The Love of Paper Books
Dog eared books, yellowed pages. Faded. Seen everything from beginning to the end. Multiple times.
An often read book has a story of its own. A second hand book, probably moreso.
Love how each book has its own history. A history of coffee stains, water that dries away and crinkles up the pages, the yellow of age, the smell of everything it’s been through and imbibed.
As much as I love my Kindle, paper just absorbs memories better.
I do believe that reviewers must not demand paper books or hardcovers from authors when they are sent books for review, but if you’re buying, why not buy a paperback. After all, there won’t be any coffee stains on a kindle to conjure up memories of summer days where you consumed copious amounts of coffee and literature, or weekday evenings spent in bed with a nice happy book, green tea or maybe chocolate.
A kindle wont have grubby finger stains from when your niece or nephew grabbed at it with oatmeal on their hands. You wiped off the oatmeal but the memory remains.
A second hand book – what memories do they hold? Do they have memories of war torn countries? Of a secret life? Of boxes and silverfish? Of being passed on lovingly from a grandmother to her favorite grandchild?
Yes, books tell us stories of their authors’ minds and imaginations. But how will we ever know the books’ own stories?
We can wonder, and feel joy at that wonder. There is so much in the world we don’t know. Paper books, to me, are a reminder of fleeting mortality. I hope you enjoy, savor and cherish all the books you buy, gift, get, read, and re-read.
Happy Christmas, darlings!