Having just ordered a couple
more books, the thought struck me again (as it has many times before, even when
I was much younger) of what would become of my library once I was gone. It always
seems to me a living, growing thing, united and animated by a single force (me)
and that once that organizing principle had gone, it would go flying apart,
like planets bereft of their sun. And that seems a shame to me.
But what do I expect to
happen? That my books would always remain together, either as a shrine to my
memory, available to whoever might want to access them, or dumped wholesale on
a single ‘heir’ who would delightedly assume curatorship? In the first place I
would not wish such a burden on my folks, nor do I believe that anyone would or
could accept it. In the second place, although I think there are elements in my
library that several people would gladly accept, there is no single person in
sight, no Mini-me as it were, to assume the whole ragtag assemblage.
It would be selfish of me to
assume there would be. The least selfish element of that thought is that I
would be passing on a legacy to someone who would appreciate the gift as much
as I would have at any point in my life. The most selfish is that it would go
to some sort of clone of myself, that my will would go on existing as a ghoulish
parasite in another person. I shudder at the thought.
There are certainly parts of
my library that could be easily bestowed. My brother John would no doubt enjoy
the Complete Peanuts Collection and the set of Gold Key Comic Digests. My
nephew Kameron has expressed interest in the volumes of The Absolute Sandman,
among other things. I am sure there are Tolkien books (not to mention toys,
music and other ephemera like calendars) that would appeal to many in the
family, but here it seems especially a shame to have to break up the
collection. But what about G. K. Chesterton? What of James Branch Cabell? What
of James P. Blaylock? What about Robertson Davies? Excellent authors all, and I
have many of their books, but niche interests to most at the moment. Who would
take them?
Which brings up another
concern. Would my executors even know the worth of what they were disposing of?
Or would they just throw everything in a garage sale? That would be easiest,
but there are things that would be worth much more on the market. The complete
Storisende Edition of the Works of James Branch Cabell could bring in at least
$300; each separate McBride edition of Cabell, illustrated by Frank C. Pape, goes
for nearly $50. What look like grotty old paperbacks, hardly worth a quarter,
are collectible volumes in the Ballantine Adult Fantasy series, that can fetch
at least $20, and in some cases more. And so on, and on. I have many signed
editions, quite a few by James P. Blaylock and Tim Powers; their value is
subjective, of course, but a few, like The Man in the Moon, are also
rare and so probably worth a bit more. There are many ordinary
books that would be fine in a garage sale, but who would have the patience
(besides a fanatic like me) to go through three thousand books and assess them
all?
No good trying to dispose of them at a used bookstore and letting them assay them. We’ve seen the pennies such sales bring.
But what really grinds my
gears is that there is another generation a-blooming who might very much want many
of my books, in time. Who knows what my grandnephew (now just a toddler) might
find interesting, or his sibling on the way? A legacy from a granduncle might very
well be a welcome surprise; it almost sounds like the start of a fantasy
adventure. Indeed, such a hope sounds like an idle fantasy itself. But I can
speculate. What will most likely happen even if they do grow up to share my
interests is that my library will be long dispersed by then, memorialized only
in this blog, a subject, perhaps, of wonder and regret.
But I will be dead then, and, one way or the other, way past caring. “You can keep my things, they’ve come to take me home.” But, on the other hand, “Who will take care of my little boots?" I can't help but think about it sometimes.
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