Customer Reviews

The Man Who Loved Books Too Much: The True Story of a Thief, a Detective, and a World of Literary Obsession

5 star:		(42)
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3 star:		(16)
2 star:		(18)
1 star:		(7)

 

 

Despite its title, "The Man Who Loved Books Too Much" is not a book about some especially avid reader who becomes so obsessed with reading that he allows it to take over the rest of his life. One only has to read the book's subtitle, "The True Story of a Thief, a Detective, and a World of Literary Obsession," to learn that "the man" in question had a much different problem.

That John Gilkey is an obsessed book collector is beyond question. Gilkey's gnawing desire to own rare books, however, does not make him unique - or even uncommon. People collect a variety of objects for a variety of reasons and many of them do become obsessed with the chase and the displaying of their "trophies." What makes Gilkey unusual enough to have a book written about him is that he entirely satisfies his urge to own rare books by stealing them. Price is no object for a man who never intends to pay for the books he adds to his personal library.

"In The Man Who Loved Books Too Much," Allison Hoover Bartlett combines Gilkey's story with that of the man who became obsessed with stopping his thefts, rare book dealer Ken Sanders. Against all odds, she was able to befriend both men to such a degree that she was able to gain insight into what motivated each of them - one to steal books and the other to spend countless hours trying to stop him.

Bartlett spent a great deal of time getting to know John Gilkey. She visited him in jail when he was serving time for stealing expensive items from rare book dealers; she interviewed him extensively while he was a free man; and she visited his mother's home where she was allowed to see some of the books being kept for him there. However, as Ken Sanders, the man most responsible for putting Gilkey behind bars for extended periods of time reminded Bartlett, Gilkey is a born liar and what he says can never be trusted. Bartlett, though, despite Gilkey's lies and distortions, develops a sound theory as to why he is so driven to steal rare books despite the increasing regularity with which he is caught and sent to jail.

Book dealer/detective Ken Sanders seems to have been more of a challenge for Bartlett than Gilkey turned out to be. Sanders seemed reluctant to discuss in any detail what motivated him to dedicate so much of his life to Gilkey's capture and arrest. He preferred, instead, to let his actions speak for themselves. Sanders did open the door to the world of rare book dealers for Bartlett by placing her in contact with many of Gilkey's victims, and she combines the insights she gained from those interviews with her own research to recount the history of book lust and book theft from the earliest days to the present.

This is the perfect true crime book for book lovers, a morality play to remind even the most obsessed of us of the dangers of those obsessions.

Rated at: 4.5

Collectors are my business. My clients aren't book collectors, but the objects aren't important, it's the common thread of collecting and the level of interest/passion involved. In my work I have had customers who enjoyed their hobby but kept it in perspective. They didn't let it negatively affect the rest of their lives, but I've also had clients that consumed macaroni and cheese all month long so they could afford a particular treasure. One pair of clients (they collected together) phoned on the way to the airport leaving for their honeymoon. The gift money they'd just received would pay for a treasure they'd been eyeing. For some people collecting is their life, and the rarer the treasures they possess, in their mind, defines how important and special they are. As passion for the hobby grew so did the crimes at shows I'd attend. Theft became common and more and more security guards were hired to inspect packages and watch the entrances and exits.

This book is a compelling narrative of the world of collecting and the passionate individuals who reside in it. It illustrates how the line between desperately wanting something can evolve into theft because the need and distorted importance of the collection overshadows right and wrong. It is a true crime, cat and mouse game where the end result, as is often the case in the real world, doesn't neatly resolve everything.

Whether the reader is a collector or has never for a moment cared about searching for old treasures, the book does what good books should always do -- permit immersion into another's world. The book does this beautifully and makes this the perfect gift for a sick friend, an avid reader, a book lover or a collector.

Take a peek at the inside world of rare book dealers and the bibliophiles who covet their wares -- but not enough to pay for them. This is shoplifting taken to its highest level, second only to jewel thieves. Lust for a
$5,000 volume? Just slip it under your coat and walk calmly off with it at a big show. Meet some of the dealers and how they defend their merchandise and run down the culprits who make off with the big-buck items. Get to know one of the master book thieves who has dreams of building a prestigious library that will be the envy of all. The often-arrested John Charles Gilkey, abetted in later years by his father, fees an entitlement that is hard to understand. If he wants something -- in his case, a book -- he feels life owes it to him. Despite getting caught and jailed numerous times, he keeps his dreams and keeps on stealing.

This book gives insight into a little-known aspect of the book world, and if you love books for the sake of books, you'll enjoy the author's interviews with book people at the top -- and feeding at the bottom -- of
their world.

I'm enjoying this read, but finding myself annoyed by the author's naivete. She goes around with her subject to a the scene of one of his crimes, and then is dismayed to find herself becoming part of the story. She wonders about his motives, but never seeks the insight of a criminologist or a psychologist. She seems totally unaware that the criminal whose misdeeds she sanctions through her fawning, nonjudgemental curiosity is using her to justify his actions, both to himself and to the world. The pretty blonde finds him fascinating- how could this not stoke his ego, and reassure him that he's in the right?
In all, though I don't like to wish ill on anyone, I can't help thinking that her attitude would change if someone robbed her house- perhaps stole the only copy of her next book just before it went to the publisher- or picked her car clean off the street, never to be seen again. Her tone of amoral equivocation swoops nauseatingly close to that of the crook she's profiling, and essentially ignores the damage and violence he does to the hard work, to the dreams and passions, of others. In her drive to "get" his story- and, we may posit, to sell books and to aggrandize herself- she tacitly condones his destructive behavior. A closer knowledge of the empty feeling of the violated might make her less surprised at the anger his victims still express years after the fact.
But frankly, I doubt it. She's a grown woman with college-aged children and should know better. I will studiously avoid her "work" in future, and recommend that you, gentle reader, do the same. In the end, she proves to be no better a person than the criminal she's profiling, and I feel like a sucker for having thought better of her than that.

Drive by any flea market and you will see ample evidence that for any object you can think of, there is someone somewhere assembling a collection of it. When it comes to collecting books I can easily sympathize, up to a point. As much as I love books, as much as I've probably spent on books in my lifetime there is just no way I can see myself collecting first editions. Too expensive, too risky and too much space required. None of this, however, was a barrier to book thief extraordinaire John Charles Gilkey.

Barlett dives into the world of rare books, bibliomania and biblio larceny to tell the story of Gilkey, a genuine oddball who despite having no money, no fixed address and no clue sets out to amass a collection of first editions that will wow the world. The fact that Gilkey thinks the world will care gives a hint of what we are dealing with here. The additional fact that Gilkey steals the books and simultaneously feels aggrieved is impressive but only in the same way that it was impressive to see the driver of a Honda Civic, having cut off another car, spit on said car because the other driver dare to blow their horn. And that's one of the major hurdles of this double-spaced, generously margined book: readers will find themselves wanting to smack some sense into this dimwit.

The other main character, Ken Sanders, is an oddball of another sort but an honest and forthright oddball. He's easily one of the sanest people in the book and based on what's in the book, saner than the author. This book is written in the "Let Me Tell You How I Wrote This" style, with the author front and center telling us what she thought, felt, ate, etc. My tolerance for such ventures is low. Bartlett does a good job with this when she's ruminating on what books have meant to her, she does less well when she's telling us about all the books she read as research for this book. I'm glad her library card got a workout but a little narrative cohesion would be nice. So would a little self-awareness.

When Bartlett begins hanging out with Gilkey she seems weirdly unaware that something isn't right with him. She's trying to figure out the logic of what Gilkey does. From his first words to her it's apparent that logic isn't Gilkey's strong point so I kept wondering when Bartlett would clue in to this. When she goes to one of the bookstores Gilkey stole from with Gilkey so that Gilkey can show her how he shops, or some such silliness, I wanted to remind her that being a journalist doesn't require the removal of one's spine. Just say no, Allison. Thankfully, Ken Sanders sets her straight.

It is a rare thing to read an article in a magazine and wish it were longer. Not having reading Allison Hoover Bartlett's original article on the subject, I don't know if The Man Who Loved Books Too Much is eagerly awaited by readers. It's a short book and an easy read. It is also the first book I've read in which the author shares her experience of removing her bra via her shirtsleeve in her car outside a California state prison. I won't be too sad if it is the last.

Recommended for anyone interested in the world of rare books.

Ken Sanders is a Salt Lake City rare book dealer who also worked as the volunteer security chair of the Antiquarian Booksellers' Association of America. Through his initiative a stolen-book e-mail hot-line was established that led to the capture of John Gilkey, who used bad-checks and stolen card card numbers (mostly acquired working at SAKS) to acquire an estimated $100,000 worth of stolen antique books. Praise to Ken Sanders and the cooperative and alert police, boo to John Gilkey and the author who tries to romanticize Gilkey's life and motives. (She even visits one of Gilkey's crime scenes with him, where Gilkey is recognized by the owner.) The entire story should have been summarized into two or three pages.

The only other point of interest was reading what I have long suspected - that eBay has a reputation as the largest legalized fence of stolen property in the world, avoiding liability because it lacks a physical location for its auctions, and technically is not hosting them. A Washington Post article (01/06/2005) adds that thieves used eBay to net far more than normal for fenced goods. Industry representatives contend that eBay makes selling stolen goods so easy that perpetrators are lured into doing so.

This book is a sterling reminder of just how much I love books. Bartlett's writing was so evocative that I could picture in my mind's eye the bookshops and libraries she described, and it made me want to wander around them for hours. Her descriptions of rare books and their charms are so vivid that I can't see how any book lover could possibly fail to respond to them. As I read, I repeatedly found myself telling my husband just how amazing I thought this book was. He agreed with me. He read it first and told me how much he thought I'd like it.

What is easy to understand about this story is how a book lover could respond to the lure of a beautiful, old book. When I was in college, I had the good fortunate to take a Renaissance literature class taught by a professor who took us to see the rare books at the university library during one of our first classes. I'll never forget wearing white gloves and paging carefully through those gorgeously painted illuminated pages. It was truly an awe-inspiring experience for a bibliophile like me, and I could easily understand the charm of owning such a volume myself. Bartlett coveys how books are more than just paper and ink, they're a viable, physical link to the past. They are objects of memory, symbols of the things that we love and of the people with whom we've enjoyed them. Given this, it's easy to see how a thief could be tempted.

Equally interesting was the story of Gilkey. I agreed with Bartlett in that it was difficult to decide if the man was amoral or suffering from some sort of mental disorder. His obvious disconnection from reality is startling. Were I in Bartlett's shoes while interviewing him for this book, I think I would have been too shocked by him for any sort of coherent speech. It was unfathomable that he could view his crimes as being victimless, that he could fail to understand how his books thefts impacted those who, like him, have a high regard for books but, unlike him, obtain them in legal and ethical ways. Gilkey is an interesting criminal and also an alarming one. While his crimes may not be violent, I found it disturbing to think that a criminal with so little conscience could exist. He's the antihero who fancies himself the hero.

It was also disturbing to me to realize just how little publicity book thefts get. Why is it that when art goes missing, it's a top story, but when invaluable books like this are lost, there's hardly a peep? That books have power is obvious, as made plain by Bartlett's comments about past and current attempts at banning and burning "subversive" literature. I was baffled by how law enforcement can treat the theft of a $5,000 book so casually, when the theft of a TV of the same value would clearly not be something treated with so little concern. What an odd contradiction.

This is a book that I will be sure to recommend to my fellow book lovers. I was utterly fascinated by it from the first page until the very last.

I did not like this book. The author drags an article into a book format and the padding she adds is totally airy fluff. The author does focus too much on herself, she vacillates between telling what she knows and drawing out the book. I was quite disgusted with her by the end of the book as I believe she should have spoken up to the authorities as she uncovered more of Gilkey's stolen cache. I think she displays reprehensible behavior and morally bankrupt ethics. This book ends up being a clear picture of her own amoral attitudes toward completing a book about a thief who should have been actually jailed for grand theft. All in all, a very poorly written book, with lifeless characters, and simplistic narrative.

Generally I'm a sucker for books about books, so I expected to like this more than I actually did. But, although Allison Hoover Bartlett writes well, she never quite managed to convince me that this book was anything other than a magazine article that got out of hand. John Charles Gilkey, the serial book thief at the center of the story, is not completely dull, but he's not as interesting as the author seems to believe and certainly not interesting enough to warrant a 250+ page book. I think that the time and energy Bartlett spent in researching the topic caused her to overestimate its general appeal. She's not the first non-fiction writer to fall into that particular trap, and I'm sure she won't be the last.

(A tip to all non-fiction authors: IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU. If you notice that you are starting to a take a prominent role in the story, it's a dead giveaway that your story may be getting away from you. In olden days there was this priesthood of people known as editors who would step in and point this out to you, to save you from yourself. Sadly, this kind of editor (intelligent, engaged, firm) appears to have gone extinct, so let me say this explicitly here. If you're writing non-fiction, please stay out of the picture. Repeatedly insinuating yourself into the narrative will not make me like you more - instead it's likely to reduce the quality of your reporting and irritate the hell out of most readers. So, unless you're Richard Feynman, resist the temptation to make yourself a character in the narrative. We all have a boundless need to be liked; please don't pander to yours by gatecrashing your narrative). Allison Hoover Bartlett's failure to resist this temptation weakens this book significantly, though not fatally.

The failure of the book to ignite my interest stems from something that was essentially beyond the author's control. The problem is that John Charles Gilkey's kleptomania is the only faintly interesting thing about him, and it's not as fascinating as you might think. According to the jacket blurb, "Gilkey steals for love -- the love of books". This is accurate, strictly speaking, but it's also highly misleading. His obsession centers only on books as status objects and has nothing whatever to do with their intellectual content or with the joy of reading. He could just as well have focused his energy on stealing collectible paperweights. Or Pez dispensers. The realization that Gilkey steals books, not because he wants to read them, but because he thinks they will enhance his status, is ultimately what made this book fall flat for me. Despite Bartlett's borderline obsession with her subject, for me the book amounted to little more than a meandering account of the petty misdeeds of a small-time, singularly uncharismatic, drifter. When the account eventually just petered out, it came as a relief.

I'm making it sound worse than it is. Bartlett writes fluidly and the story is not completely without interest. It was just far less interesting than I'd expected.

The author of this book has a wonderful story to tell: a man from humble origins tries to steal his way to an ideal existence. Fascinating!

But the author writes very stiffly Her prose is awkward, and the story never takes flight. She constantly injects herself into the narrative flow of the book, with zero payoff; she's not engaging, and the constant references to what she's thinking and doing (who cares?) just slow the story to a crawl.

I couldn't help wondering what Malcolm Gladwell would have done with the same idea.

As a compilation of research, the book is fine. As an entertaining story, though, I give it a C+.