New Hampshire book fair, 2016
New Hampshire book fair 2024
Old friend Lisa Holly of James Arsenault & Company walked into the Everett Arena this past Saturday morning and said to me, “Ghosts.”
I knew exactly what she meant.
We’ve been doing this poor fair for so long that the entire arena (former home of the vaunted hockey team “The Budmen”) was crowded with them. And not necessarily in a creepy way, either. They lingered in dusty spaces in the eves, in the huge vacancy at the back of the hall, in the dusty parking lot. They presented themselves as shards of images from all the dozens of New Hampshire Book Fairs – dating back to the glory days of the Highway Hotel in the 1980s, through John Hendsey and Laura Barr/Parr, Garry Austin for a moment, Marvin Getman, and most recently Richard Mori.
They were memories of people – many no longer with us – of great buys, of costly mistakes. Of rollicking lunches and dinners, all flittering around the vast, empty arena. Yeah, you’ve got it. The Thrill of Victory and the Agony of… well, the agony of admitting that there weren’t many victories. Just enough of them to keep us coming back. And now we’re a dying breed, and little provincial book fairs like this one are where we go to die. Which, of course, is where the ghosts come from.
Sixteen dealers set up at this year’s show.
Richard told me he’ll do it again next year.
I probably will, too.
Aargh…..Ye Old Odyssean Flagilator….
Sixteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest —
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest —
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
No mortal place at all ..aye that.
Captain Bawb
Wow. 16 dealers is hardly a quorum.
I like the phrase “shards of images from all the dozens of New Hampshire Book Fairs.” Ever think about taking up writing books instead of selling them?
Ugh. I think I started doing those fairs even before Greg – latter half of the seventies. The glory that was Rome, sort of. The original nearby venue, the N.H. Highway Hotel, was eventually torn down to be replaced (for the better in my view) by, among other things, an L.L. Bean outlet. The fair was run in its early years on a sensible, no nonsense Yankee basis: set up early am, open around 9, closed at 4. Those among us who are very early birds enjoyed parking lot schmoozing and trade. While the local Concord cuisine in the early years was meager, that improved, as did the N.H. State Liquor Store, conveniently located on the interstate for those looking to both eliminate and resupply liquids. What didn’t improve was the slow, steady decline of exhibitors and trade. I didn’t even go this year.
Yikes. Looks like a virtual ghost town!
Sigh. Ghosts indeed. The view from the perspective of the collector is similar to that of Sonny in the Bogdanovich movie The Last Picture Show. Sam the Lion has died, as has Billy the simple shop boy. Sonny goes back to the pool hall he inherited from Sam and looks in from the door as the uncompromising early morning Texas light fills the room. No words. No music. Just the despair of seeing it for the first time as it really was, dirty, dark, empty, lifeless…
I know we have all said it before, I liked finding books for myself. I liked the company of real people.
An era has ended.