Or is it perhaps of interest now simply as a part of the history of fiction and so still worth keeping?
But, if kept for this purpose, does it need binding at all? Will not a little mending make it hold together sufficiently well? Perhaps the best plan would be to reclassify it for the literature section, wrap it in paper, mark the wrapper, and put on the shelf.
If it is a good book, in constant demand, the question is still not a simple one. Is it on poor paper, so poor that in our style of rebinding it will last but a short time? If so, would not a new copy be a better investment than the rebinding of this one?
If the paper is good enough for rebinding, will it stand mending and further wear without making its ultimate binding very difficult?
If there are other editions of this book obtainable, does this sample indicate that this particular edition is the best one to buy hereafter?
These and many other questions confront the librarian every time a book, of any kind, comes up for binding. Because they are not wisely answered the shelves of every library show examples of the unwise expenditure of money. To take a specific example in this same field of fiction. The library has several sets of Cooper. In each of them is the Chainbearer. Consider any one of the library’s copies of this book: No one reads it. But mere shifting on the shelf gradually wears it out. It goes through the bindery, and, being by Cooper, and a novel, it is bound, in the same style as the Spy which happens to go with it, in half leather. The Spy is used; the leather on it keeps soft and pliable and wears a year or two, until the book is too dirty to keep it longer. But the Chainbearer stands untouched and its leather hardens and breaks. It must be bound again within three or four years, even though it has not been lent once in that period. If it had received a plain cloth binding, that binding would have cost less and lasted indefinitely. If it had been thrown away the library would have been the gainer.
The problem is not less complex when books in classes other than fiction are up for consideration. Many of them are rarely used; why rebind them at all, no matter how broken? To tie a string about them or to wrap in paper and mark them would often be wiser economy. Often they are single volumes from long sets, an edition, for example, of some history bound about 1800. The binding is calf. In rebinding, to match the set is very unwise, for all calf now on the market will rot in a few years. It must be bound, let us suppose, as it is occasionally called for; yet it will not, like a popular novel, wear out or become unbearably dirty in a half century.
Shall it be put in morocco? This would be a mistake, for it is doubtful if present-day morocco will last 50 years, probably not half that time. The only alternative is cloth, and that with no leather title label on the back. One of the best things is, for a large book, heavy duck back, light gray or light green, lettered in printers’ ink, with sides of any good book cloth. This spoils the looks of the set. Moreover, the cloth catches dust and dirt, and grows soft and flabby. But it is today one of the few safe bindings. If the book is small, full art canvas or imperial morocco cloth is better.
So, as I have said, paper, leather, cloth, sewing, joints, gold, and many other things the librarian must know; and to these must add knowledge of literary values, popularity of books and authors, editions, prices and a score of other things before he can be sure, if he ever can be sure, that he is really binding economically, in the long run.