June 21, 2015

Finest Hour 100, Autumn 1998

Page 51

By GLENN HOROWITZ

A Connoisseur’s Guide to the Books of Sir Winston Churchill, by Richard M. Langworth. London: Brassey’s, 372 pages, over 200 photographs, 14 books in color, $39.95 (£40 in UK). Member price $35 ppd. from CC Book Club, PO Box 385, Contoocook NH 03229 or £21.50 ppd. from ICS/UK, PO Box 1257, Melksham, Wilts. SN12 6GC.

I recently had reason to show a wall of books in my apartment to a worldly criminal defense lawyer who had never expressed any interest in printed matter except for the sturdy, utilitarian law volumes in his office. The steady, silent gaze he fixed on the shelves baffled me, and after a few moments I inquired If something was troubling him. “Why,” he asked, “are all of your books about other books?” An encyclopedia of baseball statistics, needed to settle a dispute, had been shelved, I realized, in my collection of bibliographies, booksellers’ memoirs, auction catalogues, and library publications.

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This encounter came back to me while reading Richard M. Langworth’s A Connoisseur’s Guide, a quirky and engaging tour of all the editions of Churchill’s key texts.

Before a debate over my use of “quirky” in an endearing manner, let it be known to all that Langworth is the major American dealer in books by and about Churchill and as such has a unique view of Churchill as filtered through his work. Others regularly handle Churchill material (including the author of this piece, who, in the spirit of full disclosure, it should be noted is praised in the acknowledgments and cited authoritatively in the text), but none take into stock and send back out into the world a fraction of materials that pass through Langworth’s hands. Indeed, in his introduction he claims “one purpose” of his book is to forestall the question most frequently put to him collectors: “What exactly am I holding in my hands?”

With this Guide in hand, the answer might still require one more call to Langworth; but once the aspirant grasps the bibliographic language with which he narrates this textual tale, home-schooling should quickly replace classroom instruction.

The Guide is put together with admirable clarity, even simplicity. For each text, from The Story of the Malakand Field Force in 1898 to the posthumous ephemeral publications, Langworth first provides an eminently readable redaction, along with some solid background of each book’s place in the canon. In these preambles Langworth’s voice resonates eloquently, providing a sense that we are being guided by a generous, avuncular Diogenes with knowledge of all things Churchillian.

Following his introductory remarks, Langworth deploys excerpts from both contemporary and modern commentators; his use of supporting and dissenting opinions offers a novel approach to understanding how a text was greeted upon publication and how it continues to be perceived. In fact I would not have objected to hearing more of these testimonials. (I am informed there were more, but trimming was required to stay within the agreed-upon word count.)

But the source of Langworth’s editorial discipline is revealed in the subsequent entries, which narrate the panoply of Churchill’s books, from first editions to, in many cases, cheap paperbacks. For anyone even faintly familiar with traditional bibliography, here the Guide will assume both a recognizable tone and style.

Throughout Langworth relies on the bibliographical research of the late Frederick Woods, who devoted decades to tracing Churchill’s works, and whose bibliography, to date, has not been superseded. Langworth states that his goal is to amplify, not expand upon, Woods’s early work, and in this, I think he is too humble: he clarifies innumerable pockets of obfuscation transmitted by Woods (one need only read his lucid discussion of The Malakand Field Force to see how far we’ve come). He also, occasionally nudges up against the hubristic: definitionally, Woods is the text with which Langworth is bantering, and insomuch as the prepoonderance of readers will not be familiar with Woods, his frequent tag-lines “see Woods” and “Woods incorrectly…” seem a bit bullying. Maybe I’m being pedantic, but the paragraphs devoted to the physical components of the books generate a feeling that Langworth, now and again, set up his predecessor only to knock him down.

Most readers, I suspect, will breeze through the technical patches on book production, press-runs and binding variants and will be rewarded with the concluding categories with which the description of each edition ends. The first of these is labeled “Comments,” in which Langworth incorporates the substantial knowledge he has gathered in decades of handling Churchill books. In these passages he demonstrates the extent to which he has attained true “connoisseurship,” that state of grace to which all collectors aspire, and he communicates his wisdom with the ease bred of confidence.

For example, in describing the Times Book Club issue of Lord Randolph Churchill he notes: “nicely if not elaborately bound (it lacks the gilt coat of arms) it is an adequate if not dramatic looking set of books.” And about the first edition of India: “softbound copies on the market today outnumber hardbound copies at least twenty to one….” These are, to my mind, truths that could only be proffered succinctly and elegantly after years of study and reflection. In a late interview, the American novelist Bernard Malamud suggested that “clear writing is clear thinking,” and in those pithy observations, in which Langworth shares his clear thinking in dean writing, the Guide earns a place on the list of essential reference works devoted to Churchill as author.

The final paragraph about each is devoted to a brief discussion of the current value for that edition. I found this the least useful apparatus, though I don’t think my reservations will be shared by most readers. In fact, for many I imagine these observations might very well be one of the Guide’s more engaging aspects. However, I’d counsel potential collectors to tread lightly in that region where Mammon has scattered the angels. I’ve been buying and selling rare books for twenty years and I’ve never encountered a price guide that doesn’t generate aggravation and illumination in equal doses. Values of rare books can’t be stated in absolute terms; maybe for common, and commonly encountered titles, prices are fairly constant, but the scarcer and more fugitive a volume, the harder it will be to pin a price, or a range of prices on it. I understand the public service impinge that caused Langworth to append this economic postscript to each edition, and his ranges are commendably wide; but I’d advise the reader of the Guide to use the information cautiously.

The Guide is sturdily produced; the photographs are attractive. I wish more of the compelling, early books had been shot in color, though some appear on the color dust jacket. To those of us who esteem Churchill’s accomplishments, this work offers one more reason to stand in reverence: the titles and text roll across seven decades with clarity and logic. The Guide both elevates and entertains— and you can’t ask for much more for your money, can you?

Mr. Horowitz is an antiquarian bookseller in New York City and East Hampton, N.Y.