I am a poor writer with an antiquarian taste in books and all the things I want are impossible to get over here except in very expensive rare editions, or in Barnes and Noble's grimy, marked-up schoolboy copies. The phrase 'antiquarian book-sellers' scares me somewhat, as I equate 'antique' with expensive. Your ad in the Saturday Review of Literature says that you specialize in out-of-print books. I’m certainly glad I bought it used, because my 1990 Penguin printing has the price $9.95 printed on the cover, and while I quite enjoyed it for what it is, that would have been too expensive for this. It’s a fast read, since it’s short and many of the pages are just partially filled. I gave up after deciding it wasn’t important. I did have some trouble mentally translating the prices of the books from the mid-20th century to what they could possibly cost today. Quite a number of letters are obviously missing, mainly those from Hanff to Marks & Co, since the Marks & Co letters are clearly in reply to ones not in the book. But she also seems to really like them, as for some of the post-war years, when the United Kingdom has severely restricted rations on various food times, she spends quite a bit to send them care packages with meats, eggs, and things, and nylon stockings for the women. Hanff’s humor is often pretty sharp, almost insulting to the booksellers for not being fast enough, or sending a book that disappoints her. It covers from her first mail order with them in 1949 till 1969. Hanff in New York City, and various employees, but mainly Frank, from a bookstore, Marks & Co, in London where she orders a lot of used books.
While a pretty old book now, I just caught up with “84, Charing Cross Road” by Helene Hanff, and found it a delightful little book.
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