I had a second edition copy of a literary classic valued. The results shocked me

For the past 30 years, I’ve owned an extremely valuable book. It’s a second edition copy of Pride and Prejudice that’s more than 150 years old. Every now and then I have taken it gingerly out of its box, unfolded its acid-free wrapping paper and admired it. I have always been aware of how much money it is worth, and so I have treated it with tremendous care.

I may have been mistaken.

“I felt like a participant on an episode of Antiques Roadshow, ready to be stunned and amazed by how much my little book could fetch.”Credit:

Recently, I took my antique book to be valued by a rare books expert. I wanted to know if I should insure it, or preserve it differently, or make provisions for it to be passed on in my will.

I was terribly excited to meet with the expert. I felt like a participant on an episode of Antiques Roadshow, ready to be stunned and amazed by how much my little book could fetch. I wondered if I would be tempted to sell it if it was worth a truly staggering amount. I love the book, but if it could buy me a new car, I could probably be convinced to part with it.

Well, one part of that fantasy came true. I was definitely stunned and amazed by the expert. He examined the book, muttered something about it being “interesting”, and then informed me it was worth about $95. I couldn’t buy myself a new tyre for that amount, let alone a new car.

The entire exercise was humbling, to say the least. Happily, though, I had another shot at riches, when my mum gave me some vintage handbags.

My mum had inherited the bags from my grandmother, who had been given them as presents by a very wealthy friend. All the bags were Italian, and all designer, and most dated from the 1970s.

After three months, and several significant price drops, I managed to offload exactly (hang on, let me just count quickly) zero designer bags.

What a treasure trove! What a haul! What would I do with such largesse? I kept a couple for my own use, and had the rest authenticated and valued. At least one was worth $1500, the others $500 to $600 each. Thoughts of that new car bubbled up again. At the very least, I could buy petrol for a while.

I photographed the bags, took their measurements, and posted loving descriptions on various vintage retail sites. Many people “liked” the items, and a few even made offers to buy. But when it came to actually pressing that button and sending money, they were not quite as keen.

After three months, and several significant price drops, I managed to offload exactly (hang on, let me just count quickly) zero designer bags. Turns out, it doesn’t matter how much a bag is “worth”, if no one is willing to buy it.

Still, I had one last chance at selling my family heirlooms. My parents offered me their beautiful silver tea set, which had lain dormant in their bureau for years. For decades, though, that set was taken out ceremoniously for visitors, resting on its own silver tray.

Now, it was time for the treasures to go to a new home, where another grateful family would keep it in pride of place. I listed it online, and waited for the offers to pour in, like the tea that had poured from the ornate silver spout.

I reduced the price, and reduced it again, and then I offered it for free. There was not a single taker.

I caved and took the silverware to my local charity store. The staff member sighed, thanked me, and added it to the pile of silver on the shelf. All these once-cherished sugar bowls, all these beautiful teapots, all those ornamental spoons, now sitting in the corner, unwanted and forlorn.

The entire exercise has made me re-evaluate my relationship with my special things. We tend to overvalue our sentimental items, believing that if they are worth something to us, they will be worth just as much to someone else. It even has a name: the endowment effect.

I understand now that there’s a difference between something being objectively valuable, and merely valuable to me. And honestly, it’s liberating! I’ve spent years saving my “best” things for good, keeping them hidden away for fear of wearing them out. Now, I can enjoy my prized possessions without guilt, and forget trying to keep them pristine.

That antique wooden chest I never allowed my kids to touch? I have repurposed it as a coffee table (and occasional footrest). The lovely silver spoons from my wedding set? I’ve put them in the cutlery draw and use them for eating cereal. The vintage leather bag that no one wanted to buy? It works very well as a toiletries bag. My Nana’s ornamental ceramic pill box? Turns out it’s the perfect size for my earplugs.

As for my precious copy of Pride and Prejudice, I have removed it from its box and discarded its acid free paper. It now lives on my shelf, where I can admire it, leaf through it, and even use it as a coaster if I so desire.

And if my kids want to sell it after I’m gone, they are very welcome to do so. They can put the $95 towards a brand-new tyre.

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