During my M.A. program, each year we were entertained by a wealthy lawyer who collected books.  He had built an extra wing onto his house where he created a picture-perfect two-story library. There were leather wingback chairs, a fireplace, glass display cases, and bookcases lined up library-style.   Of course, the second-floor balcony wrapped all the way around the room, and there was one of those clever little ladders you could use to reach the upper bookcases.

After a reading on campus, all the graduate students and professors duly caravaned out to his house for wine, cheese, and the appropriate “ooh” and “ahh” hour.  I have to admit that the whole thing felt a little soulless.  While I gathered that I was supposed to be impressed by the first editions and the rare letters, nothing about his library invited me to curl up with a good book.  Instead, I felt like I was in a gigantic trophy case.   Swap all the books out for mounted deer and bear heads, and the room would have felt more fitting.

That was my first, and only, introduction to the world of rare-book collecting.  Allison Hoover Bartlett’s new book, The Man Who Loved Books Too Much, pretty much reinforces my first impression.  There’s a world of difference between readers and collectors, though occasionally the two overlap.  Bartlett delves into the quirks and personalities of the rare-book world.  Like any sub-culture, it has some very interesting people, some charmers, and some con-men. She focuses on John Charles Gilkey, whose passion for rare-books leads him to a life of crime.  While the theft of rare books doesn’t quite lead to a masterpiece like In Cold Blood (which Bartlett clearly admires), it does make for interesting reading. I learned a few tid-bits, and now know much more about credit card fraud.

I must admit that I won’t be collecting rare books anytime soon, but I had fun reading all about it.  So, fellow bloggers, do any of you collect rare books?  If so, what’s most enjoyable about it?