A guest post from Georgetown undergraduate student Amanda Zhao on winning the 2024 National Collegiate Book Collecting Contest as a freshman and the people she's met along the way.
Lawrence of the Book Collecting Scene
At the beginning of Freshmen year, I visited the Booth Family Center for Special Collections biweekly to read the 1st American Printing Edition of Revolt in the Desert (1927), British Colonel T.E. Lawrence’s embellished memoir about his role in the Arab Revolt— the Sharif of Mecca’s rebellion against the Ottoman Empire that dominoed into the creation of the modern borders of the Middle East. Although there were several recounts Lawrence revised and rewrote (Oxford Text, Subscribers Edition, etc), Revolt in the Desert was the first and only narrative Lawrence intended to publish to the masses. This book is exceptionally beautiful: A leatherette cover, 16 unique prints of military leaders, a folding map of the Hejaz and Levant regions (3 piece), etc.
I’ve hunted for this edition of Revolt in the Desert since high school, taking interest not only in the conflict presented, but most importantly in how the author concocts his own mythology, transforming the man-in-a-period-of-history into the historical figure— T.E. Lawrence into Lawrence of Arabia. I successfully found this book in 12th grade in the private collection of a rare books dealer. Unfortunately, at the time the price was too high ($75); after showing him the folding map, he raised the price to $110 and sold it the following day. When I moved to Georgetown for college, I was extremely happy to discover the Booth Center had the same edition. Despite this, whenever I visited a bookstore or estate sale, I always held out a glimmer of hope I would find it.
In April, I attended the estate sale of a deceased history professor and found a 1st American Printing Edition of Revolt in the Desert. To my surprise, glued inside was an original advertisement for the book and over a dozen newspaper clippings about the Middle East folded between the pages. I contacted Jay Sylvestre, the Rare Books Curator, about my discovery and we scheduled a meeting to compare the two copies. We began our search at the edition notice page; the only difference was the very obvious missing George H. Dorian Company logo on my version. Most likely, the Booth Center book was an earlier print where the printer forgot to include the logo, a mistake revised in my book.
The next month, I was sponsored by Special Collections to attend the Capitol Rare Book Fair. I found a 1st Trade Edition of Seven Pillars of Wisdom selling for $600. Seven Pillars of Wisdom was the longer edition of Revolt in the Desert written for friends and subscribers of Lawrence. The book at the fair had multiple two-piece folding maps scattered between the pages. The maps in both books marked Lawrence’s route in red. As for the prints, they were all unique from Revolt in the Desert and greater in quantity. Although the seller offered to lower the price to $500, it was still out of my budget.
Over the summer, I submitted my collection of war histories along with my essay— “War’s Little People”— to the National Collegiate Book Collecting Contest. To my surprise, I won. In September I attended the award ceremony, which was hosted at the Library of Congress. I visited the private Rosenwald room and was shown part of its collection. The most interesting books displayed were the copies of Leaves of Grass (Walt Whitman) and A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers (Henry David Thoreau) the two authors had gifted each other on a chance encounter before stardom. By chance, the Library of Congress discovered the books in their stacks and reunited them a hundred years later. Inside were notes describing the event from the two authors; while Thoreau's writing was smaller and description simple, Whitman’s was large and extremely boisterous. Later on, we saw a Wood Common Press before attending the award ceremony. I met book dealers of all stripes and learned about German author ETA Huffman— who I had no idea wrote The Nutcracker— from the second-place winner, Dennis Schaefer.
Beautiful Strangers: The Importance of Book Collecting in Connecting Individuals
The Bookshop Ladies
At the beginning of freshman year, I discovered the Lantern Bookshop near the intersection between P Street and Wisconsin Avenue on my quest to find a 1st American printing of Revolt in the Desert (1927) by T.E. Lawrence. Although I soon realized this store did not have such a specific book, I became a regular volunteer and visitor; I was even ennobled with the title of premium client for my patronage. In the confines of this secondhand bookstore, I was free to confer my interest in literature upon the women who ran the store, all retired from government or humanities-related jobs, and avid collectors themselves. We conversed passionately about the books that lined the shelves, bickered over my indecisiveness during purchases, and tearfully made up by the next visit through passionate speeches on the importance of literature. I’ve come to know each of the personalities who ran the store. There was the auburn-haired lady who collected museum slides and told me she was taking her husband’s 1st trade edition of Seven Pillars of Wisdom to the grave (unfortunate). There was the mother and daughter duo who spent every Sunday pricing books. There was the lady who always wore a cardigan and hairclips and maintained the bubbly personality of a young girl. Through their support and interest in me as both an individual and a reader, I became more confident in my definition as a collector.
The Deceased
The deceased are unknown friends I have grown to care about. They are a domineering presence at estate sales, their personas radiating from the books picked apart and tossed around by the vulturous living. Through their shelving methods, collections, and the information they add to their books, you view snippets of their lives. There is one man in particular who haunts me, an old professor of Scottish history, whose estate sale I visited last spring. He collected tens of thousands of histories. Each book included newspaper clippings of related events and his signature. From him, I finally obtained the long-coveted Revolt in the Desert at the discounted price of $10. Although I thought I left him peacefully in his home, while wandering through Second Story Books less than a month ago, I encountered a series of Baedeker’s travel guidebooks— little red books about various countries with extremely detailed and colorful pullout maps. As I was flipping through a book on Southern Germany, a yellowed sheet of paper fell out. I turned to the first page and encountered an old friend— perhaps cursed to follow me to the grave for robbing him of something beloved at such a cheap price. As I was told at the National Collegiate Book Collecting award ceremony, it's funny how small the book-collecting community is.
A German, a Medievalist, and the Nation’s Finest Librarians
When I imagine a librarian, I envision a graying woman, possibly of a smaller, bonier build, dressed semi-conservatively, an amalgamation of all the librarian archetypes I’ve encountered in media and my grandmother who was the Editor in Chief of the National Library of China. During the event preceding the award ceremony at the Library of Congress, I was surprised to discover most of the librarians in special collections were young women of various builds and fashion senses with liberal attitudes towards international affairs, but all welcoming and extremely knowledgeable about books. I observed the difference in details between pre printing press and post printing press botany books from the renaissance and learned about Houdini’s scrapbooks and the 70 or so wizards who visit annually to master his secrets. Outside these women and the older book dealers who tagged along, I also met my fellow recipient, a Princeton student from Cologne, Germany who was receiving his PhD in German literature, who was an extremely eloquent speaker. He brought along a local friend, an inquisitive gay Medievalist who I thought would make a great collector in the future. There is no archetype for a book collector, only people.
The Doughgirl
They were called the Attrition Warfare Club, the group of older students you would find sitting at the back of Leo’s for breakfast some weekdays to discuss military tactics and share history jokes. For the longest time, I’ve wanted to join their ranks, yet felt too shy and intellectually incompetent and used my reading addiction as a distraction from my woes. It began when a guy I called Tintin noticed I was reading Berlin Diary and told me it was wonderful to see freshmen reading. Then I told Kipling I read his national epic: The Tale of Kieu. I gave Tolkien a good laugh by reading Empress of the East with its cover turned up, outstretched above me to protect its pages through a rainstorm. By chance, I read the exact edition of On Guerrilla Warfare Delta Force used for his senior thesis. Socrates gave me the unique complement of Dostoevsky’s Idiot: A good and noble soul. CaptainSparklez suggested I read the Civil War book The War for the Common Soldier. I explained how reading helped me cope with stressful social situations to War Machine after narrating The Good Man of Nanking. And one day I ended up sitting at their table. My passion for reading wasn’t useless, it made me unique. The recognition and connection I received from my hobby inspired confidence and determination to continue pursuing the intellectual life. Although I still spoke in uneven bursts of translated ideas, I was determined to be as fluent as the Attrition Warfare Club in the language of history and military theory.
Jay
At the Booth Center, there is a lean, well-dressed man with a head of brown hair and clear skin. He did not infuse his soul into a portrait, nor make a deal with Mephistopheles to maintain his youth, he simply chose to work a job he was passionate about and bestow his wisdom and compassion on those with a similar love. I first met Jay when I began visiting the Booth Center biweekly to read Revolt in the Desert and kept him updated on my collecting journey. It was Jay who I first contacted when I finally purchased my own Lawrence book. He introduced me to the idea of competitive book collecting and provided me with the definition for my obsession with buying old military histories: I was a book collector. I will always be indebted to his support of my collecting journey— my growth and my victories— as well as his support of my projects for Lauinger Library. I guess me and Jay be tight like that.