Helen Farr Sloan (1911-2005, American) ~ WPA Theater, 1935
Rickock
——
"Want to see the store?" Oh, of course, sir. He said hello.
Then he politely rubbed his hands together as he threw a sharp glance through his glasses.
"On the bookshelf on the left at the back of the store, you'll find something that might interest you," he said, "and there we have a set of reprints of books—like 'General Knowledge from Aristotle to Arthur Balfour.' Or maybe you'd like to check out The Late Writers' Tales, a dime per book. "Mr. Speiw," he cried, "show this gentleman our reprinted classics—the dime-a-dime set." ”
He waved at a salesperson and then ignored me.
In other words, he had deduced in a moment what kind of first-class figure I was. Although I went to Broadway avenue to buy a gray-green tweed hat and a pretty tie embellished with coin-sized spots, it didn't help. These little costumes can't hide the inner soul at all. I'm a professor, and he knows this, or, to say the least, he can deduce it at once—it's part of his business as well.
The sales manager of the largest bookstore in ten blocks will not look at customers. He certainly knew that as a professor, I wasn't a good patron at all. Like all professors who visit bookstores, my arrival at the bookstore is tantamount to a wasp flying toward an open jar of marmalade. He knew I would spend two hours in the shop, not hindering this or that, and finally buying a reprint of Plato's Dialogues, or The Complete Essays of John Milton, or Locke's Theory of Human Understanding, or some other similar obsolete.
As for the true literary taste—that is, the ability to appreciate a novel whose cover is like a spring-loaded and with a preface painting, which was published only last month for fifty cents—I do not have, and he knows it.
He looked down on me, of course. But as a maxim in the bookstore industry says, the image of a professor standing in a corner and reading a book can make a bookstore shine. Real customers love this image.
Because of this, even a fashionable manager like Monsieur Selier tolerated my presence in a corner of his bookstore. It was because of this that I had the opportunity to see his skills in dealing with his real customers—I have to admit that his use of them was so successful that it is no wonder that all the people in the publishing world recognize him as undoubtedly a pillar of American literature.
I don't want to stand somewhere like a spy and eavesdrop on someone's conversation. To be honest, I was immediately drawn to a new translation of Epictitus' Ethics. The book was exquisitely printed, well bound, and cost only a dime and an eight cent, so I was immediately tempted to buy it, though it seemed best to flip through it first.
I hadn't finished the first three chapters when suddenly my attention was drawn to the conversation in front of the bookstore.
"Are you sure this is his most recent work?" A woman dressed in asked Mr. Selier.
"Oh, yes, Madame de Laceliette," replied the manager, "I assure you that this is his latest work." Really, they only arrived yesterday. ”
As he spoke, he pointed to a pile of large books. The covers of those books are blue and white, and the colors are quite bright. I could see the two gilded words in the title of the book— "Golden Dream."
"Oh, yes," mr. Selrier repeated, "this is indeed Mr. Slasch's most recent work." It sells well. ”
"That's it," said the lady, "you know, sometimes it's really easy to be fooled: I came here last week and bought two books that looked great, and when I got home I found both old books, published six months ago, I remember. ”
"Oh my God," said the manager in an apologetic tone, "Madame Lasceliere, I'm so sorry. Please let's send someone to get them back and exchange them for another book for you. ”
"Oh, that's okay," said the lady, "of course I'm not going to read them." I gave them to my maid. Anyway, I guess she couldn't see the old and the new. ”
"I don't think she can see it," said Monsieur Selier, with a condescending smile, "of course, madame," he continued to make small talk in the kind gesture of a fashionable bookseller, "and so on from time to time." Yesterday we had such a very headache. One of our most diligent customers came and hurried to buy some books to take to the ship to read. We were still in the dark and couldn't figure out what was going on with him—I think I guess he was just choosing books based on the title, some gentlemen often did—and he picked out two books that came out last year. We immediately called to go to the ship, but unfortunately it was too late. ”
"So, this book," said the lady, while lazily flipping through it, "is this book good?" What is it talking about? ”
"This is a very moving book," said Mr. Selier, "in fact, it is the work of everyone." Critics are saying that the most moving book of the quarter is probably the one. "Mr. Selier paused at this point, and somehow his demeanor reminded me of my style in explaining in a university class that I didn't understand myself." It has a kind of — a kind of power, so to put it this way, a very unusual force, in fact, you can say without exaggeration that this is the most powerful book of the month. "Really," he said, citing a reason why he was more capable of exemplifying it, "it sells very well. ”
"You seem to have a lot of unsold ones." The lady said.
"Oh, we had to stock up in large quantities," replied the manager, "and there was a steady stream of people coming to buy the book." Indeed, you know this is a book that is bound to cause a stir. In fact, in some places, it has been said that the book should not be—" At this point Monsieur Selrier lowered his voice so low, with a look of flattery, that I did not hear the second half of his sentence.
Morning Bath, ex.1896 by Mildred Anne Butler (Irish, 1858–1941)
"Oh yes!" Madame de Lasseriet said, "Well, I want to buy it." In any case, it is time to see what these things that have aroused much discussion are about.
She had begun to button her gloves and readjust the fur scarf that had knocked the Easter card off the counter to the floor. Then something suddenly occurred to her.
"Oh, I almost forgot," she said, "can you send me some books to my house for Monsieur Laceliette to read?" He was preparing to head south to Virginia for a vacation. You know what he likes to read, right? ”
"Oh, that's right, ma'am," said the manager, "that Mr. Lasseriet generally reads—uh—I think he buys mostly—uh—"
"Oh, travel books and other stuff like that." The lady said.
"Great. I think we have here books that Mr. Laceliette loves to read," he said, pointing to the row of beautifully lit books on the shelf on the left, "there is 'Seven Weeks of sahara', seven pieces per book; there's 'Half-Year Ride Tour', which costs six yuan and fifty cents; there's 'Afternoon Oxcart Tour', which is divided into upper and lower volumes, priced at four dollars and three dollars, and a discount of two cents. ”
"I think he's read all these books," said Madame de Lasseriet, "at least I have a lot of books of this kind in my family." ”
"Oh, probably. But you see here, "In the Corfu Cannibals" - oh yes, I think he has this - "In..." - this, I think he has it too. But I'm sure he'll enjoy this book, which arrived this morning, Among the Monkeys of New Guinea. Ten pieces per book, real price. ”
Mr. Sérier put his hand on a pile of new books, which were obviously no less numerous than Golden Dreams.
"Among the Monkeys." He repeated it, and it was almost as if he were soothing the books.
"It seems to be quite expensive." The lady said.
"Oh, it's expensive—it's expensive," the manager repeated enthusiastically, "and lo and behold, Madame De Lasseriet, you're expensive on the illustrations, for real photos." He quickly flipped the pages with his fingers--"Real monkeys, shot with a camera; and good paper, you know at a glance." In fact, Madame, the book alone cost nine dollars and nine cents to make. Of course we don't make any profits, but we still like to sell these kinds of books. ”
Every reader is happy to know the details of book production, and every reader is certainly happy to know that the bookseller is losing money. I realize that these are two axioms that Mr. Selrier espouses in his dealings with his readers.
So Madame de LaSeriet bought "Among the Monkeys of New Geometry" very naturally, and then Monsieur Selier asked a subordinate to write down Madame Lacelière's address on Fifth Street, and then nodded and sent the lady out of the store.
When he returned to the counter, his demeanor was the same as before.
"That monkey book," I heard him say to his assistant, "will be hard to sell." ”
But he didn't have time to think about it further.
Hermenegildo Anglada Camarasa (1872-1959), Los palos, oil on panel
Another lady came into the store.
This time, even a man with less eyesight than Monsieur Selier could see at a glance that she was a sentimental widow from the guest's luxurious dark mourning clothes and gloomy face.
"I want a novel that's new," the manager repeated, "yes, madame, there is a very touching, Golden Dream," —his obsessive attitude toward the title of the book—"a very lovely story, very cute, in fact, Madame, the critics are saying that this is the most touching novel written by Mr. Slash." ”
"Is this book good?" The lady said.
I began to realize that all customers asked that.
"It's beautiful," the manager said, "it's a love story— very simple, sweet, but very moving." Really, book reviews say it's the most exciting book of the month. My wife was reading aloud last night. She was moved to tears, and she couldn't read anymore. ”
"I guess it's a very safe book, right?" The widow said, "I want to buy it for my little daughter." ”
"Oh, very safe," said Mr. Selrier in an almost fatherly tone, "in fact the writing is very traditional, like the respectable and amiable classics of the past," said Mr. Selrier, pausing here, with a distinct glint of doubt in his eyes—"like the works of Dickens, Fielding, Steyn, and others." We sold quite a bit to the clergy, madame. ”
The lady bought a copy of Golden Dream—the clerk bandaged it in green colored paper, and she left the store.
"Do you have any lighter books for the holidays?" One of the next customers asked out loud in a brisk voice—he looked like a stockbroker preparing to travel.
"Yes," replied Monsieur Selrier, his face almost full of smiles, "here is a wonderful book, Golden Dreams, the most humorous book of the quarter—almost to laugh at the dead—and my wife was still reading it aloud yesterday." She couldn't laugh so hard she couldn't read anymore. ”
"How much is a copy, a piece, a piece of five, well, wrap it up for me."
There was a clanging of coins on the counter, and the customer left. It became clear to me what a pitiful place the professors and other academy people who wanted to buy only one dime of The Epictitus and each of the "reprints of masterpieces of world literature" and each of them had a pitiful place in the book sales industry.
"Hello, judge," the manager said to the next customer, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a big belly, "want a marine novel?" Of course, for someone like you who uses a lot of brains, reading novels is undoubtedly a great thing. Here's a recent book, Among the Monkeys of New Guinea, priced at ten dollars and four dollars and five dollars. The production cost alone cost six yuan eight. We're running out. Thank you, Judge. Send it home for you? Good. Good bye. ”
Then the customers came and went, one after another. I noticed that while the bookstore was full of all sorts of books—presumably tens of thousands—Mr. Selier was clearly selling only two of them. Every female customer comes to the store and buys "Golden Dream"; every male customer comes and buys "Among the Monkeys in New Guinea". For this lady, the reason for recommending "Golden Dream" is that it is just suitable for reading during the holidays; for another lady, the reason for recommending it is that it is just suitable for reading after vacation; the third lady buys it as a good friend on a rainy day; and when the fourth lady comes to buy it, it becomes a sunny reading again. Monkey tales are sold as ocean stories, land stories, jungle stories and alpine stories, and the prices vary according to Mr. Terrier's valuation of customers.
After two hours of busyness, the bookstore was idle for a while.
"Wilfred," said Monsieur Selrier, turning to his leading clerk, "I'm going out to lunch. You're going to do your best to sell those two books. We were ready to sell for another day and then pulled it down. I'm going to go to Dorkham-Descont, or the publisher, and kick the ball back to them and see what they do. ”
I felt like I was staying in the shop too long. I walked over with the Epiktitus.
"Hello, sir," said Mr. Selier, who at once again showed professional demeanor, "Epictetus?" A great book. Eight cents. Thank you. Maybe we have something else that might interest you. There are also some second-hand goods in our small rooms, so you may be interested in taking a look. There is a set of Aristotle, on the top and bottom volumes, so finely printed that it is almost indecipherable, and you may like it; there is a copy of Cicero, which arrived yesterday, a good book that was unattainable, and it was a little spoiled by the moisture; I think we also have a copy of Machiavelli, which is very special, almost scattered, and the cover is gone. A rare old book, sir, if you are an expert, you can use it. ”
"No, thanks," I said. Then, out of a curiosity that had long been growing in my heart and that I couldn't resist, I said, "I want that, Golden Dream, and you think it's great, right?" ”
Monsieur Selier glanced at me with his sharp eyes. He knew I didn't want to buy that book, and maybe like other minor characters, he was a bit distracted for a while.
Montague Dawson - Nearing port, The great tea clipper - Early 20th century
He shook his head.
"It's hard to buy and sell," he said, "publishers are cramming us with this kind of stuff, and we have to do our part." They're in trouble, I understand that, and they're expecting us to pull them for a mile. They are advertising on a large scale, and it may be difficult to say whether they can get out. Of course, there is only one chance. No one can say that they will not die. It is quite possible that we can get the church people to rise up and attack this book, and if then we will be saved. Otherwise we have no more hope. You can imagine that this book sucks. ”
"Haven't you read it?" I asked.
"Oops, no!" The manager said. Look at him like a milkman who has been offered a glass of his own milk. "If I try to read that new book, I'll feel good." Don't read them, just tracking their dynamics is enough for me. ”
"But what about the people who bought the books?" I continued, deeply puzzled, "Aren't they disappointed?" ”
Mr. Selier shook his head. "Oh, no," he said, "you know, they're not going to read it." They never read. ”
"But in any case," I said reluctantly, "your wife thinks it's a wonderful novel." ”
Mr. Selier was dumbfounded.
"Sir," he said, "I am not yet married. ”
Hermenegildo Anglada Camarasa (1872-1959, Catalan-Spanish) ~ Florera, 1935
The stock image comes from the web
Copyright belongs to the original author
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