I’ve recently discovered a new phase in my relationship with books and words. I’ have come to like used books more than fresh, new ones. I’ve grown to always want to read a book that has been read at least once before. As long as you can read the book and all the pages are intact why should you care where it comes from? It’s bewildering to think of the gemstones people actually throw out. Why would anyone want to give Yates’s Revolutionary Road to a charity shop? Someone somewhere may have thought the book was of no need anymore or because they want to give the gift of the novel to another person. after all, the person reading it again is giving it the gift of life. A dream of mine, ever since I’ve been nigh high was to have the first edition of a favourite book. A dream is a dream.
There is an element of surprise and mystery. Finding a used copy of a book of poems at school with someone’s scribbled notes intrigues me greatly. I wonder how they did in the exam. What they went on to do. If their handwriting has changed. If they feel some sort of connection at all to the poet or poem. The books themselves have been on a journey. I like to think of books having souls. And they do, I mean they tell a story, there’s feelings involved granted it may predominately be just the readers. But there are also the characters feelings and lives. They incite emotions and become your friend. They’re there for you when no one else is. You can lose yourself in words like nothing else.
It’s really stupid but I’ve started to write good luck in my economics textbooks. If the person who uses it after me finds it as half as hard as I am, they’ll need all the luck they can get.
I’ve been upset hearing Amazon have been tax avoiding 😦 I can’t say I’m surprised with Starbucks. I don’t like them and boycott them anyway because of their ties to Zionism but Amazon? Why did they do that? I’m putting off buying from then for a while… until they fix the mess they’ve put themselves in. It’s such a shame because you can get the best used books from them.
With new books you write the story. Old books you long for the story behind it. Maybe it is because I’m a lover of history that I love old and used books. I find it romantic, you already have something in common with the reader of the book before, you’re tied together somehow but you don’t know it. New books have their advantages, yes. But old books behold a quality to them I can’t explain. So rich in their own story and mystery I would pick up a book just for that reason. I’m a book slut. I put my hands up.
“Second hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack.”
― Virginia Woolf