Todays blog is going to be short and sweet.....
I have a comment and then a question.
When I buy a book- it has to be REALLY boring and crappy for it to ever leave my house. I buy a book and read it and then shelve it.....it becomes part of my "family". I think in my entire like I have given away maybe three books.
Books were my best friends when I was growing up. They took me places to do things I dreamed about for weeks or months after reading them.
And I still love books like that-They still take me away to a place thats less stressful than my life sometimes, now. I read them and they stay on my shelf. I go to the library and borrow books and DETEST bringing them back.
My question is...... how can you go to the used bookstore and trade off books? How COULD you?? Isn't it a bit like taking your puppy to the pound and dropping him off or trading him in for a different one?
Or am I just entirely too emotional about my books????
:-)
(No offense to you-know-who about her trunkful of books intended by this blog.)
5 comments:
Hmmm.... I will have to give this some thought. It's a topic that has come up before.
One man's rubbish is another man's treasure.
I like people who give their books away...means I can buy 'em second hand for cheap.
I can lend my books out with no problem. But I can't even bring myself to give away or sell books like "The Babysitter's Club" and "Sweet Valley High". There is something very wrong with me. I know that it will be a very very long time before I have children even close to old enough to read these books and yet I cling to them and the mountain of others that I've picked up since then.
After college, I gave away most of my crappy old paperbacks (lots of bad genre fiction, dog-eared to the point of falling apart) to friends, family, the library. I still have a box of some that I can't even give away, and it will remain with me until one of the two of us finally disintegrates. I keep everything else. Occasionally, I give a personal copy away to a friend, but I always replace it.
However, I make a confession to you all, complete strangers, because those who know me would immediately grab their pitch-forks and knives and exile me from the kingdom. Three years ago I threw a book away, straight in the trash and out to the dumpster. In my defense, it was a hideous, horrible book and I was ashamed to let anybody know I'd bought it.
And I don't even mean shameful in that secretly cool way that Lolita is shameful, or even shameful in that Mein Kampf kind of way that says you are really just a student of history: no, I mean "bad to the point that it should never have been printed on actual paper" shameful.
If I haven't touched something in a year or two, I don't need it. I read mostly non-fiction books on religion, ethics and culture. So I go back to them freqently when I want to refresh my memory. But fiction books flow through my home like water.
Post a Comment