The Bookstore on an Island (part 2 of 2)

A recent discovery in a Scottish antiquarian bookstore has allowed modern scholars to study the goings on at Leed’s Books in more detail. A ledger, written in Mr. Leed’s own careful handwriting, has been found. It enumerates in long lists the books (inscribed with the author, edition, year of publication, and notes on the quality) with their prices and dates of sale or acquisition, over the course of two years. From this document, we know that a surprisingly large array of titles that passed through the bookstore, and how quickly titles often found their way onto the shelves and were sold off again. Among the titles Leed’s Books acquired or sold over the course of those two years are: two Gutenberg bibles; one of the Shakespeare folios, in excellent quality; a fragment of the Magna Carta; four first editions, two of them signed, one with annotations by Virginia Woolf, of Joyce’s Ulysses (each of these were never present on the shelves for more than three months, being sold off rather quickly, which is surprising when we consider the pristine signed copy Cathach Books, in Dublin, has had for the last 50 odd years, and has never been able to sell); first, signed editions of The Picture of Dorian Gray, Frankenstein, The Sun Also Rises, Moby Dick, Gulliver’s Travels, and The Hobbit; 36 pages from the second edition of The Canterbury Tales, illustrated with woodcuts by William Caxton; first editions of Milton’s Paradise Lost and Galileo’s Sidereus Nuncius; Macchiavelli’s copy of Plato; Milton’s copy of the Bible; Byron’s copy of The Rape of the Lock; Joyce’s copy of the Odyssey; Hitler’s personal, annotated copy of Nietzche’s Beyond Good and Evil; Pound’s copy of the Divina Commedia; Eliot’s copy of Donne…

This ledger is an important find for book historians, and allows a glimpse at how Leed managed his business. If there was no apparent organization to the books throughout the store, Mr. Leed was extremely meticulous in keeping track of which books entered and left the premise, as well as keeping careful notes on the pricing and quality of his prodyct. Indeed, Mr. Leed seems to have had a special talent for pricing rare books, which is particularly difficult for bookstores specialized in the old and rare, since they can’t rely on wealthy auctioneers to fight over the books and fix the prices through competition. However, always satisfying the customer with just prices considerably diminished profits, but may have helped in securing the reputation of the store, and make up for its geographical inaccessibility. All exterior accounts of agents and patrons visiting Leed’s Books agree on how knowledgeable and helpful Mr. Leed was. He also seemed to do absolutely everything in the store, from answering the phone (which rang almost constantly, calls coming in from around the world) to preparing tea or lemonade for customers who were browsing for a long time.

Sometime at the turn of the century, Leed’s books ceased to be a popular bibliophilic destination and slipped into oblivion. The 2000’s, characterized by a general disinterest in rare and antique books, a diminution in the circulating of rare materials (most old books having been acquired by libraries, museums, and public collections), and the economic crisis that marked the period, made for tough times throughout the rare and antique books industry. It was the end for Leed’s Books. It remains unclear exactly when the bookstore closed and where the remaining product, which must have been quite substantial in both quality and quantity, went. The store must have started with Mr. Leed owning a few rare books, selling them, and obtaining others in exchange, until his home came to be filled with books. Perhaps in the same way he started selling off his books without acquiring anything new, until he had nothing left to sell.

By 2010, people had stopped going to Leed’s Books altogether, until a large London auction house, finding a reference to the strange bookstore on an island in one of their files, sent an agent to investigate, hoping they could profit from some kind of liquidation sale. The agent dispatched to Tiga found the old colonial house deserted, in terrible condition, and apparently empty. A simple “closed” sign had been nailed on the front door, indefinitely. As for Mr. Leed himself, he had very probably left the island by this time, never to be seen again in the book world.

Despite the decrease in the interest for actual ink-and-paper books in the last decades and the little impact Leed’s Books has actually had on more popular forms of book culture and literary dissemination, it is important that this most exceptional institution not be forgotten. It should remain in the collective imagination as a last haven, symbol of an era in literature, and a beacon of hope for book-lovers, past, present, and future. Indeed, the fantastic aura, the beauty of the place on a cultural level, demands that it be remembered.

One must imagine a shipwrecked person – shipwrecks were a recurring problem in the South Pacific until the end of the 20^th century – washed up on the shores of what he expects to be a deserted island. One must try to understand and admire the surprise, the pleasure, the sense of awe brought on by the incredible power of art and old things, as this salt-caked, exhausted survivor makes his way up the beach and comes face to face with the elegant colonial front with its large block letters: “Leed’s Books”. Imagine his delight as he enters the bookshop, as he is greeted by the gentle smile of Mr. Leed, offered a cold glass of lemonade, and is allowed to browse for a few hours in absolute safety and peace.