Land of Books
I worry that someday books will cease to exist. That is, physical copies of books. Between Kindles and Nooks, and the dozens or so other e-book reading devices, it seems the age of the paper book is coming to close. Honestly, it’s not so much the disappearance of physical books I worry about, it’s the experiences I associate with physical books that I worry about losing. Most of all, I worry about losing used bookstores.
If I were to venture a guess as to what paradise looks like, I would image it probably looks like an awful lot like used bookstore. Why a used bookstore, and not your regular run of the mill chain bookstore like Barnes and Noble or Waterstones? Well, I’ve always found something particularly enchanting about used books and the little shops that spring up around them. As a student, for example, used bookstores are my saving grace. Not only do I buy most of my textbooks from them at a dramatically reduced price, but they help me feed my reading addiction without wiping out my bank account. Not only do they appeal to me on a purely frugal level, but alsoI find them to be generally fascinating spaces. Crowded from floor to ceiling with books, you might find anything in a used bookshop. I could, and have, quite literally spend hours pursuing the shelves of some of my favorite used bookstores. Even better, there is a very real human component to used bookstores.
The books you buy at used bookstores invariably contain hints of their former owners. Sometimes there are inscriptions scrawled onto the opening pages, sometimes there are tickets stubs tucked away deep inside the book, sometimes there are notes in the margins, or thick streaks of highlighter and pen running across the page. There really is no telling what you might find. In a way, it’s as if you and this complete stranger have shared an experience together. This book passed from their hands to yours. You’ve read the same lines, rifled the same pages, and studied the same dust covers. On rare occasions, you’ll come across an especially potent line and noticed that the uppermost corner of that page is dog-eared, or that the text has been lightly underlined in pencil. All of the sudden you come to realize, they (the book’s mysterious former owner) loved this same line too, of this particular part, or this specific character. It’s a nice feeling, knowing that someone else cared about that very same thing. It’s once that you rarely find anywhere else.
Not so long ago, I spend eight months traveling abroad. For eight months, I visited some of the world’s most famous landmarks, and I saw with my very own eyes some of the world’s most famous pieces of artwork. I also visited one exceptional used bookstore. It seems silly to bring up a used bookshop in conjunction with those other things, but at the time, it meant a lot to me. When I happened upon that particular shop, I was nearly at the end of my trip. I was on my own and had been for the past two weeks when I found it. It was one of the happiest moments I experienced during my time aboard. It was like coming home. In that moment, it didn’t matter what language I spoke or what currency was strongest. There were only the books. I ended up spending around five hours in the shop that day. Five hours of mundane, but very welcome, bliss. In other words, it was paradise.
