Ever been slightly stunned by something on your bookshelf?

Cafe Society
1

No, I don’t mean having the piles of books fall on your head when you tug out the bottom volume. I mean finding something on your bookshelf that you either hadn’t realized was there, or had completely forgotten about, or some such thing.

I just picked up an old, somewhat beat-up paperback copy of The Code of the Woosters from my shelf, intending to look something up. I think I got this particular book from my MIL, who picked it up at a library booksale with some other Wodehouse and passed them on to me. As I opened the book and flipped past the first few pages, something caught my eye on the title page.

This book is signed by the author. It says “P G Wodehouse” right under the title.

I own a signed copy of a Jeeves and Wooster book. How odd is that? There must be a lot of them out there floating around, so I don’t imagine it’s anything all that special, but it was certainly a bit surprising, since I hadn’t even known it was there.

So, have you ever found something slightly stunning on your bookshelf?

2

Yes. When I was moving into my house three years ago, I unpacked a case and in with my books found a book-sized box, with a wood-effect cover. I threw it on my bookshelf and forgot about it. A few months later I found it again, and had a closer look. It had the image of a US presidential seal on the front, and inside was a mint condition John F. Kennedy commemorative silver dollar in a presentation box.

I have absolutely no idea where it came from.

It’s even more weird because I have moved house about ten times in the past ten years, and never noticed it during any other move.

3

I was alphabetizing my books a while back and I came across the hardback copy of Dave Barry Slept Here that I got, along with a few dozen others, at a garage sale a few years back. Turns out it was autographed by Dave Barry. (Hey, it may not be as prestigious as P.G. Wodehouse, but does P.G. Wodehouse ever say “booger”? Huh?!)

I also picked up some random book that I had bought at a library sale and found that it was inscribed with something like this:

“To Kris: I read this book when I was a little girl and it changed my life. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Love, Mary.”

And I thought “Hey, my mom has a friend named Kris whose mother is named Mary.” I asked her about it and she asked her friend and, sure enough, that was her book. She never even realized it was no longer in her possession – her husband had donated it to the library by mistake some years before. She was quite happy to get it back. It was just lucky that somebody who knew them happened to buy it.

What I can’t figure out is why her mom signed a book to her daughter “Mary” instead of “Mom” or “Mother” or something…

4

My mother was helping a friend move. While cleaning out a bookcase, a box fell off the top and hit her (my mother) on the head. When she asked what it was, her friend said: “Oh, that’s Rich.” (The friend’s deceased husband.)

5

One of my friends was divorced a few years ago. She moved out of her old house earlier this year. She’s still unpacking the boxes. In one, she recently found a book titled something like A Different Kind of Love. The theme was bondage and discipline in the bedroom – not one of her interests, but most assuredly one of her ex-hubby’s fascinations. Apparently he had left it behind when he moved out, and she (or one of the friends, including me, who helped her pack and relocate) had just thrown the volume into a box without paying any attention to the subject matter.

6

A bit of backstory:

Before you leave Air Force tech school, they make you do this checklist where you go to different places and have people sign off on it. One of the places on this list was something called the Class Six. I had no clue what it was, had never been there, but I had to go there and have someone sign it. So there I was one day, wandering around the base trying to figure out what and where the Class Six was, when I came across the Thrift Store. The Thrift Store was a place I always wanted to visit during the seven months I was there, but they kept really short hours (open for about four hours, in the middle of the day).

I go up to the door. They had just closed, but there were still some people in there. I get their attention, and they open the door and let me in. After I got some directions from them, I asked if I could take a quick look around. They said “sure, why not” and I go and look at the book section. I found an old copy of Red Dragon, a book I’d been looking for unsuccessfully for some time. They let me have it for free. The Class Six, by the way, was a convenience store with a video-rental section and an impressive assortment of booze. They just wanted to know that I didn’t have any rentals out.

So, some time ago I was looking at this copy of Red Dragon and noticed there was only one copyright date on it. I got a first edition of Red Dragon for free.

7

I have no idea whence came my copy of Gulliver’s Travels. No, it’s not first edition or autographed or anything like that; I just don’t know where I got it. Well, beyond “underneath that pile of old papers at the bottom of bookshelf #2”.

8

I have an unabridged edition if Gulliver’s Travels. What stuns me about this is I’ve never seen another one anywhere.

9

Turns out the copy of Animal Farm I own, which I got from my grandmother’s shelves, is a first american edition.

Freaky, really.

10

'Nother first-edition: I discovered a few years ago that the paperback of John Brunner’s Stand on Zanzibar I’d had since I was a kid (and read several times: it’s one of my faves) was a first printing. Hardly a world-shaking discovery, and it’s not like I could send someone to college by selling it, but still kind of neat to learn something new about something I’d had for a while. It’s also in pretty darn good condition despite its age and repeated reads.

11

When I was in high school, in 1994, I had an English teacher who really liked me (as a student!) He would always call me aside after class and offer me some books to read on my own from his own personal collection. One day, he offered to lend me “The Catcher in the Rye” (the book was banned by my school, no copies in the library or anything - very frustrating.) I was elated, and took it home and read it. Inside the front cover, he had neatly written his name: Mr. McDonald.
When I had finished reading it, I was supposed to return it, but I kept forgetting to. So, one day, I offered to let Mr. McDonald borrow my only J.D. Salinger book (which I adored) “Nine Stories”. As time went by, and I graduated in 1996, I had never returned his copy of “Cather in the Rye” to him, and so I figured in the end, “Nine Stories” was an even enough exchange and forgot about it.
Somewhere along the line, I lost his book. I searched for it high and low for a couple of years, and could never find it. So, I went out and bought my own copy of it - it didn’t look the same as his copy, his was the older wine-coloured book with the gold title, and mine was the simple, fresh white with the little rainbow stripes in the top left corner.
Years pass…
Last year, I moved, unexpectedly, to my new home, here in Seattle. My (now) husband had never even been to Canada before, let alone my home. I’d moved twice, so all of my material possessions were packed neatly away into three boxes, which had all been packed and unpacked by me, personally, AND inventoried. (I had a sneaky rat of a roomate in the past.) There was only ever my one copy of Catcher in the Rye, the white one with the little rainbow. The one my teacher had “given” me has been missing for well over eight years now. So, my husband came to NB to visit and “pick me up” to take me back to Seattle with him, and all I’d packed was my suitcase. I didn’t bring ANY books, just clothes, a couple of wrapped gifts and a wad of bills. When we got back to his apartment, we arrived together, and I went in first, as he held the door open for me. The first thing I saw was his little bookcase, which I went over to as soon as I dropped my bags, because I thought it was so interesting (it was made entirely of glass). I felt drawn to it, which isn’t horribly weird, because I love books. But in this case, it is a little strange… because I walked up to it, while hubby was still struggling with our luggage, and glanced over his collection (you know the saying… you can tell a lot about someone by his bookshelf). I exclaimed happily “Oh! You have a copy of “Catcher in the Rye”!” It’s the pretty wine-coloured one with the gold writing. I take it off the shelf and open it up. There, on the inside cover, written in the same spot: Mr. McDonald.

Don’t look at me. I have NO idea.

Later, my parents shipped my three boxes to me, and one thing was missing: my little white copy of “Catcher in the Rye”. Mom insists she never took anything out of the boxes, just wrapped them up tightly in duct tape and shipped them.

If my teacher’s copy was somehow donated and made it 3000 miles away to Seattle, I am stunned and proud of that little book. The thing is, my husband has no idea where the book even came from - he swears he would have never purposely purchased it, since he hates that book.

Intensely. Bizarre.