The thing about library book sales is that I somehow feel that I am obliged to buy something, or more that buying something is a Good Deed. Not that it makes any sense—the ten cents I gave them for a paperback Sphere Books 1968 copy of Only When I Larf won’t be worth the time of the volunteers to count or to place in the cash box. On the other hand, bookfinder seems to indicate that they couldn’t get more than a dollar for the thing, so it’s not like I’m ripping them off. And I’m, you know, participating.
Of course, the odds are that I will donate this copy to a different library; it’s not the sort of book I expect I’ll want to read again. And that library may well get as much as fifty cents for it, as I doubt they will want to put the thing in circulation. Check that—I’ve looked in the catalogue of my local and they have two copies of the American reprint (Laugh, not Larf, Myseterious Press 1987), and one of them is currently checked out. Perhaps the local crowd has more Len Deighton completists than the vacation library’s patrons. Most likely, though, two copies is enough, and this copy will end up on the sale shelf again.
And perhaps it will be picked up by somebody prowling for an airplane book, who will pay the fifty cents out of a vague sense that it’s for a good cause, use the book to while away a plane ride, and then donate it to his own library. Around and around again, each library making a trifle of money but not enough to pay for the trouble it causes, first when one fellow donates it and then when another fellow buys it. All for a good cause.
Thank you,
-Vardibidian.