I found a hidden treasure this morning.
Several months ago, I treated myself to a second-hand copy of The Essential Ellison, the 35-year retrospective of one of the most prolific authors ever to put pen to paper. He’s a life-long favorite of mine and I wanted this volume quite badly. It’s a 1012-page tome that was out of print, and buying used books online is something of a crap shoot. This time I got lucky. The copy I received was in excellent condition and everything I hoped it would be. Pleased with my purchase, I briefly daydreamed about getting the opportunity to meet Harlan Ellison someday and present it for signing. What I actually did was put it on a shelf. Life went on.
Today, I chose this book for my morning reading hour. In the end, I read very little and almost nothing of Harlan’s. First, I got distracted by the very beauty of the book itself. Its production was of the finest quality—heavy, acid-free paper, sewn signatures, full trim, the works. Even the dust jacket was a thing of artistry. As a lover of books AND a professional graphic artist, I’ve rarely seen such a nice edition.
I read the book jacket blurbs, front and back. I even learned a couple of things about Ellison I didn’t know.
The copyright page had an issue date of 1987. Then I discovered a surprise. FIRST EDITION. Nice. Didn’t expect that.
The gobsmacker waited on the cover page, though. There, right under the printed title, was a brief inscription, “Good wishes, John, from” and just above the imprint, a large, sprawling signature: Harlan Ellison. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what it says.
Wow. A top drawer, signed, inscribed first edition for the price of a quality used book. I’m feelin’ lucky.
The editor provided a brief Foreword, so I read that. I spent some time perusing the table of contents, and thumbed through the entire book, just getting a feel for its organization and structure. About then I discovered that I’d spent a good deal of time admiring the book and didn’t have much time left to actually read it. I decided to reserve that pleasure for tomorrow.
But before I put the book aside for the day, I flipped to the end. After 1012 pages of magnum opus, Ellison himself provided an Afterword. This fiercely succinct wonder offered up just one sentence:
“For a brief time I was here; and for a brief time I mattered.”
You did, sir. You did.