Apex Book Company

Have you heard the one about the priceless book that went down with the Titanic? It’s a story book collectors tell, or at least I’d like to think they do. Once there was a priceless book and it sank with the Titanic, and it is under all that water still… I suspect any serious book collector would have given up his place in the life-boats to get hold of that book. If it exists.

It does. I know, because I know the story, not only of the Titanic Omar but of the others, too: the one that died in the bombings in World War II and the final one, the one that made it. And how do I know? Well, that’s a book collecting story in itself.

This was several years back. I was not exactly a book-runner, which is what the trade calls those people who go out searching for books to sell: book rats might have been a more accurate description. I would have liked to have been one, but I can’t do the early mornings. In any event, both to pay the rent and to support my own book collecting habits, I… well, I guess I was a book runner. Or at least, I spent time going from one charity shop to another, treading softly, smiling deferentially at the old ladies, browsing dusty shelves full of cheap tatty paperbacks, horrid book-club editions, and the occasional Dick Francis book marked, by God only knew who, “First Edition” in pen on the fly-leaf.

Charity-shop hunting is a difficult thing. It requires patience, and a sort of fatality, an acceptance of the fact that, most likely, you will find nothing there worth having. So it was that particular day. I had taken the bus, planning to meet my girlfriend for lunch. But I had time yet, and so I made a quick dash into the nearest charity shop, knowing beforehand that my chances were close to nil: I had been there only the week before and bought the only two books worth having.

It was the way, I suspected. I browsed the same old titles, the same tired spines, and was about to give up when I heard the man behind the counter say to a customer: “Oh, if you’re interested in books, we have a whole shipment at the back, why don’t you take a look?”

They were the words every book hunter longs to hear. Quickly, I made my presence known to the man. I confessed that I, too, shared an interest in books. Would it be possible to have a look at the back?

Sure, he said, and he held open the swinging door of the counter, and through I went.

The back, the size of a small parking lot, dark but open to the elements, was scattered with junk. Or not junk. Donations. Things discarded and given to charity, is a great British tradition. Long may it reign. There were clothes. There were toys. There was a shopping trolley. And everywhere I looked, there were books.

I began to browse. And it was junk. More tatty paperbacks, more book-club editions, more Dick Francis first editions (early Dick Francis firsts, btw, are worth a lot of money. The ones you find in charity shops are usually the ones printed in their hundreds of thousands. You might get lucky though). Another dead-end, I thought, but I kept browsing (aware in the back of my mind that I had a lunch date but unable to tear myself away from the hunt). On my first circle, I went through the shopping trolley, which was loaded with books. They were the only interesting books I could see but, since they appeared to be a small collection on Afghanistan, which was not my area of speciality, I passed them by. However, on my second round I returned to them. I felt the immediate vicinity of the trolley had not been thoroughly explored, and so I looked more closely at the rest of the books.

Ka-ching.

The first thing I began to notice was that every single one of the books I was picking up was inscribed. Not only signed – inscribed by the author. They were very odd books: one was on mining in the Pontifex, wherever that is. Another was on a Royal Canadian mounted unit. Then I noticed a couple of the books were limited editions, two or three on the theatre, all still inscribed (one including an invitation to a gallery opening) – but as yet, no name of a dedicatee.

At last, in a book commemorating a Royal visit to an Australian town I had never heard of, I saw the subject of the inscription. And then I saw it again in a book by the last British governor of Nigeria. And both of them were to Princess Alexandra of Kent.

Somehow, it seemed, I had stumbled on a donation from Princess Alexandra (who lived in nearby Richmond-Upon-Thames), and the books were from her own personal collection, and inscribed to her.

The man working in the charity shop had come out from time to time to watch me – I must have been in the back for a couple of hours – and chat. I told him I was a student (which I was). He lent me a big, ugly plastic bag the size of a suitcase, and I crammed it full of books. I must have looked demented. At last, time was running out. I had barely any money (student) and had to run to meet my girlfriend and apologise for lunch. Also deposit the books with her, since I had to get back to the university. “How much?” I said, in my best I-am-a-poor-scholarship-student-have-mercy voice. He looked at me. “How many books?”

“About fifteen,” I said.

He nodded, thought about it. “A fiver all right?” he said.

I said a fiver would be absolutely fine. And thank you.

I dragged the books after me, as I left. I deposited them with my long-suffering girlfriend (who had to drag them on the bus home herself after work, but then that’s love for you) and went on my way. I had all those books up until two years ago, when I finally sold them to a dealer (for next to nothing, but I did keep the best two). It was one of my happiest finds, and not because of Princess Alexandra, God bless her Royal heart.

No. It was because, amongst the books, was a slim, hand-bound volume, one of only a hundred-and-ten copies in existence, and it told the story of the Titanic Omar.

But I haven’t told you that story yet, have I?

I’ll have to do that next week.

Lavie Tidhar writes weird fiction. This is his web site. He grew up on a kibbutz in Israel and lived in South Africa and the UK. Most recently he’s lived in the Banks islands of Vanuatu, in the South Pacific, one of the most remote and isolated places on Earth. Lavie’s website is http://www.lavietidhar.co.uk/.

In 2007, Apex Publications released a collection of Jewish adventure stories titled HebrewPunk from Lavie Tidhar. This book is available as a direct order from the Apex Store and from the Apex aStore.