Ah, I love the smell of old books in the morning
Had a bit of a buying spree at the local libraries. At the Kensington library yesterday, they offered brown shopping bags that you could fill for three dollars, and my mom and I happily took advantage of it. Shakespeare, Dante, Twain, and various histories were purchased, as well as some old sheet music for piano. Someday I plan on figuring out how to play again.
But the most interesting find was at the Pinole Library a couple of weeks before. Among a few other books I bought a tiny hardcover book called Kora and Ka, whose author was listed as H.D. Nothing remarkable about it on first glace, it's only about seven inches tall and three inches wide, and the dust cover looks like a badly mimeographed photo of an olive branch. But the copyright was the year I was born, and I was curious if Ka really was referring to the Egyptian concept of a soul, so I kept looking it over. There was absolutely no information about the book or author anywhere on it, which seemed strange to me. Then I flipped through to the end and found a post script stating that it was from a limited printing of 600 books, and only 100 of them were printed in hardcover. Would you consider me heartless if I maybe thought "Ca-ching!"?
Turns out the cash register sound effect in my head wasn't too far off the mark. H.D. are the initials for Hilda Doolittle, a little-known poet and author who was briefly engaged to Ezra Pound. (She decided to go by her initials because she hated the name Doolittle. I can just imagine the teasing she must have had for that name.) Kora and Ka was originally published in 1934, and only 100 were printed even then. With a little poking around the internet, I found that my edition might be worth at least $100. Not bad for for my dollar investment. I figure if I ever do get around to selling it, I'll give half of the money to the library.
The story itself isn't that interesting, mostly a disjointed ramble of thoughts from a man who survived WWI. It's like he's developed a split personality where he is sometimes taken over by the entity of Ka, though I think Ka is his way of disassociating with himself. He doesn't seem interested in making an effort to interact with the rest of the world anymore, so he's just sort of existing in a cottage and making life miserable for his caretaker/lover, Kora. At least, that's what I'm getting from it. The writing is too vague and over-stuffed with weighty symbolism for me. It's all very depressing and, to tell the truth, not very engaging, but fortunately it's a short read.
But the most interesting find was at the Pinole Library a couple of weeks before. Among a few other books I bought a tiny hardcover book called Kora and Ka, whose author was listed as H.D. Nothing remarkable about it on first glace, it's only about seven inches tall and three inches wide, and the dust cover looks like a badly mimeographed photo of an olive branch. But the copyright was the year I was born, and I was curious if Ka really was referring to the Egyptian concept of a soul, so I kept looking it over. There was absolutely no information about the book or author anywhere on it, which seemed strange to me. Then I flipped through to the end and found a post script stating that it was from a limited printing of 600 books, and only 100 of them were printed in hardcover. Would you consider me heartless if I maybe thought "Ca-ching!"?
Turns out the cash register sound effect in my head wasn't too far off the mark. H.D. are the initials for Hilda Doolittle, a little-known poet and author who was briefly engaged to Ezra Pound. (She decided to go by her initials because she hated the name Doolittle. I can just imagine the teasing she must have had for that name.) Kora and Ka was originally published in 1934, and only 100 were printed even then. With a little poking around the internet, I found that my edition might be worth at least $100. Not bad for for my dollar investment. I figure if I ever do get around to selling it, I'll give half of the money to the library.
The story itself isn't that interesting, mostly a disjointed ramble of thoughts from a man who survived WWI. It's like he's developed a split personality where he is sometimes taken over by the entity of Ka, though I think Ka is his way of disassociating with himself. He doesn't seem interested in making an effort to interact with the rest of the world anymore, so he's just sort of existing in a cottage and making life miserable for his caretaker/lover, Kora. At least, that's what I'm getting from it. The writing is too vague and over-stuffed with weighty symbolism for me. It's all very depressing and, to tell the truth, not very engaging, but fortunately it's a short read.