The 63rd edition New York Antiquarian Book Fair took over the Park Avenue Armory this weekend. It’s an overwhelming event, even compared to the more prestigious art fairs that visit New York venues in the spring and fall. With nearly 200 rare book dealers in attendance, the fair showcases thousands upon thousands of books, ephemera, and historical works on paper. While a dealer at a contemporary art fair might have a ready-made sales pitch for one or two artists at his booth, the booksellers at Park Avenue Armory hold a seemingly inexhaustible treasure trove of knowledge, both artistically and historically, on every item in their collection. . Entering the fair is like trying to see The Met’s entire collection in one day – impossible.

Faced with this infinity of offers, I decided to focus my visit on an unusual presentation. The stand at Brooklyn’s Honey and Wax Booksellers, owner Heather O’Donnell, featured a wide variety of books and paper goods, including a fan issued on Valentine’s Day in 1795.

“To torment and please all women; Here are Gallants of course a lot! ; Then choose a beautiful one that suits you, or change until only one pleases you,” reads an inscription on the fan. Cupid presents an assortment of unpleasant lovers: “The lover of himself”, “The carnal lover” and “The lover of money” among them.

The 18th century object proves that dating, romanticized as it was in the past, has always been “a sort of swipe left situation,” O’Donnell said. “It’s just a beautiful and really funny thing that makes you realize that the frustrations people are feeling today have been going on for a while.”

Another fascinating find at the Honey and Wax booth examines the roots of clickbait and celebrity obsession. A multi-part collection explores Trial of Elizabeth Canning, one of the earliest fixations on true crime. It’s a telling example not only of the power of mass media, but also of prevailing attitudes about race and gender. In 1763, an 18-year-old English servant named Elizabeth Canning disappeared. When she resurfaced 28 days later, she claimed to have been kidnapped by two men and taken to a brothel, where an elderly Roma woman allegedly tried to force her into prostitution. Canning said she refused and was then locked in a small room and fed only bread crusts and water (she would have been very thin when she returned). After almost a month, Canning said she loosened a plank and escaped.

She accused the brothel “Mother” Susannah Wells and Mary Squire, the Roma woman. Squire was sentenced to death, but 36 witnesses said she was not at the scene and 26 others placed her in England. Canning was eventually tried for perjury. The case became impossible to decide, and the English population was divided as to Canning’s innocence. The 18th century media fanned the flames, feeding people a steady stream of salacious pamphlets, magazines and newspapers. O’Donnell features one such work: a magazine picture from 1754 that depicts Canning as a well-dressed young woman and Squire as a witch-like old woman, no doubt a veiled depiction of the country’s attitude towards the Roma.

A theory emerged that Canning was pregnant and disappeared to have an abortion or give birth in secret. Eventually Canning left the country, moved to Connecticut, married a Quaker man, and had four children.

O’Donnell exhibits an object from the Connecticut years: Canning’s only known letter. It was written in 1755 to a Mrs. Stokes, to whom the young woman expressed her gratitude. The letter was compiled into an 1888 volume on the case, and O’Donnell explained that historians have since considered it to be authentic.

“That being said, I’m not 100% ready to say it’s Elizabeth Canning’s hand,” O’Donnell said, but pointed out that the possibility of it being fake is perhaps even greater. interesting. “That said, it’s incredibly cool, and a weird thing to forge, honestly.”

Another O’Donnell exhibit traces the development of bookbinding: printers sold pages with blank covers and buyers took them to their own bookbinders. Over time, publishers realized they could bind their own copies and use the covers to market their content.

Elsewhere, other stands presented less ephemeral objects. Virginia-based Marnin Art featured an assortment of collectible books; the artwork reproduced within far exceeds that of today’s familiar glossy art books. A poetry book from 1938 in 75 editions contains an original engraving by Joan Miró, signed and numbered. A later Miró book from 1957 includes a drawing by the artist on the leather cover and matted prints on the pages of the book.

Other sellers featured even older snapshots of the story, including 15th-century illuminated manuscripts at the stand of Switzerland-based Dr. Joern Guenther Rare Books. As these 800-year-old works sit in their temporary display cases, they cemented the main takeaway from this quirky, knowledge-rich fair: there is an endless supply of interesting objects in the world, and apparently not enough space in museums to contain them.