Wednesday, June 28, 2017

The Dog Days approach. Make sure you are stocked for the season. And remember Groucho's advice: "Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read."


Rattazzi, Priscilla, Best Friends (Rizzoli, 1st ed., 1989). ISBN 0-8478-1058-5. Hardcover, unclipped dust jacket. A collection of photos of dogs and their people by Italian-born photographer Rattazzi, with a preface by the late industrial magnate Gianni Agnelli. 9.5” x. 13.25”. Excellent condition. HBB price: $45 obo.

Henry Bemis Books is one man’s attempt to bring more diversity and quality to a Charlotte-Mecklenburg market of devoted readers starved for choices. Our website is at Henry Bemis Books is also happy to entertain reasonable offers on items in inventory; for pricing on this or others items, kindly private message us. Shipping is always free to US locations; local buyers are welcome to drop by and pick up their purchases at our location off Peachtree Road in Northwest Charlotte if they like.

We accept electronic payments via Facebook Messenger, powered by Stripe.

We regret that until California Assembly Bill 1570 (2016) is struck down by court order or amended to relieve out of state booksellers from its recordkeeping and liability burdens, we are unable to do business with California residents.

We offer 25% off to fellow dealers.

What’s your favorite social media outlet? We’re blogging at www.henrybemisbookseller.blogspot. com. We tweet as Henry Bemis Books. Have you liked us on Facebook yet? Henry Bemis Books is there, too. And Google+!

You can also see Henry’s alter ego, Lindsay Thompson, on a three weekly Facebook Live programs: Rare Book Cafe, a 2:30-3:30 pm EDT Saturday panel show about books; Book Week- Rare Book Cafe’s weekly Thursday noon news program (both on Rare Book Cafe’s Facebook page); and Gallimaufry, an occasional program about literary history on Henry Bemis Books’ Facebook page.

#RareBooks #HenryBemisBooks #Photography #Charlotte #DogBooks

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Birthday: "Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern.”


Francis Russell O’Hara (1926-1966)
Author, poet, critic
Recipient, The National Book Award, 1972

Frank O’Hara studied music at the New England Conservatory, served in the Pacific in World War II, then attended Harvard (where Edward Gorey was his roommate) and the University of Michigan to obtain degrees in English Literature.

Moving to New York, he began teaching at The New School, then got a job in the gift shop at the Museum of Modern Art. By 1960 he was both an established member of the New York School of poets and Assistant Curator of Painting and Sculpture at MOMA. O’Hara wrote well-received articles for ArtNews, and his immense charm and talent made him a well-known figure in the postwar art world:

He became known as a leader of the "New York School" of poets, a group that included John Ashbery, Barbara Guest, Kenneth Koch, and James Schuyler. The Abstract Expressionist painters in New York City during the 1950s and 1960s used the title, but the poets borrowed it. From the beginning O'Hara's poetry was engaged with the worlds of music, dance, and painting. In that complex of associations he devised an idea of poetic form that allowed the inclusion of many kinds of events, including everyday conversations and notes about New York advertising signs...his painterly friends and familiars included Larry Rivers, Jane Freilicher, Fairfield Porter, Grace Hartigan, Joan Mitchell, Michael Goldberg, Willem de Kooning, Franz Kline, and Jackson Pollock.

O’Hara thought of his poetry as tossed-off, occasional pieces, spur of the moment entries in a diary of blank verse. Like William Carlos Williams, he liked commonplace words and irregular lines. Like the French symbolists and surrealists, he combined reality with the fantastic, the popular and the campy:

Poem [Lana Turner has collapsed!]

Lana Turner has collapsed!
I was trotting along and suddenly
it started raining and snowing
and you said it was hailing
but hailing hits you on the head
hard so it was really snowing and
raining and I was in such a hurry
to meet you but the traffic
was acting exactly like the sky
and suddenly I see a headline
there is no snow in Hollywood
there is no rain in California
I have been to lots of parties
and acted perfectly disgraceful
but I never actually collapsed
oh Lana Turner we love you get up

On a summer visit to New York’s Fire Island in July 1966, O’Hara was struck by a beach taxi driver and died of his injuries the next day. He was forty years old.

The Poetry Foundation’s review of O’Hara’s work notes that, while he published widely as an art critic, his poet was both voluminous and obscure, the fame of his first collection not coming until the last year of his life:

O'Hara's work was first brought to the attention of the wider public, like that of so many others of his generation, by [Donald] Allen's timely and historic anthology, The New American Poetry (1960). It was not until O'Hara's Lunch Poems was published in 1965 that his reputation gained ground and not until after his sudden death that his recognition increased. Now his reputation is secure as an important and even popular poet in the great upsurge of American poetry following World War II. His influence on the next generation of poets—including Bill Berkson, Alice Notley, and Ted Berrigan—was immense. He did not cultivate academic alliances or solicit editors and publishers. Painter John Button remarks: "When asked by a publisher-friend for a book, Frank might have trouble even finding the poems stuffed into kitchen drawers or packed in boxes that had not been unpacked since his last move. Frank's fame came to him unlooked-for." His recognition came in part because of his early death, the somewhat absurd and meaningless occasion of that death (he was run down by a beach taxi on Fire Island), the prominence and loyalty of his friends, the renown of his own personality, and above all, the exuberant writings themselves. His casual attitude toward his poetic career is reminiscent of the casual composition of many of the poems themselves. One of his poems, "Poem (Lana Turner has collapsed!)," for example, was written on the Staten Island Ferry en route to a poetry reading, and his most important statement of poetics, "Personism," was written in less than an hour while Allen, who requested it, was on his way across town to pick it up. Koch touches upon this particular quality of O'Hara's genius—his naturalness: "Something Frank had that none of the other artists and writers I know had to the same degree was a way of feeling and acting as though being an artist were the most natural thing in the world. Compared to him everyone else seemed a little self-conscious, abashed, or megalomaniacal." When this quality entered his verse, his work was formally inventive and most compelling...

The extent, the sheer volume of his writings, came as a surprise to many of even his closest friends. Most wondered where he had found time to do it all. Ashbery writes in his introduction to the 586-page The Collected Poems of Frank O'Hara (1971), patiently gathered and carefully edited by Allen: "That The Collected Poems of Frank O'Hara should turn out to be a volume of the present dimension will surprise those who knew him, and would have surprised Frank even more. Dashing the poems off at odd moments—in his office at The Museum of Modern Art, in the street at lunch time or even in a room full of people—he would then put them away in drawers and cartons and half forget them. Once when a publisher asked him for a manuscript he spent weeks and months combing the apartment, enthusiastic and bored at the same time, trying to assemble the poems. Finally he let the project drop, not because he didn't wish his work to appear, but because his thoughts were elsewhere, in the urban world of fantasy where the poems came from." Although he published more than a hundred poems in scattered magazines and in a few limited editions, there was no sizable representative collection of poems published in his lifetime. And there were no serious critical studies of his writings such as Marjorie Perloff's, Alan Feldman's, or Alice's Parker's. Before the Collected Poems, and later The Selected Poems of Frank O'Hara (1974), there were only two slight volumes—Second Avenue (1960) and Lunch Poems (1965)— readily available; other books were printed in editions of less than five hundred copies, one in only ten copies, and thus were inaccessible to most serious readers.

Personal Poem (from Lunch Poems, 1964)

Now when I walk around at lunchtime
I have only two charms in my pocket
an old Roman coin Mike Kanemitsu gave me
and a bolt-head that broke off a packing case
when I was in Madrid the others never
brought me too much luck though they did
help keep me in New York against coercion
but now I'm happy for a time and interested

I walk through the luminous humidity
passing the House of Seagram with its wet
and its loungers and the construction to
the left that closed the sidewalk if
I ever get to be a construction worker
I'd like to have a silver hat please
and get to Moriarty's where I wait for
LeRoi and hear who wants to be a mover and
shaker the last five years my batting average
is .016 that's that, and LeRoi comes in
and tells me Miles Davis was clubbed 12
times last night outside birdland by a cop
a lady asks us for a nickel for a terrible
disease but we don't give her one we
don't like terrible diseases, then

we go eat some fish and some ale it's
cool but crowded we don't like Lionel Trilling
we decide, we like Don Allen we don't like
Henry James so much we like Herman Melville
we don't want to be in the poets' walk in
San Francisco even we just want to be rich
and walk on girders in our silver hats
I wonder if one person out of the 8,000,000 is
thinking of me as I shake hands with LeRoi
and buy a strap for my wristwatch and go
back to work happy at the thought possibly so

Sunday, June 25, 2017

Modern Problems.

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Birthday: The man who invented #AltFacts

Eric Arthur Blair, author and journalist, was born on this day in 1903. His family were gentry who'd come down in the world, and he keenly felt the ceiling his class status imposed.

Bright but not brilliant, Blair won a scholarship to Eton, then left after he turned eighteen.

Too poor to go to university, and with poor enough marks to rule out a scholarship, he joined the Imperial Police and was posted to Burma. He soon was responsible for security for over 200,000 people in his district.

A bout with dengue fever in 1927 entitled Blair to home leave, and while visiting his family he decided to resign from the force and be a writer. He wasn't much missed by colleagues, who didn't consider him much of one.

Blair didn't go for the exaggerated Englishness of the ex-pat in the Raj; he kept to himself and pursued eccentricities like becoming fluent in Burmese and getting his knuckles tattooed with blue circles. The locals said that protected one from bullets and snake bite.

Afflicted by solidly lower-middle-class, traditionalist views (he was C of E and keenly homophobic) and the nag of a social conscience, he lived long periods of rootlessness, carving out a living with journalism and reviews for left-wing periodicals. He spent two years living a destitute life to write a book called Down and Out in Paris and London (1935), but to avoid embarrassing his parents- with whom he lived in the mid- Thirties- he published it under a pseudonym, George Orwell.

He went to fight with the Republicans in the Spanish Civil War. Tall (6'2") for the time, he kept forgetting advice not to stand up in the trenches and was sent home in 1937 after getting shot in the neck by a sniper who couldn't pass on such a gangly target. His late 1930s books, Homage to Catalonia and The Road to Wigan Pier, got him under surveillance by the UK Special Branch for the rest of his life for their bolshy tone.

Orwell married in 1938 and settled into a steadier life in magazine journalism, and, once the war came on, with the BBC. They adopted a son.

His wife died of unanticipated complications of surgery in 1945, leaving him so bereft he left the BBC and moved to a hovel on the Scottish Isle of Jura. Diagnosed with TB, the cold clear air was an improvement over London, but the privations and isolation took their toll.

He proposed to a series of women, all of whom turned him down. He was not at all gregarious; when his brother took him out to a pub once, the owner told him never to bring Orwell back again.

Orwell's last years were a mixed bag of sudden fame and relative wealth. Animal Farm (1944) was rejected by a number of publishers fearful of provoking Britain's wartime ally, the Soviet Union; once it saw print, it was a critical and financial hit.

Commissions flooded in, leaving Orwell strapped for time and energy to complete his last work, 1984.

It is left to few authors to imagine a story so transformative of language and political discourse. "Orwellian" is a term known to everyone, and when the current American president was elected in 2016, 1984 became an overnight US bestseller all over again.

Orwell's Eton French master, Aldous Huxley, wrote his former student a snippy letter explaining why his own Brave New World was the superior dystopian fantasy. History has found otherwise.

One example of 1984's power is the Apple computer company ad that ran on television, in the book's title year, exactly once. It remains one of the most widely-known and viewed ads in history:

He finally found Sonia, his second wife, and married her. Three months later, he died at the age of 46.

Having written the last words on the misuse of words (besides 1984, his essay Politics and the English Language (1946) explains the career of Republican pollster Frank Luntz down the ground), it is no surprise that American liberals and conservatives alike clasp him to their bosoms for defensive- and offensive- citation.

For a while in 1936, Orwell worked in a bookshop at the border of the Hampstead and Camden Town neighborhoods of London (what would he be writing of the Roman candle tower block for the poor in the latter district today?).

Here is a link to his essay, Bookshop Memories. It is vintage Orwell: nostalgic, yet bracinglyingly unsentimental. Not surprisingly, he confessed it was working in aa used bookshop that cost him his love of old books.

Modern purveyors of the trade will find not much has changed, either of conditions or customers.

Friday, June 23, 2017

Join us Saturday on Rare Book Cafe!


We’re headed off to the hills of Western Massachusetts on Rare Book Cafe Saturday, June 24.

Joining the Cafe team at the table will be Forrest Proper, owner of Joslin Hall Rare Books & Ephemera. Cat lover, poet (haiku addict, he says), photographer, gardener and all-round Enlightenment Man of Parts, Proper is a New Hampshire native whose inventory covers decorative arts, fakes and frauds, fine arts, gravestones and mourning arts, and books spanning the 16th to the current century.

Proper is also a regular on Book Tribe, the Facebook live broadcast show from Cafe guest host Kara Accettola’s Little Sages Books.

He last dropped in for a visit with us during April’s weekend of live broadcasts from the 36th Florida Antiquarian Book Fair, attended by a large, amiable black cat.

Proper has all the post-surname initials of a properly-credentialed antiquarian book dealer, and has run Joslin Hall since 1982. He is quoted in all the best places, and gives good interview.

We’ll also be hearing from co-host Thorne Donnelley, just back from the Virginia Book School; Steve Eisenstein will draw from his array of tried-and-true tales; and Cafe miniature book expert Edie Eisenstein will hold some very small books very close to the camera.

Rare Book Cafe is sponsored by the Florida Antiquarian Book Fair. It’s broadcast every Saturday from 2.30 to 3.30 pm EDT and features interviews, panel discussion and stuff you can learn about book collecting whether you are a regular at Sotheby’s or just someone who likes books.

The program airs live on Rare Book Cafe’s Facebook page. Shows are archived on YouTube and can also be viewed on the Facebook page, and the Book Fair blog after their first run.

Hosted by Miami book dealer, appraiser and’s Bucks on the Bookshelf radio show creator Steven Eisenstein, the program features a revolving set of cohosts and regular guests including Thorne Donnelley of Liberty Book Store in Palm Beach Gardens, Florida; Lindsay Thompson of Charlotte’s Henry Bemis Books; miniature books expert Edie Eisenstein; ephemera expert Kara Accettola; and program creator/producer T. Allan Smith.

Rare Book Cafe program encourages viewer participation via its interactive features and video: if you've got an interesting book, join the panel and show it to us! If you’d like to ask the team a question or join us in the virtually live studio audience for the program, click the show link on Saturday!

#RareBookCafe #FloridaAntiquarianBookFair #BookWeek #BeLiveTV #FacebookLiveVideo

Birthday: "Writers often disguise their lives as fiction," David Leavitt writes. "The thing they almost never do is disguise fiction as their lives."


David Leavitt (1961-  )

Growing up in an academic family, David Leavitt showed remarkable- and remarkably early- prowess on paper. The Writer’s Almanac reported,

He was studying writing at Yale with Gordon Lish and John Hersey when an editor at The New Yorker noticed a short story of his in a literary magazine and asked him to submit something. They rejected him nine times before accepting a story, Territory, in 1982. It was the first story the magazine had ever published that was overtly about homosexual life. Leavitt was 20 years old. Two years later, he published his first collection of stories, Family Dancing (1984).

Leavitt is considered the first modern fiction writer to bring gay themes to mainstream literature.

Early works like Family Dancing and The Lost Language of Cranes won Leavitt acclaim and movie deals.

In 1993, Leavitt published While England Sleeps, a retelling of the pre-World War II appeasement movement and its foes, as seen through the eyes of two male lovers. Drawing on historical accounts, including a memoir of Sir Stephen Spender’s, Leavitt- then 32, found himself and his publisher on the short end of a lawsuit by Spender.

Spender, who spent decades managing his complex and contradictory personal life for public consumption, claimed a Leavitt character was, in fact, Spender, and that the real Spender found the fictional  Spender’s robust sex scenes pornographic.

After protracted litigation and dueling articles in The New York Times, Viking-Penguin settled the case and published a revised edition that omitted three pages and the sexy bits Sir Stephen found not at all in his line of country. Spender then did a victory lap in The Times:

Mr. Leavitt, in his essay, wrote that the theme of his book, "if it belongs to anyone, belongs to E. M. Forster, who wrote in his famous essay 'What I Believe' " that " 'if I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country.' " Mr. Leavitt added: "It seems to me crucial, in reading these sentences, to remember that Forster was homosexual, since for gay men and lesbians the choice between cause and friend is rarely abstract; indeed, particularly in the age of AIDS, it is often viscerally real."

It is surprising to a member of my generation that sometimes young people today cannot imagine the intense urgency with which antifascist youth responded in 1937 to the probability of Hitler's prison state gaining total domination of Europe. The idealistic volunteers in the International Brigade felt that far from betraying their country, they would preserve its freedom by fighting to prevent, as they believed, the greater catastrophe of a world war.

Their altruistic decisions to die if necessary for deliverance from an evil tyranny have nothing in common with the involuntary suffering of a plague, heroic though victims of AIDS undoubtedly are. The choice Mr. Leavitt quoted from Forster cannot apply to them. It puzzles me how seldom it is perceived that Forster's choice is dubious. One has only to think of the Cambridge spies to realize that in betraying their country they were inevitably also betraying their friends, many of whom were unable to forgive them. Public treachery and private deception cannot so easily be disentangled.

Spender died in 1995, the year a cleaned-up, Spender’s lawyers-approved version of the book came out. The lawsuit has been seen by some as a last-gasp effort to keep gay fiction in its own little ghetto, rather than one more element of life that has its place in mainstream fiction and history.

Leavitt went to ground for a while, then turned up in 1997 with a short story called “The Term Paper Artist,” of which a New York Times reviewer wrote, it is “unlike anything Mr. Leavitt has ever done before: sly, self-knowing and hilarious.”

Mordantly written in the first person, it concerns one David Leavitt, a well-known novelist who is temporarily installed at his father's house in Los Angeles, where he is recovering from a nasty lawsuit by a well-known English poet and doing research for a new novel, when he meets a stoned, delectable U.C.L.A. junior who lusts to get into Stanford Business School and needs to raise his English grades. The setup is deviously Nabokovian -- though while stodgy, lecherous David Leavitt is obviously written with Humbert Humbert in mind, Eric Steinberg is a lot less artless than Lolita. He flirts with the smitten author (''Hey, sexy''), buys one of his books (''Which one?'' '' 'The Secret Language of the Cranes' ''), invites him over for a joint, comes on to him (''You're gay and I'm sexy. So why not?''), then coolly douses his lust and delivers his proposition: ''You can write my paper for me. And if I get a good grade. . . .'' It's an idea with legs, and soon a number of good-looking U.C.L.A. airheads are turning in beautifully written papers.

Los Angeles is the perfect setting for such a cheerfully depraved story, and even though the sex scenes are actually less explicit than some of Mr. Leavitt's previous ones, you can see how the whole concept might spook a nervous magazine editor. The lewdness, though, is what gives the writing its grace -- the pompous nerd who goes straight for the heartstrings has vanished in a puff of self-mockery. And for once he isn't writing sex scenes as a public service.

The story was originally set to be published in Esquire Magazine, whose editor got cold feet over offending a big advertiser (Time reported it was because a male/male sex scene in a Jeep might cause Chrysler to pull its ads; Leavitt responded, “"Do you know how many gay men own Jeeps?").

Leavitt’s cheek- accused of plagiarism, cheerfully casting himself as the abetter of plagiarists, was a departure from what many critics found a rather arch, Henry Jamesian reserve in his early works.

Perhaps still stung by the Spender affair, Levitt ‘s later books have exhibited a need to provide blueprints to the joinery in the plot. A 2013 review of The Indian Clerk, his novel on an early 20-century Indian maths prodigy (his story was made into the 2016 movie, The Man Who Knew Infinity, but was based on another’s biography) commented,

Leavitt clearly put a great deal of work into The Indian Clerk, which bristles with learning lightly worn. The list of "sources and acknowledgments" runs to seven pages and even recommends Colin Spencer's Vegetarianism: A History, for details of contemporary vegetarian cookbooks. Despite - or perhaps because of - Leavitt's candor over what he took straight from life and what he merely invented, the result is sometimes more like a dramatization of existing material than a fully-fledged work of the creative imagination. Significantly, some of the very best bits - notably Hardy's affair with a wounded soldier met in a military hospital - are the ones he made up.

A New York Times review, praising Leavitt for his ability to draw out, and make relevant, class conflict from past eras, made the connection in his work explicit:

If one of Leavitt’s earlier novels could be considered a draft for this one, it is “While England Sleeps” (1993), the story of an upper-class writer who falls in love with, and subsequently betrays, a bright but uneducated subway ticket-taker. The story was inspired by Stephen Spender’s autobiography, “World Within Worlds,” and when Spender sued, Leavitt was forced to defend himself and his novel. (His publisher eventually agreed to cut three pages from the book, including some explicit sex scenes Spender particularly objected to.) Having survived that ordeal, many writers would’ve scrapped historical fiction forever, especially historical fiction populated by a profusion of illustrious people. Luckily, or circumspectly, Leavitt has chosen this time to portray people who are no longer around to file lawsuits.

The author or editor of twenty books, Levitt has been on the creative writing faculty at the University of Florida for many years.

Thursday, June 22, 2017

Book of the Day: As Gene Simmons always says, "If someone likes you, they'll buy what you're selling, whether or not they need it." So buy this book.

This week has seen a rare setback for rock star Gene Simmons, Ronald Abrams reports in Forbes:

Earlier this month, Kiss frontman Gene Simmons submitted a use-based U.S. trademark application seeking to register the devil’s horn hand gesture as a trademark for “Entertainment, namely, live performances by a musical artist; personal appearances by a musical artist.” The application listed the date of first use as November 14, 1974, and the specimen of use was a photograph of Simmons flashing the hand gesture alongside Foo Fighters’ Dave Grohl.

Screenshot 2017-06-22 at 15.47.04 - Edited.png

Mr. Simmons appears to have sought registration of the hand gesture itself, rather than an image or depiction of the gesture, describing the mark in the application as “a hand gesture with the index and small fingers extended upward and the thumb extended perpendicular.”

Although images or stylized drawings of hand gestures can function and be registered as trademarks either by themselves or as part of a design mark, hand gestures in and of themselves cannot function as trademarks. And, even if they could, there would be no practical way to enforce the trademark against others (often referred to as “policing the mark”). Compounding the non-registerability of the “devil horn” hand gesture is the fact that the gesture means “I love you” in sign language.

Now, less than two weeks later, Mr. Simmons has apparently reconsidered whether he might have valid trademark rights to the hand gesture, as he expressly abandoned the application with the United States Patent and Trademark Office. It is also noted that his application drew a fair amount of criticism from fellow musicians and others who saw the application as a shameless overreach by Simmons. Simmons, one of the most successful musician-entrepreneurs in history, owns a stable of other trademark registrations through his Gene Simmons Company. Nice try, Gene.

In its 44 years as a band, Kiss’ ongoing onslaught of merchandise has included everything from caskets to condoms, but band bassist and co-founder Gene Simmons’ June 9 attempt to trademark rock and roll’s iconic “metal horns” hand gesture is a bridge too far for musicians and fans who believe the late singer Ronnie James Dio — among others — can lay claim to the ubiquitous gesture...

Carl Canedy, drummer of The Rods, told Variety, “Gene is looking to trademark a three-fingered symbol. The fans I’ve spoken to seem to be responding with a one-fingered salute.”

Even the President of the University of Texas got into it with Simmons:

But then, as his 2001 memoir makes clear, the 67-year-old singer has never lacked for chutzpah:

IMG_20170622_155938 - Edited.jpg

Simmons, Gene, Kiss and Make-Up (Crown Publishers, 1st ed. 1st printing, 2001). ISBN 0-609-60855-X. The story of a nice Jewish boy from Haifa with a really, really long tongue “I feel a sense of accomplishment from our merchandizing deals,” he concludes). Octavo, Hardcover, unclipped dust jacket, fine condition, 275 pp. HBB price: $75 obo.

Henry Bemis Books is one man’s attempt to bring more diversity and quality to a Charlotte-Mecklenburg market of devoted readers starved for choices. Our website is at Henry Bemis Books is also happy to entertain reasonable offers on items in inventory; for pricing on this or others items, kindly private message us. Shipping is always free to US locations; local buyers are welcome to drop by and pick up their purchases at our location off Peachtree Road in Northwest Charlotte if they like.

We accept electronic payments via Facebook Messenger, powered by Stripe.

We regret that until California Assembly Bill 1570 (2016) is struck down by court order or amended to relieve out of state booksellers from its recordkeeping and liability burdens, we are unable to do business with California residents.

We offer 25% off to fellow dealers.

What’s your favorite social media outlet? We’re blogging at www.henrybemisbookseller.blogspot. com. We tweet as Henry Bemis Books. Have you liked us on Facebook yet? Henry Bemis Books is there, too. And Google+!

You can also see Henry’s alter ego, Lindsay Thompson, on a three weekly Facebook Live programs: Rare Book Cafe, a 2:30-3:30 pm EDT Saturday panel show about books; Book Week- Rare Book Cafe’s weekly Thursday noon news program (both on Rare Book Cafe’s Facebook page); and Gallimaufry, an occasional program about literary history on Henry Bemis Books’ Facebook page.

#GeneSimmons #KISS #FirstEditions #HenryBemisBooks #Charlotte