I
believe a book holds more stories than is told by its pages. It holds the lives
and times of readers whose world had shrunk, even if for a few hours, to fit
into the pages of the book whilst their imaginations soared over with an
unmatched brilliance. It holds glimpses of the lives of hitherto unknown people
in the notes by the borders. And some books, rarely so, hold within them a moment
of history, a piece of mankind’s eternal search for order in this universe
where in chaos has always been the way of life.
Books
happen to be my first love. I should’ve been quite young when it happened and I
have very little memory of when reading had become as natural as breathing to me. It opened a new world for me, a world I could inhabit when I chose to, and
a world where everything fitted my moods. Some would call it dreamy; I prefer
to call it imagination.
So
there I am, in love with books and a few spare coins in my pockets.
“I am
going to buy all the Poirot’s. I have all the Miss Marple’s!” I declared one
evening to the husband. He looked up quizzically from his TV-trance. “You know
Agatha Christie’s little Belgian detective” I added in case he thought I was
talking about some spice brands!
“Really,
what good is it to buy books? Why don’t you borrow from library and read it on
your kindle?”He smiled congenially and went back to his trance.
I
refused to rise to the bait. After all a successful marriage is not just about
understanding one's partner but also keeping one's mouth zipped when a bait
disguised as an innocent remark comes your way. The husband had mastered the art
of ignoring baits of any size and intensity long back. I am still trying to
learn the ropes of the above mentioned art form, an essential module in the “Art
of happy married life!”
From
that evening I have scourged the second hand shops in the city for Poirot’s.
Some I found in the racks, some under the racks, and some in the boxes behind
the shops. I even know the day of the week each book shop gets a fresh stock.
When I
started partnering with a local charity shop to create a book corner I kept my
eyes open for Poirot’s.A lovely lady with snow white hair and a laugh like tinkling
of bells, Gwen my shop manager soon found out my panache for Poirot’s.
I was sorting out books with Gwen. Keeping
only the books in mint condition and sending back the others when we found a
Poirot.
“Ah!
Here comes your lover” Gwen said.
It was
a yellowed copy of The Clocks.
“The
Clocks .Gwen, in this one our little Belgian sits in the comfort of his chair
and employs his little grey cells to solve the crime. Neither does he visit the
crime scene nor does he speak to any witnesses.” I gibbered on nonstop. I know
my Poirots’s. “It was first published in 1963 but this one was not the first edition.
Which means it is not a collector’s item. This one is a mere reprint in 1965!”
“Do you have a copy of this one my dear?”Gwen
enquired.
“No darling,
I wish I had!”I said flipping the pages and inhaling the scent of old paper.
“Gwen,
can I buy this one from you? You won’t be putting this up on sale. It’s far too
old.”
“You
can take it for free if you want. Even if we return this to the centre, they
might just recycle this one.”
I
convinced Gwen that I did not want to take the book without paying and made her
accept a payment before leaving the shop.
I
leafed through the book. The first page stated boldly,
“John Christopher Cornwell, Feb
1965, W.H Smith, London”
“Wow,
this book came all the way from London. The book has travelled more than I have!”
It was an amusing thought...
That
evening I had to add the edition of the book to Good reads. I was unable to
find the book based on the ISBN number behind the book. This was not surprising
as most of the old books got published by several publishers and in multiple
editions over the years. All this was two weeks ago.
Yesterday
I received a very strange call, “Madam, we are calling from Christie’s, United Kingdom.
It has come to our attention that you hold a title of interest to the Christie’s.Hmm...It
is SBN number '1 332 978 31'!
I
strained to get words out of the strange accent, “You mean ISBN number, and could
you let me know the title?”
The
operator continued,”Madam, it is The Clocks by Agatha Christie. I am talking
about the one with is SBN number '1 332 978 31'!”
“ISBN-SBN,
all the same. I have it. What is so important about it? It is not a first edition.
It’s just a reprint anyway!” I said
trying to sound knowledgeable about book market.
The
operator said, “It being an SBN makes all the difference. I hope you know that
SBN was the first coding for books before ISBN became the accepted norm.”
“Yes,
I know the story. Gordon Foster,
Emeritus Professor at Trinity College, Dublin created the 9-digit code for the
booksellers and stationers W. H. Smith in 1965.This was later adopted by ISO
into a 10 digit code and more recently in to a 13 digit code to make it
compatible with the Bookland EAN-13s.” A silly girl from UK was not going to
take me for a ride. We do have internet out here and we do know how to access Wikipedia.
The
silly girl continued, “I am impressed. Let me give you the background of our
interest. Gordon Foster’s SBN code was first introduced to the publishers William
Collins Sons & Co Ltd. They printed about 100 copies each for a few titles.
The books were then sent to the warehouse of W.H Smith group of stores in East London.
Unfortunately before the h books could reach the retail outlets they perished
in a fire in the warehouse. The fire was controlled before lives were lost and
W.H Smith was insured for the loss of books in fire. What you have with you is
one of the books from the original lot.”
“How
is it possible? If all the books perished in the fire…You must be mistaken.” I
said trying to curb my rising heart beats.
“It is
possible. We have proofs from warehouse records which ascertain that a
warehouse manager, one hmmm Mr. Cornwell, had bought the book from the
warehouse itself. Employees bought goods off the warehouse as it was cheaper
than from retails outlets. Talk about employee welfare in 1960’s”
Cornwell,
John Christopher Cornwell. My head was whirling. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to
cry. The silly girl was going on and on.
“Mr.
Cornwell moved out of UK in late 70s and we were unable to trace him. Madam,
are you there?”
“I am
listening, it’s just overwhelming, all this information...”
“I
know Madam, now listen to me carefully. What you hold is the only remaining
book which contains the first SBN code of the world. It is in every right a patriarch
of all ISBN books. You are now responsible for a piece of history. We are
sending a team to authenticate the book .It is just a procedure although
everyone in rare books section here is convinced of its authenticity. Christie’s
is ready to pay you for this book.”
She
named a price that silenced me with its enormity while my mind made plans,” A
chunk would be mine, chunk Gwen’s and a chunk the charity’s!”
“Off
course, this is only an initial judgement.Once it goes under the hammer it is
all speculation.” She said before hanging up.
Did I
not tell you in the beginning that every book holds within itself more stories
than the one under the title? I grinned, heady with happiness, “What good did ever
come from buying books? Celebrate a retirement party before you hit thirty in a
villa in Spain?”
P:S:
Attention readers!
This is the "story" of a book.All a figment of my imagination.Nevertheless, I do hope something nice like this would happen in my life as well.
P:S:
Attention readers!
This is the "story" of a book.All a figment of my imagination.Nevertheless, I do hope something nice like this would happen in my life as well.
