Death of a bookseller | thearticle

The death of John Saumarez Smith, described in his _Times _obituary as “the greatest, and perhaps last, of the ‘gentleman booksellers’”, prompts melancholy reflections on the passing of the

era of books and bookishness. As Milton wrote, “a good book is the lifeblood of a master spirit” and a personal library, large or small, was until recently indispensable to the pursuit of

the intellectual life. Hence the book trade — not only writers but publishers, booksellers, literary agents and, of course, readers — occupied a unique place in our culture. A shop such as

Heywood Hill, the small but perfectly stocked premises on Curzon Street in Mayfair where Saumarez Smith presided for 43 years, was more than just a business. It was also a meeting place for

aristocrats, actors and spies (the former headquarters of MI5 was nearby). The customers cherished it — and not just because they might be served by Nancy Mitford (who worked there in

wartime) or bump into a visiting royal personage or the 11th Duke of Devonshire, who loved the shop so much that he eventually bought it. When the building was afflicted by dry rot, American

bibliophiles paid for repairs. People trusted Saumarez Smith’s literary judgement and taste enough to let him choose books for them. The Prime Minister’s country house, Chequers, made him

its librarian; the Queen ordered her Christmas presents from Heywood Hill; and John le Carré based a scene there in the televised adaptation of one of his George Smiley thrillers. All this

sounds as though it belongs to the dim and distant past, though it was only 13 years ago when Saumarez Smith parted company from Heywood Hill to join Maggs Brothers, the antiquarian dealers

in nearby Berkeley Square, where he continued to produce “tribute catalogues” for the heirs of distinguished collectors. Bibliomania still exists and will continue for as long as books

survive. Whether the romance of collecting them will do so, however, is less certain. Buying books online, however rare and exquisite they may be, is not the same experience as browsing in

the dusty recesses of a physical bookshop and coming upon an unexpected treasure. Bargains are seldom encountered when everything is priced only after comparison with all other copies of the

same book on sale anywhere in the world. The joy of serendipity is one of the purest and most innocent there is. For people who love books both to read and as objects, but who may shudder

at the negative connotations of “bibliophile”, serendipity has become more elusive.   Fortunately, predictions of the death of the printed book have proved to be exaggerated. New books are

published in ever greater numbers, even if print runs are usually small. In relative terms, new books have probably never been more inexpensive; indeed, most second-hand volumes can scarcely

be given away. Under the influence of social media, our attention spans appear to be shortening and universities now frequently expect students to read only extracts of bulky novels rather

than entire texts. Hence authors and publishers tend to favour brevity as the supreme virtue: the “slim volume” is no longer an object of derision and many are designed with quality rather

than quantity in mind. The Victorians, who first produced cheap editions that placed books within the reach of the newly literate working class, preferred big books in thick volumes, and

plenty of them.   The pleasure of holding in one’s hand an “association copy”, perhaps inscribed by the author to a friend or owned by a person of historical interest, is difficult to

explain. Yet it can be an authentic _frisson, _akin to being in the presence of a major work of art or architecture. Just as the thrill of hearing great music never fades, especially if it

is played to perfection, so the intrinsic interest of great literature gives lasting satisfaction, which is enhanced by the beauty and bibliographical significance of the volume. Every

“pre-owned” book tells its own story, the story of its readers as well as its author, from the marginalia to the bookplate. That story, if one could only reconstruct it, might prove to be as

interesting as the one told by the writer. Hence the catalogues produced by antiquarian booksellers are often fascinating works in their own right, embodying scholarship and detective work

of a high order. These unsung heroes of the book trade deserve our gratitude: for we are but custodians of the books we inherit from the past. I wish I had known John Saumarez Smith, who has

died at 78 after suffering from dementia. (Full disclosure: his younger brother Charles Saumarez Smith, the former head of the National Portrait Gallery, National Gallery and Royal Academy,

is a friend.) Books do more than furnish a room: they can furnish a lifetime of civilisation and companionship. Unlike human beings, books are always there for you and cannot let you down.

Children who never acquire the habit of reading are even more vulnerable than usual to the vagaries of virtual relationships. For a young imagination to develop its full potential, screen

time needs to be balanced with reading time. This Christmas, buy a book, or book token for a child you know. There is probably nothing more precious that you could do for them.