The Annual Save the Children Fund Book Sale at the University of Western Australia Undercroft

Strategy is all. To go with friends, so there will be someone to while away the hours with as you stand (or sit) stationary, or better still, to mind your box; or to go alone, the better to hunt without being impeded by a potential threat to your quarry? To strike up a conversation with the person next to you, or to strike him down as you enter the fray? There is plenty of time ahead in which to plot and plan, endless minutes of nothing nothing nothing, are we moving yet, no, nothing nothing, see if you can squeeze up a bit it’s starting to rain and I want to just nudge in under the verandah, nothing nothing nothing and then counting down, some movement at the doors and then BAM it’s on.

Not as fast as the Men’s 100m Olympic Final, but no less exciting for that. As the doors open and the crowd surges forward, you grab yourself a cardboard wine box and rush directly for your chosen topic field, the area layout the same each year, no surprises or ambush await, just the struggle to wade through the honey thick throng of folk all dedicated to the same end as yourself- a find, a bargain, the holy grail. With box above head (at least to begin with until it becomes weighted down by your ever increasing catch) you climb the stairs (if you’re me!) to the Children’s Section, advancing further into the frenzied fossicking where the gross physical movement of whole bodies has slowed and the motion of minds and hands increases, whirling quickly through the rows of books, flick flick flick, in search of titles, authors, illustrators, something quirky that may catch your eye.

Each shopper has his/her own system and things get awkward on the floor as space becomes a premium beginning to fill with half empty and rapidly expanding boxes of books. Then at about quarter time confusion sets in: where to dump your heavy load, as you need agility and empty hands to navigate successfully through this densely packed domain. As you continue to wade about the floor how will other people know that lone box in a sea of lone boxes is yours, and not go riffling through it in search of goodies? Or worse still, would they even care the box ‘belongs’ to you, and pillage it regardless? The floor is by this time littered with the public’s unattended filled boxes which are becoming interspersed with still other filled boxes systematically opened by staff as the shelves lose stock. As fast as staff restock the shelves, books disappear into public boxes on the floor.

The unattended boxes on the floor are moved around by any persons trying to pick their way through the space, even if they AREN’T plundering your stock, so you work with one eye on an ever increasingly distant box that is liable to teleport at any moment, and another on the next freshly opened box of potential glory; or summon up the courage to bring your box along with you, forcing small children to yield and adults to capitulate, giving up their precious foothold, else endure a heavy box thrust upon their lower appendages. It is a nervous shuffling kind of dance you perform in a space no larger than a small bedroom, up here on the platform that is the Children’s Section, where the best part of a hundred adults and children attempt to cram into a 5m x 2m area overflowing onto the stairs where the rest of the sale crowd have also left their boxes of books in limbo – right next to the clearly marked signs indicating that this practice is not tolerated. Some weary travellers, those who have underestimated their stamina for first-night battle, may endeavour to use the stairs as a time out area or meeting place, struggling to make space to sit, box on knee, or even stand, perhaps hugging their box to their chest if no more space can be created. By now it has become apparent that space is scarce and in demand, at least until the crowds thin out, but this will not happen until at least three quarter time. In fact, if you could find a way to sell space or box minding services you would make an absolute fortune.

When your one box becomes two or three, my friend, the strategy becomes more complex. You have to know there is no safe place for your unattended boxes, not even if they have been bought and paid for, unless you have brought a friend with you for the sole purpose of box-minding (see strategy 1.) in which case you are privileged with a rare species indeed, for they would now be worth their weight in gold were you to choose the following option.

You may toy with the idea of taking some books back to the car and returning, but in this way lies madness (unless you are blessed with that serf). Where have you parked? Again- initial strategy of arriving early is key to not only gaining access ahead of the pack, but having to walk less distance at the end of the evening, one piece of lead at a time. And how much time will be wasted in this pursuit? Calculate the queues at the myriad far-flung checkouts: slow. Actually making it over to the checkouts: slower. Shuffling boxes to the car (while STILL leaving the remaining unattended, but a little safer somehow now they are on the outside): painstakingly tedious.

No, that idea may be tantalising but it is in no way practicable. I have not any notion of how others solve the mystery, but I am going to let you in on my secret. However, first know this: if I catch you telling anyone else, or trying it yourself, I won’t hesitate to kill you.

So, this is it. I edge my way ever closer to the corner of the table, on the right hand side of the staircase. I place my box of books just under the table and then I shuffle the other (unopened and awaiting staff re-stocking) boxes around a bit so there is just enough space for my body to go in between them. Then I climb under. Safe. Among the boxes of potential gold. Sometimes they may have come open (accidentally, see?) and I have a little sift through, a preview, if you like. leisurely, in my own time, my own pace, no one pushing me or moving my box. Just me and the sea of cardboard, I savour the calm and quiet in this undiscovered oasis, this cramped space in which only someone as child-sized as I could fit. I can barely get my neck straighter than a 45 degree angle and I feel like Alice in Wonderland, but it’s worth it to be the first to unfold the secret of these boxes, offering up their prizes only to me, my collection of filled boxes close by my side.

The Book Sale runs all week, but the thrill of the chase can only be had on opening night. The adrenaline rushing through your veins as you wait in line using these last moments to go through your strategies one last time: grab box; go straight to Children’s section; start in the far right, no, wait, left hand corner; work around in a L shape for one lap then disappear under the table. Come out at the end of the night battered, bruised and shaken, but victorious. Without fail hand over far more money than I bargained for at the checkout. Lug boxes back to the car. Stay up late into the night pouring over my finds, devouring new stories, adding to my collections.

When is this lustrous event you may ask? Well, as it happens, it is tomorrow night. And this year I shall miss it. A promise to a friend (who has an entry in this year) to attend the Fremantle Print Award at the Fremantle Arts Centre has superseded my favourite yearly event. I can only say this: my friend had better win.