A bit of The Other
Column 3: Old, new, borrowed, blue
By Christopher Lomas
7th October 2011
If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of fan are you?
I guess we’re all anoraks underneath it all. (And I use the term in its least pejorative sense – as in, “Oh what a lovely anorak”!) But what I mean is, are you the type of fan who can quite cheerfully pick up a very second hand copy of ooh, let’s say, The Death of Art, read it, enjoy it, and add it to your collection? Or, are you a bit more selective?
Picture it. The quick thrill of discovery comes first. You can see it halfway across the shop – it’s a Bucher-Jones, it’s got the revamped cover design of a Psi Powers era New Adventure. It’s there for the taking…
Now, people in category A will pick it up, quite possibly skip merrily to the counter and pay their 50 pence. We’re in a charity shop, clearly.
But it doesn’t work like that for people in category B. Poor unhappy souls. Trust me, I know. For the B team there’s no skipping, just a shifty, sweaty little ritual of inspection. It’s the collector’s psychosis. It’s not enough that you want this book, first you have to establish if it’s in a fit state to join the collection?
Shrink wrap
It’s an odd thing this insistence on perfection. I’m sure we’ve all experienced it. If not with Doctor Who books, then maybe with album sleeves, or, trading cards, or, erm, tomatoes. And it makes me wonder just where it comes from.
Granted, a near mint collection of books is a splendid thing. But, there’s something to be said for a well-read bookshelf too. For all those books with a worn patina, a mid-life bulge and a carefree tan.
So the big question is: what’ll make us happier? Owning The Death of Art, or reading The Death of Art? Hmm, perhaps that’s not the best example I could have chosen. I think my head’s about to explode.
You can pick up any number of New Adventures on eBay. If you’re not too bothered what condition they’re in, I reckon you could complete the collection (with a few notable exceptions) in a couple of weeks. And that’s without having to pay an ‘as-new’ premium. Maybe some of us have done that. But I’d bet a good many more have been biding their time. Waiting for the hard-up hoarder to let their near mint copy of So Vile a Sin out for bids. Or better yet, waiting for the reprints!
Is it a status thing? You show me your collection, I’ll show you mine? Is it a compulsive thing? Didn’t Gary Gillatt once say we were probably all a bit autistic? I’m willing to believe that. What else could explain my fervent compulsion to own those far-too-lovely new Target reprints, when I’ve got the originals slowly compositing on the shelf?
Four hundred yawns
I went to Galaxy 4 recently. The shop, not the actual galaxy. (It’s good, you should go.) I was looking for old books, and by golly, I found some – in great condition too. But it occurred to me that there was something ever so slightly disquieting about buying old books ‘as new’. (I bought some anyway.) They’re old, but mostly pristine. It feels wrong somehow. Like Waterfield’s antiques. Each book a potential ‘trigger’. I was half expecting to fall foul of a medium atomic weight. Probably Silver. At least he was actually in Doctor Who.
Books that are obviously second hand are altogether different. They’ve got a life story. They’ve been around a bit, been read once or twice. They may even have had more than one owner. And like all of us, it shows. I’m getting ever so slightly dog-eared at forty. So it’s probably not surprising that that old copy of Warlock I bought cheap on eBay is starting to show its age.
Monster!
I do love the irresistible sheen and crisp edges of a new book. When you open it up and dive in, you know you’re the first. And any little dings or dents it accumulates along the way are yours alone.
But when I think about my collection, my absolute favourite thing is the Doctor Who Monster Book from 1976ish. It’s falling apart at the seams. The cover is crazed like old china, and it’s just about hanging together with strong brown tape and sheer bloody-mindedness. It doesn’t matter. I loved that book. Loved everything about it. And every wrinkle and tear and crease shows you just how much.
So my little fingers weren’t quite as circumspect as they might have been. But little fingers are like that. There are two new sets of little fingers in my house now. They prod and poke and prise things out of cupboards and off shelves when you’re not looking. They’re drawn inexorably to pristine things most of all. So I can’t afford to be too choosy about grading or near mint classifications. Not any more. Not if I want my children to actually enjoy this stuff.
So maybe that’s it then. Or that’s my excuse anyway. I’ve been hoarding all this stuff – keeping it in perpetually perfect condition – just for them. So that they can pore over it all a million times, trace over the pictures, daub a million colours over Colin Baker’s black and white comic strip coat. So they can enjoy the things I enjoyed. I think I like the sound of that.
Not the New Adventures though eh? Not yet. Let’s just leave them on a shelf until they’re a little bit older shall we. Let’s give it twenty years. Ish.
A or B?
Category A or B then... Well, I think it’s fair to say that I used to be one, but now I’m definitely a bit of the other.
I guess we’re all anoraks underneath it all. (And I use the term in its least pejorative sense – as in, “Oh what a lovely anorak”!) But what I mean is, are you the type of fan who can quite cheerfully pick up a very second hand copy of ooh, let’s say, The Death of Art, read it, enjoy it, and add it to your collection? Or, are you a bit more selective?
Picture it. The quick thrill of discovery comes first. You can see it halfway across the shop – it’s a Bucher-Jones, it’s got the revamped cover design of a Psi Powers era New Adventure. It’s there for the taking…
Now, people in category A will pick it up, quite possibly skip merrily to the counter and pay their 50 pence. We’re in a charity shop, clearly.
But it doesn’t work like that for people in category B. Poor unhappy souls. Trust me, I know. For the B team there’s no skipping, just a shifty, sweaty little ritual of inspection. It’s the collector’s psychosis. It’s not enough that you want this book, first you have to establish if it’s in a fit state to join the collection?
Shrink wrap
It’s an odd thing this insistence on perfection. I’m sure we’ve all experienced it. If not with Doctor Who books, then maybe with album sleeves, or, trading cards, or, erm, tomatoes. And it makes me wonder just where it comes from.
Granted, a near mint collection of books is a splendid thing. But, there’s something to be said for a well-read bookshelf too. For all those books with a worn patina, a mid-life bulge and a carefree tan.
So the big question is: what’ll make us happier? Owning The Death of Art, or reading The Death of Art? Hmm, perhaps that’s not the best example I could have chosen. I think my head’s about to explode.
You can pick up any number of New Adventures on eBay. If you’re not too bothered what condition they’re in, I reckon you could complete the collection (with a few notable exceptions) in a couple of weeks. And that’s without having to pay an ‘as-new’ premium. Maybe some of us have done that. But I’d bet a good many more have been biding their time. Waiting for the hard-up hoarder to let their near mint copy of So Vile a Sin out for bids. Or better yet, waiting for the reprints!
Is it a status thing? You show me your collection, I’ll show you mine? Is it a compulsive thing? Didn’t Gary Gillatt once say we were probably all a bit autistic? I’m willing to believe that. What else could explain my fervent compulsion to own those far-too-lovely new Target reprints, when I’ve got the originals slowly compositing on the shelf?
Four hundred yawns
I went to Galaxy 4 recently. The shop, not the actual galaxy. (It’s good, you should go.) I was looking for old books, and by golly, I found some – in great condition too. But it occurred to me that there was something ever so slightly disquieting about buying old books ‘as new’. (I bought some anyway.) They’re old, but mostly pristine. It feels wrong somehow. Like Waterfield’s antiques. Each book a potential ‘trigger’. I was half expecting to fall foul of a medium atomic weight. Probably Silver. At least he was actually in Doctor Who.
Books that are obviously second hand are altogether different. They’ve got a life story. They’ve been around a bit, been read once or twice. They may even have had more than one owner. And like all of us, it shows. I’m getting ever so slightly dog-eared at forty. So it’s probably not surprising that that old copy of Warlock I bought cheap on eBay is starting to show its age.
Monster!
I do love the irresistible sheen and crisp edges of a new book. When you open it up and dive in, you know you’re the first. And any little dings or dents it accumulates along the way are yours alone.
But when I think about my collection, my absolute favourite thing is the Doctor Who Monster Book from 1976ish. It’s falling apart at the seams. The cover is crazed like old china, and it’s just about hanging together with strong brown tape and sheer bloody-mindedness. It doesn’t matter. I loved that book. Loved everything about it. And every wrinkle and tear and crease shows you just how much.
So my little fingers weren’t quite as circumspect as they might have been. But little fingers are like that. There are two new sets of little fingers in my house now. They prod and poke and prise things out of cupboards and off shelves when you’re not looking. They’re drawn inexorably to pristine things most of all. So I can’t afford to be too choosy about grading or near mint classifications. Not any more. Not if I want my children to actually enjoy this stuff.
So maybe that’s it then. Or that’s my excuse anyway. I’ve been hoarding all this stuff – keeping it in perpetually perfect condition – just for them. So that they can pore over it all a million times, trace over the pictures, daub a million colours over Colin Baker’s black and white comic strip coat. So they can enjoy the things I enjoyed. I think I like the sound of that.
Not the New Adventures though eh? Not yet. Let’s just leave them on a shelf until they’re a little bit older shall we. Let’s give it twenty years. Ish.
A or B?
Category A or B then... Well, I think it’s fair to say that I used to be one, but now I’m definitely a bit of the other.