How I keep books alive, work out value without kidding myself, and stop at the point where DIY turns into damage. Bench notes, not theory.

I start the same way every time. Look first, smell second, touch last. Dry boards, ordinary wear, no bloom in the gutters: fine. Musty or “cellar” gets parked somewhere airy. Anything with fuzz is treated as mould and handled outside in a mask. The room isn’t a hospital.

Cleaning is restraint. A soft brush takes the top-edge dust and the grit on boards. Uncoated paper will take a light pass with a dry soot sponge; dab, don’t rub. If fibres lift or ink moves, stop. Jackets get a wipe and patience. If a jacket is cockled I take it off, slide clean sheets above and below, and put a light, even weight on it. No heat.

Repairs are small and specific. If the sewing is sound and only the case has drifted, a thin line of neutral pH EVA or PVA along the hinge re-seats it. Sparingly, square to dry. If the text block wobbles, if signatures are pulling, if the spine lining has failed, that belongs at a bindery. Paper tears get kozo in the 5–12 gsm range and wheat starch paste. Never tape. Never cyanoacrylate. Leather that powders is red rot; that is loss, not dryness. Do not oil or “feed” it. Dust, support, and leave it alone unless a professional is involved. Vellum and parchment hate humidity swings; admire them, don’t flatten them.

Smell has rules. Dry air and time either help or they don’t. If it still smells after a day or two of gentle airflow, it doesn’t join the room. Anything from a trastero or garage lives by the door for 24 to 48 hours. Jackets off if tacky. Fresh nose, second look, yes or no. No long maybes.

Storage prevents half the trouble. Keep things cool and steady. No direct sun. Leave a finger of space around each book. Don’t wedge tight. Bottom shelf off the floor. Tall hardbacks need a reliable neighbour or a bookend so the hinge doesn’t pay for laziness. Avoid exterior cold walls and hot radiators; both teach lessons you don’t want.

Buying habits are dull on purpose. Hold the book at eye level and check the spine line. Any twist and you ask if scarcity justifies the headache. Look down on the page block. Waves tell a humidity story; shape might relax, smell rarely does. Open somewhere in the middle and listen. A sharp crack in normal room air points to embrittled glue and a short fuse later. Always look under any plastic protector. Later or facsimile jackets are fine if you say so and price it as what it is.

Valuation starts with the exact thing in your hand. First edition and first printing are not a universal pair. I check imprint, number line, colophon and jacket points until they agree. Book-club issues, remainders and later jackets change the figure. Then I grade in plain words and write the defects like I’m marking a hire car: chips in millimetres, tear lengths, price-clip or not, sunning, remainder marks, inscriptions, foxing, any earlier repair. For modern firsts the jacket often carries most of the number. I price against realised sales of the same issue in similar condition. If my copy has a flaw theirs didn’t, I step down and move on. Paper trail helps when it can be shown. Signatures get suspicion by default; identical patterns and even pressure suggest autopen or a helper. If the price hangs on the ink, I plan on another opinion.

Selling is easier when you describe and stop there. Boards off, head and tail of the spine, hinges, tears shown with a ruler, defects up front. Over-disclose and keep the sale. Bundles work: two honest readers with one better title usually move faster than three lonely listings. Pack for corners, keep tape away from jackets, give moisture a way out.

Health beats sentiment. If mould is active and I’m not set up for it, I bag it and get rid or I pay someone who is. Outside work, proper mask, brush away from me, table vacuumed after with gauze over the nozzle, hands washed, eyes left alone. Boring and effective.

Tools are simple. Soft brush, dry soot sponge, microfibre cloth, pencil and index cards, a few archival flags, nitrile gloves and a proper mask for bad boxes, phone for photos so grading stays honest, short battens and brackets for shelves and cases that drift.

Routines matter more than mood. When a book arrives I do a one-minute check: spine straight, quick riffle by the nose, open in the middle and listen, look down on the page block, jacket off to check boards and clip, then I decide. Shelf, quarantine or no. When I price something I confirm the exact issue, grade book and jacket with specifics, find a handful of comparable sales, set a sensible number and stop arguing with myself.

House rules: buy deliberately, fix only what helps, quarantine what’s uncertain, write notes the same day, move on what you won’t read or can’t house safely. Keep one book you’ll never sell so you remember why you started. Everything else earns its place.