Amor Towles’s novels are canvases of historical shades and tones, often set in the early-to-mid 20th century, snapshots that present particular versions of the past.
It is no surprise, then, that Towles is something of a literary history buff.
Towles, the 61-year-old author whose best-seller works include “A Gentleman in Moscow,” “Rules of Civility” and “The Lincoln Highway” has amassed a trove he estimates at around 100 rare books, collected over a couple of decades. Some he received as heirlooms or gifts; some he found in used-book stores; others he acquired through auctions.
These include rarities like a first edition of T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land,” an 1886 edition of Leo Tolstoy’s “War and Peace” (a gift from his wife, Maggie, for their 20th wedding anniversary) and first printings of poetry and letters from the 1890s by Emily Dickinson. There’s also a first edition of Henry David Thoreau’s “Walden; Or, Life in the Woods” and a first edition of C.K. Scott Moncrieff’s English translation of Marcel Proust’s “Swann’s Way.”
The rarities, which seem to work as sensory anchors for Towles’s own writing process, are shelved behind glass doors on a bookcase in his office-cum-library in his downtown Manhattan home. Echoes of history are palpable inside the mahogany-paneled room, decorated with both antique and modern paintings, prints and vintage trinkets, and lined with shelves holding even more books. From behind the glass, works by authors such as F. Scott Fitzgerald, Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway and Raymond Chandler loom over his shoulder as he writes. (He is currently drafting a new novel, set in the 1940s and slated for a 2027 release.)
Was that placement intentional? “What do you think?” he quipped as he discussed his fascination with rare books. The conversation has been edited and condensed.
You’re an avid reader, a habit that has been a through line in your life. How has that influenced your own writing and collecting?
I knew I wanted to be a writer in first grade, and from that point forward, if that’s your ambition at a young age, you’re reading as a writer. You become a “writer-reader.” So almost anything that you’re reading is a part of the hunt. The whole process of coming-of-age is a constant cycle between reading, being influenced by it, internalizing it and experimenting within your own writing. I’m not a rare book collector; I’m not a first-editions collector. I am a collector of books that influenced me, that I admire.
What led you to start collecting books?
I don’t know if there’s an origin. My grandfather and great-grandfather collected books, and I have, like, two books that have come down through that collection. So the desire to collect was very much there and the respect for old things and the interest in old things.
What else draws you to vintage novels?
It has got to be, to some degree, some sort of an innate belief or innate desire to connect ourselves through some sort of chain to the past, right? There must be for us a sense that we feel somehow grounded in our current lives, in the current time that we live in, by connecting ourselves to these threads in the past. And so we prize these things or revere them because they tie us to the past. A signature means that it was in the hand of the author. That’s an incredible concept, which means that, physically, there is a chain of events that goes from me to F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Many of your rare copies are signed by their authors or translators. How does it feel to hold that handwritten history in your hands?
So, we all have our own versions of what this means, right? If you’re a cook, you may have grandma’s handwritten recipes and that matters to you. But as a writer, this is my version of that. It’s my version of the chain that I feel tied to and enriched by. It has influenced me, but I feel grounded with it. It inspires me. It gives me the energy to look forward and try to imagine myself as a part of this chain of human creative endeavor. It has that somewhat mystical component.
When you promote a new book, you rubber-stamp your novels with an undated image that relates to the story, for example, St. Basil’s Cathedral for “A Gentleman in Moscow” and a jazz band and a couple dancing for “Rules of Civility.” What does it mean to you that future generations of writers may collect your first editions?
Well, you know, it’s nice to fantasize about that, right? It is eye-opening to see how long people will wait in line. To have the book signed, to say hello, to share with you what the book means to them. It’s that innate desire to turn this reproduced experience into something, which is somehow more personal. So that forever that book is now a unique object in their lives. I understand that because I do it myself. But it’s deeply satisfying as an artist to have your readers seek to close that loop.
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