Grumpy Old Antiquarians
CHRISTOPHER EDWARDS

In mid-February, most of the American, much of the British and a little of the European antiquarian book trade gathers in California for a few days. It is the time of the annual California Book Fair-alternating between Los Angeles and San Francisco - and those who aspire to know the state of the higher end of the trade, at any rate in the English-speaking world, have to be there. Envious, even dreamy, looks from strangers usually greet the information that one is off to San Francisco at this time of year - how marvellous to get away from snowy England for a week, to watch the sea-lions at Pier 39, to take a cable car up Nob Hill or just to enjoy some winter sunshine.

On the other hand, four days in a vast converted tram shed next to a flyover is not everyone's idea of fun, even in San Francisco, and sunshine - both real and metaphorical - was not much in evidence. Although warmer than at home, the weather was rainy and the roof of the Concourse Exhibition Centre leaks in unpredictable places, so that the books on a few dealers' stands acquired some extra damp marks overnight.

This was the 42nd California book fair, and although there was some apprehension about the volume of business (in the event, not as bad as feared), there is no likelihood that book fairs will go away. Their rise, since they were first tried in London in the late 1950s, has been continuous if not steady (there was some over-expansion, inevitably). It has been matched by the decline of book shops. At the more expensive end of the trade, this is not only because of steeper rents or the internet or the decline of literacy. It is because most booksellers don't really like people - or, at least, they don't like them as much as they like books.

Run a shop and you are constantly having to talk with strangers, most of whom don't see the world the way you do or who insist on asking impossible questions ("Why is this book worth so much?" - because I say so; because I like it; because it's mine) when all you want to do is read a catalogue or collate a book. No wonder the antiquarian book trade has retreated to private offices or houses, and has embraced the internet like no other. You can connect with your own kind, like whales across oceans, and the rest of the world can leave you in peace.

The bookseller E.P. Goldschmidt once said that his ideal customer would be one who every so often ordered a very expensive book, by postcard.