I love the written word. In fact I can spend an entire day dodging my responsibilities while consumed by a riveting read. And I love, love, love quirky little second-hand book shops. You know the ones I mean. They're usually found in some out-of-the-way arcade and are either the size of my wardrobe or roam over three floors served by rickety wooden stairs that would never pass a health and safety check. They're packed floor to ceiling with books, the assistant is so busy reading they don't seem to have any time to serve you, and they only take cash. Fortunately second hand books are cheap, so very little cash goes a long way.
A find this week (see pic below) set me to wonder what it is about reading, and about second-hand books in particular,that I find so enthralling?
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| Three beauties picked up for the grand sum of $2 each. |
To start with, I love the smell of old books. I know that's not everyone's cup of tea, but I enjoy that musty dry fragrance. I love the feel of paper between my fingers - brittle and worn yet still enduring. I love the sound of pages flicking through my hands, and the thought that someone whose life will never otherwise intersect with mine, has done just that, through the book I hold in my hands. Strangers in all but this one common thing.
I love reading handwritten inscriptions, the ones you find inside the cover. Many are obvious. like 'To Madison on your 16th birthday', or 'Happy Graduation, love Nana'. But some set my imagination alight. One of my favorites I found in a huge white and gold family bible I bought for the grand sum of $8.00, 'Dearest Mum and Dad, thank-you for helping me to believe in new tomorrows, Judy - Christmas 1985'. I like to wonder about Judy, what was happening in her life to inspire such an inscription? Where is she now? Did she find her new tomorrow?
I love the unknown on entering a second-hand book shop. What will I find among these shelves? Will it be inspiring, challenging, entertaining, funny, horrifying, heart-breaking? Books can show you the beauty of life, and the cruelty of the soul. They teach us new skills, show us a new version of ourselves, introduce new possibilities. Books allow us to get lost in another world, visit foreign lands, different cultures, time-travel, find romance, great sex, and amazing adventure. Virginia Woolf wrote that 'second-hand books are wild books, homeless books...(and) in this random miscellaneous company we may rub against some complete stranger who will, with, luck, turn into the best friend we have in the world'.
I was listening to an audio book by Brian Tracey on my way to work one day (my favourite way to cope with Auckland traffic), in which he said the average adult in America reads one book a year. Hold the bus. WHAT.
That can't possibly be true? I felt sick. I rushed to the font of all knowledge (yes I meant to say font) and asked Google.
Up popped a plethora of surveys, research, and audits with such varying findings that I felt my heart rate begin to settle from my initial shock.
I can't imagine my life without a book beside me. I know some people who struggle to read because of dyslexia or similar challenges, but I also know some people (well actually only two people) who have no problem reading, who never pick up a book, ever. I suspect I feel more sorry for them then they probably feel for themselves.
Do you love second-hand books too? If so, leave me a comment and let me know what it is that enthrals you.
Have a great week, and remember, progress not perfection.
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