Several years ago, while going through a bunch of old books at my grandmother’s house, I ran across a treasure. It is a 1934 edition of a Nancy Drew mystery, The Clue of the Broken Locket. Signed “Love, Kutaw,” it was a gift to my aunt from her best friend back in the day. The cover is a bit frayed and faded, with a cloth-covered cardboard backing that is nicked and wobbly at the edges. And there on the front is the classic orange imprint of the detective, bent over with a magnifying glass in her investigative pose, clearly intent on something of interest.
Nancy Drew used to be every girl’s role model. She has never aged, still sporting the same fearless attitude and thirst for adventure that every tween-ager wishes she could emulate. So far as I know, she has never been employed, living instead off her famous lawyer dad’s income and enjoying lunches prepared by the live-in housekeeper, Hannah Gruen. Still, she earns her keep, if not monetarily, at least in the excitement she provides with her keen eye for unearthing clues and righting wrongs in River Heights. Even the police captain sometimes calls her in for help on a case. And who wouldn’t want to be her best friend? Especially if you also get to speed along a dusty back road in search of clues in that bright blue roadster.
So, for sentimental reasons, I decided to collect some old Nancy Drew books from the 1930s and actually found a few scattered around in local antique stores. And then I hit the mother lode in Savannah, Georgia, in the form of Books on Bay. The little bookstore is in a cramped space in the basement of an ancient waterfront building on River Street. It’s one of those places with plank wood floors that creak to announce your arrival. Sunbeams filtered through thick paned windows illuminate the dust motes dancing in the air that’s also thick with the smell of Old English furniture polish and musty pages.
Floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves are packed with “friends,” according to the bookstore owner, a pleasant 60ish lady who is pleased to give you a tour. She specializes in antique children’s book series, including Cherry Ames, Nancy Drew, the Bobbsey Twins, Trixie Belden, the Hardy Boys, and Donna Parker.
“You know, I have lots of friends here,” she confides in her library voice. “I just love spending the day with them and introducing them to others.”
She leads me conspiratorially to a locked glass-front curio cabinet with a few of her more precious editions, one of which is a first printing of Nancy Drew’s Secret of the Old Clock.
“Would you like to hold it?”
“Sure,” I quaver, uncertain of how to respond to the magnitude of this moment.
“I’ll even take your picture.”
“OK!” I enthuse.
Dutifully I pose, cradling the priceless edition for the souvenir picture, before the book is returned to its place of honor and security behind glass.
As I make a lesser purchase and prepare to leave, Ms. Bookstore Owner muses that her favorite book heroines are the earlier ones because they were what young girls aspired to be. They were those that girls could look up to and feel drawn to. “Nancys” in more recent versions, she bemoans, act more like their proteges and give them nothing to hope for. They don’t set the best example, but instead validate lower ideals and status quo. Why, Nancy might even smoke and break traffic laws in the newer editions!
A bit bummed with that summary of the current state of children’s books, I’m that much more pleased with the tissue-wrapped package I leave with—Nancy’s Mysterious Letter and The Mystery of the Ivory Charm. I even scored a complimentary coffee mug emblazoned with a cat peering over a stack of hardback books from Books on Bay. And she also threw in a green canvas Nancy Drew Mysteries tote bag so I can carry Nancy and my new purchases with me everywhere.
And since I’m apparently now a member of the unofficial Books on Bay Nancy Drew Fan Club, I enjoyed a 20% discount. I hope she remembers my status the next time I’m in Savannah.
The most recent time I descended into the bookstore of friends on River Street, I found the owner in close conversation with a customer of like interest. Apparently, a renowned Nancy Drew artist was bringing in a print of one of the original dust jackets that you simply cannot find anymore. The painting would occupy a special place just inside the front door, sure to be appreciated by the Nancy Drew Fan Club and featured on its web site.
I’m definitely a collector and really appreciate the antiquity of my findings, but there’s a line I just can’t cross. As a suspected book nerd and acclaimed cat lady, I’m already suffering the humiliation of those stereotypes. Joining the Nancy Drew Fan Club, as tempting as that is, just can’t happen.
Still, there’s something about those old books that captivates me. I think maybe it’s the fantasy world they live in. Nancy doesn’t work and she never ages. She’s never scared and she’s never unsure of herself. Her boyfriend is the star of the football team at the local university. Her best friends are ever loyal. And on and on.
Story lines are unbelievable and occasionally ludicrous. And absolutely dated. And that’s OK.
“Listen girls,” advises Nancy to her chums in line at the train station. “If you see something suspicious, just raise your handbag in the air and wave it.” Bess and George, ever the feckless companions, nod in agreement and solemnly peruse their surroundings, ready at a moment’s notice to tinkle their handbags in the air inconspicuously.
Even the wording is enchanting. It obviously doesn’t take much to impress me and I’m afraid I’m living up to the stereotype I’m trying to avoid. Nevertheless, on my next trip to Savannah I have no doubt I’ll join the club at Books on Bay and settle in to the tattered leather sofa in the reading room to listen to the latest in book gossip. I’ll swoon over the most recent acquisition and maybe even get to hold it. And I’ll be happy.
