acquiring new books, I tended to cannibalize some covers I already had from older books, applying any covers the right size to special books that came with no such protection. At some point, one runs out of books from which to cannibalize these covers. I finally bit the bullet this year and ordered 100 mylar covers from one of several such manufacturers/resellers. Although I have over 100 books that need these extra covers, I decided to start with 100, and at the size that covered book up to 10″ tall.

It’s a tedious and not too easy affair to wrestle dust jackets into these covers. The covers I bought are usually slightly taller than the books. The first step is then to adjust the covers to the right size. The next, straightening a reluctant cover inside its new protection, and the last step, bringing the book into its new jacket.

With 100 covers, I started with what I considered “high priority” books. Maybe that was a bad decision, as I was still figuring out how to fit the jackets into these covers. So far I’ve maybe done 20 books, and gotten slightly better at the process. I do feel a bit better about having the books protected this way. There’s one book I know that is beyond help, with a small quarter inch tear on the jacket. Other books have slight stains, likely from exposure to the sun before I bought them, or just part of the paper aging process.

So far I have prioritized small press books—those from Subterranean Press, Dark Harvest, Underwood-Miller, Zeising; a few others still yet identified. Lined up and waiting are books from favorite authors big enough to warrant mass-market publishers: Vernor Vinge, Charles de Lint. James P. Blaylock, Tim Powers. Other books, especially from Arkham House and Golden Gryphon, which are shorter, probably require jackets of a smaller size. It’s likely that I’ll run out of the first batch of 100, but at that point I’ll have a process in place, and will continue with the rest of them.

It’s interesting when stripping the jacket from a book to see what’s underneath. In some cases, the books are just books—nothing extra. In other cases, the publisher has made something special of the book itself, with text or art, that almost warrant its own attention. It’s here that I’m reminded of Steve Jobs, who made even the parts not usually visible to user as artistic and beautiful as the parts that were visible. This is counter-balanced by the moments when you remove a cover and see flaws that can never be undone; yellowing, spotting, foxing, and worse. Here you wonder whether any attempt to protect the book is worth it, for entropy comes to all things. In the meantime, I feel that I’m almost discovering some of these books anew. An exciting time.

I’m slowly amassing a collection of books published by the Soho Crime imprint. I’m only collecting trade paperbacks, as I’m intrigued by the near uniform design, especially on the spine, as well as the quality of the writers. All the books by the same author receive the same color, and colors vary from author to author. So far I have 136 books under this imprint, and that’s probably just a fraction of the books they’ve published.

Soho Crime publishes a lot of non-America authors. This includes writers from the UK, the Netherlands, Japan, Scandinavia, Africa, Asia. They also publish American writers, usually with a focus on specific country settings, from Nantucket to Laos, Alaska to Paris. Around seven years ago I started my collection with one book by Janwillem van de Wetering, based on a recommendation from a co-worker. The first book might have been Outsider in Amsterdam, or maybe The Corpse on the Dike. Since then I’ve added several van de Wetering books, as well as multiple other series. Other well-represented writers include Mick Herron and Peter Lovesey, and almost all the James R. Benn books.

Since I sometime organize my shelves by publishers and then writers, at one point someone wondered if I organized them by color, since he saw all the Soho Crime books, and all the authors had their own colors on the covers. I think I mentioned my shelving philosophy elsewhere; I don’t always organize books by publisher, only if they stand out, like my Golden Gryphon hardcovers, or a single shelf of Arkham House books (Although there are, I think, two or three exceptions for the latter publisher, where the Arkham House books are grouped with their authors.) I now have an entire bookshelf devoted to my Soho Crime collection. It’s not a tall bookshelf, though I’m sure the books will migrate to a taller one once they outgrow this bookshelf.

The great thing about Soho Crime books is that most of them are reasonably priced, also also the stories take place in unique settings. There are exceptions, of course, but in many cases their authors limit themselves to specific places. So, reading their books are a way to visit strange places without having to travel there. This isn’t an issue of quantity over quality, as most of the books I’ve read so far have been superb. For some reason I’ve always struggled with buying books that cost more that $10; likely from years of poverty and a minimum wage job to support myself during college. That was a long time ago, but it stick with me, and while some of their books are around $10, most are in the $16 range. For a trade paperback, that to me seems excessive. Still, that’s inflation, I guess.

One major problem that I face is that bookstores were I live don’t stock a lot of Soho Crime books. There’s one big-box store, and one or two small independent bookstores in my city. Otherwise it’s hit or miss with used bookstores. So far I’ve had best success visiting specialty bookstores, such as Mysterious Books in New York City or Murder by the Book in Houston. The latter is closer, a mere three and half hour drive away, and the two times I’ve been there this year I’ve walked away with a stack of books. When I was in NYC, a few years ago now, and seemingly a different lifetime, I found an equal number of books. (Prior to that visit it had been two decades since my last trip to NYC, and that was during a a time I didn’t read mystery books.) Otherwise, I find some in used book stores, a fact that gives me a twinge of guilt as the authors get none of my money.

So, if you want an introduction to great crime novels, check out any book published by Soho Crime. Pick one at random, or look at the cover to see if the location interests you. It might be the start of a mad collecting habit, like mine.

The paperback edition of Robert McCammon’s novel, The Queen of Bedlam, checks in at a hefty 645 pages. As the sequel to Speaks the Nightbird, it picks up the thread of Matthew Corbett’s life in the summer of 1702, three years after the event of the earlier novel, and in a different locale. Having returned to the metropolis of New York (population ca. five thousand), Matthew Corbett is employed as a clerk for a magistrate, not much different from his profession in his Carolina adventures.

Having read some of the later books before I acquired this novel, I knew outlines of some of his adventures therein. The nature of the title wasn’t clear from summaries in those other books, however, and not what I expected when it became clear. This is also the novel that introduces the fiendish Professor Fell, Corbett’s arch-enemy in later books, although only indirectly. Fell doesn’t make a direct appearance until The Providence Rider, the fourth book in the series. In the meantime, we encounter various associates, a slow build up to the puppeteer behind the lesser evils.

In 1702, New York City only was a city as far north as Wall Street. An actual wall existed along that street from 1685 to 1699, and slowly was dismantled in the early years of the 18th century. Beyond Wall Street lay the outer ward, primarily an area of farms, Indians (though by then much depleted due to illnesses brought over by the Europeans), and the long road to Boston. From McCammon’s book, the center of New York are the taverns and the docks. The populace is rude, in a hurry, and ready to form mobs at the drop of a pin. There are bordellos, churches, depraved people, sanctimonious people, and some good people. It’s not much different from today, the main difference being that New York today has a population of over 10 million, not 5,000.

It’s in New York that Corbett begins his new life. Two events thrust him into adventure. First is a killer, nicknamed “the Masker” who slays several prominent people. Corbett is hired by the widow of the second victim to find this killer. The other event is his recruitment into a detective agency, or problem solvers as they call themselves; Corbett calls himself a detective at some point, a name lost on those he’s addressing. Here he meets Hudson Greathouse and Katherine Herrald, two names that figure in the later novels, especially Greathouse. He also draws the attention of Professor Fell’s associates, and in a final climactic battle works to save his life that of a young woman, from a death that might have been concocted by any Bond villain.

The book’s length and scope means that multiple threads weave through its pages. They’re all connected, somehow, and the Queen of Bedlam is at the center. She’s not the villain of the novel, as I expected from the title. Corbett’s role here is to find her identity, and it leads him directly to the other connections, from the Masker to Fell’s associates.

I recently bought a paperback copy of the book and read it over the span of three days. My edition is the 6th printing, of a book originally published in 2007. The hardcover edition, from Subterranean Press, appeared in two formats. One, with 374 signed numbered copies, housed in a custom slipcase. The other, 26 signed lettered copies, housed in a custom traycase. Per the publisher, “[t]here is no trade edition of The Queen of Bedlam.” No wonder, then, that the hardcover edition rarely appears on the market, and no doubt fetches far more than its original price of $125 or $500, respectively. For the life of me, I cannot fathom paying $500 for a book, but then, I’m not that rabid collector. And so, the paperback edition will sit amid the other hardcovers I have in that series.

As to whether the book is worth reading, I’d say it’s one of the better ones I’ve read so far, maybe the best one. In a fair world, McCammon’s series would be a raging success in the publishing world, a Netflix series in the works, and mass market editions of his other books readily available. As it stands, I hope he keeps writing books in the series, and if I’m ever lucky enough to find copies of his other novels (at reasonable prices), I hope I get the opportunity to acquire and read them.

There are quite a few cats at the Hemingway House in Key West. Some sleep on the bed, others on bookshelves in the small book/gift store. Others lounge around outside, seeking shelter from the heat in various shaded areas. Signs tell you that you can pet the cats at your own risk Many of them have six digits, but I didn’t quite feel brave enough to deal with six claws. Cats are notoriously fickle creatures, one minute friendly, the next a furry killing machine.

A couple of weeks ago I had two hours to kill in Key West. Seems like a strange thing to say, considering it’s a three and half hour drive from Miami along the coastal highway at reduced speeds. But, my son and I were on the road early Sunday morning, hoping to spend a few hours there sightseeing before heading to a Boy Scout camp on Islamorada. Apparently the first thing to do in Key West is to stand in line to get your photo taken next to a buoy proclaiming it the southernmost place in the continental US. Having spent 30 minutes on this venture we speed-walked along Whitehead Street over to the Hemingway House. Although they offered tours, as we were pressed for time as merely walked through all the rooms, then over to the gift shop. If I had more time and room in my luggage I probably would have spent more money, so I’ll have to save that for another time. Unfortunately I wasn’t familiar enough with the area to find a decent restaurant, so that’s another item on my list for a future trip.

It’s not hard to imagine Ernest Hemingway living there, across the street from the lighthouse, a short walk away from where he likely kept his boat, the Pilar. How he ended up in remote areas like Key West and Idaho are mysteries to me, considering his Chicago origins and many years in Paris. But the locale he picked and the house itself are remarkable, and probably were more remarkable almost a hundred years ago.

I consider myself a qualified fan of his writing. The Sun Also Rises and For Whom the Bell Tolls are classics in American literature, even though neither takes place in America. His later novels I find disinteresting. His personal life overshadowed his fiction after the Spanish Civil War, and his political leanings were jejune and ignorant. His rift with John Dos Passos and his snippy treatment of his former friend I find abhorrent. Still, Hemingway is unique, and unlike the prevailing trend to cancel anything or anyone who has a scintilla of bad history, I sift through writers like Hemingway to keep what I like and ignore the rest.

As I write this, I have in front of me am ink drawing of the facade of the Hemingway House, a solitary cat in the foreground. A notebook from the gift shop sits beside me on the desk, yet I wonder if I’ll ever write in it, as it’s a memento, a souvenir, and maybe has more of a sentimental value if kept blank. Or not.

Key West and the keys are unique, much like Hemingway. These days most of the houses there are likely overpriced vacation homes. They’re used only part of the year, owned by people who can afford to keep multi-million dollar homes and not live there most of the time. It’s a risky place to live, with hurricanes an annual threat. With water all around, the people who live in the Keys likely also own boats. In some cases they own large boats.

I spent a week on and off a dive boat. Inside the shallow bay you need to know the channels and shallow areas, and out on the ocean you need to travel for miles before the water deepens. As a land-locked Texan, it felt strange to spend so much time on the ocean, as well as under the surface. There’s plenty of fish, yet also coral graveyards. There’s so much to see in the Keys. And, the Everglades are just a short distance away, yet from what little I know about the Everglades, it seems like a different world, with alligators, snakes, swamps, and a river of grass. And yet, my first thought when I returned home, was that I really needed to re-read Hemingway’s stories set in the Keys and Cuba. Having finally been in that area, would they read any differently from when I first read them? Does visiting a place that created those stories impart any other meaning? Maybe, maybe not. After all, Hemingway’s characters play as much a role in his stories as the settings, if not more. The characters in Sloppy Joe’s could exist in any place in the world, but there’s only one Florida Keys.