I mentioned in an earlier post that in late July, I became interested in reading classic literature from the 18th and 19th century, and that I chose to build my library by collecting Penguin Classics…specifically, the edition that was ubiquitous only a few years ago, before Penguin went and re-designed their book covers in 2019 and complicated things for me (and many other lovers and collectors of those books).
But interest is too mild a word. It very quickly became a fixation, as things of this nature typically do for me and my ADHD, when something so strongly captivates my attention that I must know all there is to know about it, and get my hands on all there is relating to it.
Because I was needing to buy the books mostly secondhand (I like owning books), scarcity worries set in and the urge to find as many books as I could became all-consuming. I couldn’t shake it. I became preoccupied with it and couldn’t tell when the storm would ease. For about three months finding Penguin Classics became everything to me.
Any chance I got I went, to different thrift stores in the suburbs, to secondhand bookstores all over the city, and to university book sales that are typically held in late summer. I scoured eBay and Facebook Marketplace listings in the hopes of finding used copies in decent condition. Finding them new was even better.
As I’ve mentioned, this is not atypical. Once the idea of wanting something takes its hold, I usually have to see it through. In recent years I’ve been able to work through this and have been able to exercise much more control over these impulses, stretch things out, do proper research, make sure I’m not rushing into things, etc. But this? I couldn’t wait it out, I couldn’t loosen the grip this urge had on me. I kept thinking about how these books were no longer being printed—discontinued, basically—and what if someone finds and grabs one I’m after, on a shelf somewhere out there, before I get to it?
It wasn’t all feverish and frantic anxiety…I did for the most part enjoy the process of digging for gold and the excitement it could bring. There were even days when I could slow down and put the subject aside entirely…but the urge to keep searching would inevitably return upon me.
I got lucky a few times happening across books I was looking for…but none match the exhilaration I felt when I hit the jackpot of Penguin Classics “finds” one late September morning in a parking lot behind a Tim Hortons in the suburbs of Toronto.
I was a few weeks into my “classics-reading journey”, looking through Facebook Marketplace listings, when I came across one showing a photo with a collection of classics, some of which were black spine Penguins.
I immediately sent the seller a message…
Me: Hello. I’m interested in A Tale of Two Cities and David Copperfield. Are they available?
Him: Sure. Pickup at the Tim Hortons across from ——. Thanks.
Me: I can do that. Would tomorrow work, around noon or 12:30?
Him: Any other Dickens you’re looking for…or other literature? 12:30 is good just message when you’re near.
Me: Sure. I’m also looking for Dickens’ Little Dorrit, and Jane Austen’s books but specifically in the Penguin editions. Actually, what classics do you have generally in those Penguin black spine editions?
Him: Absolutely tons. Just give me authors or titles or themes and I’ll bring some for you to consider.
Me: Looking through your other listings now. Didn’t realize you had a lot. I’ll also take Dorian Grey and Middlemarch. Will keep looking.
Him: Also let me know if you are looking for something particular as not all my listings are posted.
Me: Okay. Thanks!
The next morning, I message him:
Me: Hey there. So here are the items you have listed that I’m interested in and some others I’m looking for, specifically in the Penguin editions from about 20 years ago or so, with the thin banner and orange Penguin logo.
I proceeded to list 20 books, 4 of which are from his listings, and 16 others that I’d been generally searching for but were not among his listed items.
Him: Ok I’ll bring a bunch. Message me when you’re near.
Me: Will do, thanks.
A couple of hours later I drove to our meeting spot, a Tim Hortons (Canadian quick-serve-type coffeehouse chain) spot out in the suburbs. I’d had an errand to run before the meetup from which I was done sooner than expected, so I messaged him to see if he could meet at 11:30am instead, an hour earlier than we had planned. He responded in agreement, saying that he was only a few minutes away.
I took the usual safety precautions of texting my sister where I was going and with whom I was meeting, and telling her to check in with me if she doesn’t hear from me by 12pm. Beyond that, I wasn’t too worried, as we were meeting in a public place in broad daylight and at a popular spot. He asked me to park in the back near the drive-thru. Again, I wasn’t too concerned, as that Tim’s was located near a train station and the area is very open with many cars constantly coming in and out of the parking lot. There is also a frequently-used bus stop positioned just across from the entrance into the drive-thru lane.
As I pulled into the lot, parked my car, and got out to look around, I was struck by how amusing the situation seemed. Standing there by my car in this nondescript parking lot behind a nondescript coffee shop in a nondescript neighbourhood, it was hard not to feel like we were meeting to make some sort of illicit transaction, like I was taking part in a shady exchange over items sold out of the back of someone’s car…which is exactly what was happening.
I had to laugh.
I checked my phone. There was a message from him indicating where he was parked nearby. I walked over.
Images taken from Google Maps—these are not our cars.
We had barely said our hellos when within a blink, as if magically appearing between his thumb and forefinger, he thrust a small card towards me and shared that he makes cooking videos on Youtube and would appreciate if I checked them out. Still registering what was happening, I looked down at the card in my hand displaying the name of his cooking channel and the link to it.
I found the whole thing comically bizarre and somewhat endearing, and again, I just had to laugh.
He then moved to flip up the door to the trunk of his minivan—and my jaw dropped. He had over 50 books stacked on top of each other filling up a small and deep cardboard crate. I couldn’t believe it, I thought my eyes were surely deceiving me. Was I really seeing before me so many of these Penguin Classics collected in one spot, the very same ones I’d been running around for weeks looking for, and of which I was lucky if I found one or two at a time scattered around the city?
Allow me to explain. Scroll back up to our message conversation above and look to where he says, “Absolutely tons. Just give me authors or titles or themes and I’ll bring some for you to consider.” Well, my brain never registered the first part of that message…I probably never even read it. At the time, I was intently looking through his listings (he had 100s of them) and switching back and forth to our message thread to ask questions and see his responses (the exchange shared above is truncated/edited down), and I only read the part about providing the names of authors and books I was looking for, and that he would bring some for me to consider. Even when he later said he’d “bring a bunch”, I really was only expecting to get the four books I asked for, and maybe a handful of others that he may have had lying around. So I was genuinely astonished at the amount of books I saw there in front of me. It felt like he’d opened the cover to a trunk full of sparkling treasure! It was only later that I went back over our messages and saw that he’d said he had tons of them.
I started looking through the books but there were two layers of them and it was awkward moving them around. Seeing the issue, the seller reached over and emptied the crate of all its content and kindly invited me to take my time to consider what I wanted and put whatever I was interested in back into the empty crate. That made things easier.
The next few minutes were spent by me examining the books and making my choices, and him chatting away about what he used to do and what he’s been up to since retiring and how he got into this hobby of re-selling books…I know that I asked and answered some questions as well…but honestly, I was a bit too euphoric at how unexpectedly fruitful the event was turning out to be that I hardly remember what was said during the encounter.
I made my selections and we agreed on a price. I took out my phone to send him the electronic payment, but he put up his hands in gentle protest, “Do it later, I trust you.”
Promising to send him the amount as soon as I got home, I thanked him, picked up the crate, and walked back to my car. The whole meeting took no more than 15 minutes and I was feeling high from disbelief. Seriously. You don’t understand…for over a month I’d been going out two to three times a week to several different secondhand bookstores across the city looking for these editions, and I’d felt lucky to find one or two or maybe three at a time. That’s not to say I didn’t feel thrilled when I came across them in those outings, and indeed, I’d found some real gems—up until that point, my collection had 18 Penguin Classics in it, 12 of which I had collected in that previous month, and the remaining 6 were purchased new—but right there in that one meeting I’d found and purchased 14 of them, more than doubling my collection. I had been mining for (Penguin Classics) gold for weeks, and found that I’d suddenly hit the mother lode, so to speak.
Before driving out of the parking lot I called my sister and, through fits of astonished laughter, recounted the whole experience. Later, I repeated the tale to my mother. A few days after that, to my therapist—I was really happy with my acquisitions!
With a few exceptions, the Penguin books were mostly in like-new condition. About two months later though, I found a new/unread copy of that same Middlemarch edition on Facebook Marketplace for $5, so I bought it to replace the one I got from the “parking lot guy”, as his copy had a very broken and battered spine, but at the time I was just happy to have a copy of the book that I bought it without hesitation.
Both Middlemarch and Tess of the D’Urbervilles were high on my list of books to find in this edition, and I had also ordered them from eBay previously but was sent the wrong versions.
In hindsight, I know that this seller overcharged me for the books. I didn’t buy them from him at full retail prices, but I paid more per book than what secondhand books usually cost, even in like-new condition. I met with him again a week later for a three to four more books (before realizing that I was paying too much for them) and regretted doing so.
Still, I’ll never forget how great it felt to unexpectedly get my hands on so many of these classics in one meeting. And thankfully, shortly after this experience, my obsessiveness started to ebb. It didn’t go away completely, there were still books I wanted to find and continued to look for at some book sale events in the weeks following, but the urge became weaker, and the search was no longer something that needed my immediate attention.