Are Second-Hand Bookshops Ethical?
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If you are looking for a two-sided debate on the ethics of second-hand bookshops, I suggest you look away. This piece is an homage, not a critique; a dedication, not an approbation, to all second-hand bookshops (but especially those around campus).
Admittedly, this article’s title presupposes a weighing up of both sides. However, it does not, to me, necessitate a balanced discourse: I believe second-hand bookshops to be the embodiment of all that is true and good in books.
There is seldom a more fulfilling experience than finding a second-hand bookshop. From the charming and diffident Walden Books tucked away off Camden High Street to the pseudo- sacred placement of Skoob on the periphery of the Brunswick centre, stumbling across a second-hand bookshop in London is never an unwelcome chance.
The perfume of the antiquated; brimming with the aura of wooden shelves and books from bygone eras, careening the sometimes-dusty arrangements, a collection of the stubborn and forgotten that have sieved through the hands of critics and readers alike. The unlikely, the unloved, the failed and unrecognised all have a second life here. They congregate in the hopes of another chance. A renaissance. A new life where they can be rediscovered.
Without second-hand bookshops, lesser-known books would scarcely exist. The classics and the revered would dominate the literary scene. In second-hand bookshops, the less coveted can gather, free from the disdain of book publishers and ‘mainstream’ bookshops that have long since dropped them. We mustn’t forsake works that aren’t at first recognised – we may miss one.
Indeed, possibly the greatest modern literary work of the 20th century was not initially acclaimed. It took 20 years and a subscription to the Army booklist of American WWII soldiers for The Great Gatsby to begin its nascent rise to idolatry. There are countless other examples: Animal Farm, A Brave New World, On The Road, The Handmaid’s Tale and even Lord Of The Rings struggled to gain initial recognition upon their release.
Yes, I hear you, few of these book’s revivals can be accredited solely to second hand bookshops, but the precedent that the shops themselves set is significant to the writing world. They embody the fluidity of our judgement like a river slowly changing its course. We cannot simply forget lessons, stories, information from the past. Yes, some may be useless, inferior books, but some may be underrated axioms of literature. Either way their identities, like us, are never fixed.
Well, isn’t there a provision to read second-hand books already? Don’t libraries do that?
Yes they do! But if someone wants their own copy of a second-hand book, why stop people from selling them? For copyright issues? The copyright remains intact until 70 years after the author’s death; then it’s fair game to be republished by whoever. According to book publisher Farrer, the reselling of a book ‘does not infringe on the rights of the original copyright owner’.
In the realm of bookshops, those that are second-hand are the independent penchants of their kind. Today, high streets are lined with chains: from McDonalds to Holland and Barrett or Pret a Manger (these in particular seem littered across Bloomsbury).
It’s nice, every once in a while, to come across a place that doesn’t have 10 or 50 or 500 sisters. A family shop, a shop that two friends set up in the 70s, or an old man living out his dream. Independent second-hand bookshops are far more human and personable places than somewhere like a Pret ever could be. They bring community and joy to our neighbourhoods.
It’s the Café 49’s, the Momos café, the Lever and Bloom coffees that we think of when we recall the fortitude of spirit in Bloomsbury; not the Prets! Some are the nexus of their communities, others a mere glimpse on your way to work, but they all share a similar purpose.
Admittedly, the Waterstones on Gower Street is pretty awesome. But I’m willing to bet that if it were independent, it would be even cooler.