New York Is Book Country No More

New York hasn’t been book country since the tragic day of 9/11,  in my opinion.  Because of the security risks, a tradition died.  Every year the city would have a street fair full of books, authors, publishers, and people wandering up and down a particular part of Fifth Ave in late Sept. Although the fair did try to reestablish itself for a couple of years, after moving to The Village, and then Central Park, it lost much of its luster and girth and finally petered out.

I think the designated starting spot of the fair began outside of Bergdorf Goodman’s, but my mind could be fuzzy on the specifics. There were posters advertising the event, illustrated by some of the finest Children’s artists of their time. Tables were laid out against the curb with the names of publishers attending to hawk their wares–new titles in their catalog. Publishers did not sell their books at booths. But bookstores were amply represented, back when there were many situated on Fifth Ave. At a certain point, the book fair would branch out opposite side streets for antiquarian and collectible titles.

I vaguely remember attending my first one with my mother in tow–she must have been visiting. Early 80s, when Martha Grimes and Ruth Rendell would do in

person book signings. I’d no idea what that was all about at the time. I bought my books second hand or sparingly if a brand new title I couldn’t live without, which was usually a Rendell. I’ve told the story before about which of the two authors were receptive, and which were cold. Having never met a real live author, let alone favorites, I was tongue tied and idiotic repeating what later I came to scorn, probably as much as Ms. Rendell did when I uttered the noxious, “I love your books.”

For many years New York Is Book Country was a must  on my calendar. I’d get there early with a boyfriend, friend, or alone–didn’t matter–I needed that fix of books and people who loved them all in one spot for half a day. I would take any handouts given. Various and sundry freebie goodies flowed –I can’t remember much of what they were, except for one–buttons of the Coney Island logo–a big grinning face. I managed to obtain two–and made them into large earrings. It was the 80s, remember, and jewelry was gigantic. I still have those things, although I am finally purging my possessions and they will probably go. The buttons were advertisement for a very large coffee table type book about–what else, Coney Island and its history, which is storied and fascinating. Unfortunately, the price was special too–too special for the paltry pittance I made from various odd, and I do mean odd, jobs I did to continue taking acting lessons. And more to the point, whatever cash I did have would be laid down for any vintage children’s book that struck my ‘God, I NEED that” nerve. I found a first of a Monro S. Orr Mother Goose–an illustrator I’d never heard of, and even today isn’t well known. His illustrations are excellent in an unusual style–realistic, but with the twist of the people looking similar, and yet individual, if that makes any sense. His work wasn’t vivid or soft–primary colors were used, but the illustrations looked as if they belonged to a much earlier time than the 1930s. His Humpty

Dumpty slays me. I found other wonderful pieces–first editions of  the two Alice in Wonderland titles illustrated by an even odder artist–Peter Newell, best known for The Slant Book, and The Hole Book. If you’ve never seen his work, google him, you’ll get a chuckle or two. His Alice is decidedly different–an not in color. It was there I found the holy grail, Anne Anderson’s Mother Goose. I couldn’t be more elated, and then more deflated when I carefully went through the book and found several entire pages missing from the book. I still wanted it–something was better than nothing–but not at a first edition price, happily the seller felt the same, and it was reduced considerably.

It was also here I met and had signed Maurice Sendak’s book of art, and where Paul O. Zelinsky signed Rumplestiltskin, a wonderful retelling and illustrating of the classic fairy tale. I loved his depiction of old Rumple so much, I made a pin in the character’s image out of polymer clay, and quickly pulled it out to show the author. He seemed completely caught off guard, as if–‘why the hell would any one want to do that?’ But he didn’t have time to ponder my pin– others were clambering for his attention.

Famous people were spotted among the crowds–or if Mayor Koch–you made sure people were aware of your bombastic presence. Koch was sell known in the city for his strolling in any and every fair that existed in the town–yelling at periodic spots “How ’em I doin’?” Woody Allan and his young wife were strolling with kids at one fair. Authors would be everywhere–signing at one table after another. When I became the manager of a mystery bookstore, I was lucky enough to be the one who booked authors for the fair, and set up the signings, handing book after book to author after author. The worst possible thing that could happen was rain–and rain it did, once, later in the day–so the aforementioned Mayor Koch signed his book inside the store–yes, he ‘wrote’ a couple of mysteries. I remember speaking with him about a political personality I wasn’t fond of, and was surprised at his defense of said politico–I had thought in my naiveté that a Democrat mayor, was actually a Democrat, not a conservative pretending to be something else. I learned much later that in NY, you go with what you think the most people expect, and then drive the city into debt accordingly.

This fair was a major money making event for indie bookstores–a real must to help the fiscal year. If we did well, the owner celebrated with dinner at a famous sports restaurant, and we earned bonuses–I have to give the owner great credit for never underpaying a deserving employee. Back when manager, writers such as Dennis Lehane, Michael Connelly, Ed McBain, Donald Westlake would stop by on the half or hour and were timed to finish signing to allow the next author to take their place and pen to paper. We had a carnival atmosphere, with damn hard work. We had to be there to set up at sunrise practically, but it was a real lark to see so many fine writers and appreciative readers. Those two authors, Ruth Rendell and Martha Grimes had signed for the very store I now worked for, I was informed. I was gobsmacked

at the thought of my having the fortune to be in the position I was in. Later, as manager of a different store, the owner decided he would do the book fair–for the first time. Why he’d never done it before was never clear to me. And long after that, as moderator for A&E mysteries.com, I still had a presence at the fair.

I would have attended in 2001 had the city  been braver and allowed it to go ahead as scheduled. But the amount of police etc., would have been costly, and it was so soon after, they felt they couldn’t risk it, I gather. My friends who owned a mystery bookshop, were basically wiped out by the cancellation. The money a business has to invest in such a thing is enormous, and if it doesn’t happen, returning huge amounts of unsigned stock would only get them so much credit in return. The store never really recovered from the blow. It went out of business a couple of years later.

I suppose the lack of indie stores can also be a valid reason for the fair dying. Dwindling individual publishers–those that aren’t conglomerates, may not be enough to make up an entire event. No matter the reasoning behind the continued loss of what was once a vital city happening, I know that I’m not alone in mourning its passing and wish fervently it could be reinvented, a book phoenix rising from the residual ashes of tragedy and reinvigorate the lackluster NY book community.