I cherish all the time I've ever wasted in bookstores. I love wasting time in record stores, too, but it's usually more frustrating because I have an infinite mental collection of missing and elusive discs, and I have to check every section for every one and by the time I come up empty, my enthusiasm has waned.
Whereas in a bookstore, my mental list never fails to evaporate the moment I walk through the door! So I can browse contented for an uncounted hour, unencumbered by purpose or her sullen cousin, disappointment.
Books are the life's blood of libraries.
I just thought I'd say that. What a sentence to leave all standalone-paragraph and important! Every now and then, while I haven't yet entirely mastered the obvious, I do like to pull one out of the air just to "show my ass" as it were. Books are the life's blood of libraries. Or is it the pile of avid readers' eyes sliding over the dry pages that is truly the life's blood of libraries? It's an interesting sort of question.
Browsing in libraries is a totally different experience to the bookstore-browse. You'll want to bring an index card, and a pencil to make cryptic notations. I know you'll think you won't really need them, but trust me. You'll be glad you brought them. Another difference is that I really have a certain sort of thing for librarians. It began very early, for me. You know what that thing is called? Respect.
I rarely if ever get shushed.
Every now and then a librarian will look over at me sharply, drawn by some instinct perhaps, and note how quiet and appropriate is my behavior, and I'll sort of raise my eyebrows ("Yes?") and then she'll give me a sort of pertly curt nod of approbation. I'm not being sexist with that "she," either! And don't get me wrong: I get along fine with librariors, but for some reason they never pull that particular move. It might be to do with a difference of intuition involved.
I think books in libraries are happier than a lot of other books. They have a secure and hopeful sort of life. And on one hand, while the stacks and shelves of bookstore books anxiously thrust their spines forward hoping to be browsed and bought, the books at the library can rest easy. "This is my home. I am so glad I have a home! So happy to be stamped "Property Of" and fitted with an inside vest pocket for the date-card. If someone picks me up to borrow and read, I'll be happy! I like to visit, and for people to get to know me - but I love knowing that here is where I belong, and will always return, back to my same happy spot on the shelf, favored by the afternoon sun. Ready to be read by any and all, but happy and content where I am!"
The bookstore book on the other hand, has a certain forced-cheerful near-desperate look to it sometimes. "Hi! Hi! Hello! A lot of people love me, I could be found very interesting if you give me a chance. I won the prestigious Geathers Book Award! In 2006. Oh, dear."
I try to rescue as many of those as possible. And once I've read through, if it's one I can live without keeping on my shelf, I'll donate it to the library! Where it can be happy and secure, and content and read. Sometimes I'll even bump into one of my books again, at the library.
Which can be a little bit awkward, though.
Whereas in a bookstore, my mental list never fails to evaporate the moment I walk through the door! So I can browse contented for an uncounted hour, unencumbered by purpose or her sullen cousin, disappointment.
Books are the life's blood of libraries.
I just thought I'd say that. What a sentence to leave all standalone-paragraph and important! Every now and then, while I haven't yet entirely mastered the obvious, I do like to pull one out of the air just to "show my ass" as it were. Books are the life's blood of libraries. Or is it the pile of avid readers' eyes sliding over the dry pages that is truly the life's blood of libraries? It's an interesting sort of question.
Browsing in libraries is a totally different experience to the bookstore-browse. You'll want to bring an index card, and a pencil to make cryptic notations. I know you'll think you won't really need them, but trust me. You'll be glad you brought them. Another difference is that I really have a certain sort of thing for librarians. It began very early, for me. You know what that thing is called? Respect.
I rarely if ever get shushed.
Every now and then a librarian will look over at me sharply, drawn by some instinct perhaps, and note how quiet and appropriate is my behavior, and I'll sort of raise my eyebrows ("Yes?") and then she'll give me a sort of pertly curt nod of approbation. I'm not being sexist with that "she," either! And don't get me wrong: I get along fine with librariors, but for some reason they never pull that particular move. It might be to do with a difference of intuition involved.
I think books in libraries are happier than a lot of other books. They have a secure and hopeful sort of life. And on one hand, while the stacks and shelves of bookstore books anxiously thrust their spines forward hoping to be browsed and bought, the books at the library can rest easy. "This is my home. I am so glad I have a home! So happy to be stamped "Property Of" and fitted with an inside vest pocket for the date-card. If someone picks me up to borrow and read, I'll be happy! I like to visit, and for people to get to know me - but I love knowing that here is where I belong, and will always return, back to my same happy spot on the shelf, favored by the afternoon sun. Ready to be read by any and all, but happy and content where I am!"
The bookstore book on the other hand, has a certain forced-cheerful near-desperate look to it sometimes. "Hi! Hi! Hello! A lot of people love me, I could be found very interesting if you give me a chance. I won the prestigious Geathers Book Award! In 2006. Oh, dear."
I try to rescue as many of those as possible. And once I've read through, if it's one I can live without keeping on my shelf, I'll donate it to the library! Where it can be happy and secure, and content and read. Sometimes I'll even bump into one of my books again, at the library.
Which can be a little bit awkward, though.
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