“The contents of someone’s bookcase are a part of his history, like an ancestral portrait.”
There has been so much buzz about e-literature lately, via such technology as the Kindle, iPads, smart phones and just straight ahead computers.
I have to admit that the idea of carrying a thousand books around with me in a lightweight techno-gadget gets my juices flowing. I mean, think of the possibilities!
But alas. As much as that idea thrills me, and as fond as I am of gadgetry, I don’t think I’ll be getting an e-reader or book downloading app any time soon.
Quite simply, I. Love. Books.
I love new books.
I love old books.
I love really old books.
I love the mingled smell of ink and glue and pulp and old musk. Yes, I am an obsessive book smeller.
I love the feel of paper between my fingers, and having to turn the page just when you get to a climactic part.
I love that many of my books have been paged through by other readers, who (I like to think) left a little something of their soul in the pre-reading of the thing (along with, occasionally, a spot of jam or a coffee mark!).
I love being the first person to crack the spine of a brand new book.
I love how they look, lined up on a book shelf.
I love what they say about you as a person as they accessorize a room.
Yes, I love them for shallow reasons as well as deep.
I love that you can throw one in your bag and not worry about it shorting out if it’s banged around a little bit.
And I love to judge them by their covers.
As long as I am here, there will always be a place in this world for old-fashioned books.
– Words and photos by Lori-Anne Poirier
We’re a little late, but still linking up to A Beach Cottage!