books

Growing up, I was surrounded by books. My parents' house has at least a book shelf per room, and I schlep a few select novels with me every time I come to Athens. My favorite Disney character was Belle, who made literacy look like something to be valued and loved (along with having a kick-ass voice).

Even today, when I spend hundreds of dollars on textbooks, I love them. I love the books that I think are poorly written or the books that have a ridiculous story line. Sad, happy, romantic, suspenseful, long, short...it's a thing that I invest my time in. I spend hours, days, weeks with a book. I know its characters, its typos, the sound the binding makes when I crack it open. I dog-ear the pages, leave them lying open, taking them to the gym with me, and drink (and spill) coffee while reading. My books look like they've survived wars, some with pages missing and others black with my furious ballpoint scribblings. Old and used or new and pristine, a book has a specific smell to it that I always breathe in. I breathe in that book smell and I know that, for at least a few minutes, I'm going to be elsewhere.

When I loan a book to someone, I'm excited. I know it's a bit extreme, but it's almost like having a child and sending it out into the world--you're not sure if it's going to be accepted by everyone it meets, and even though you love it with all of your heart, it might be rejected. Ignored. Hated, even. So when a friend asks me if I know of any good books, I think hard about what they're like and what book would be right for them. What book could I send out to this person and have them accept it for what it is?

Anyway.