A bit of background

Years ago I sold a couple of college textbooks. It was the end of the semester and the university bookstore fliers had colorfully advertised quick cash. I can’t remember what I did with the money (probably bought a round of shots and a tank of gas), but I carry the guilt of the sale to this day. The act of selling books, even heavy, poorly written Microeconomics and Astronomy textbooks, was a kind of betrayal. I had sold two objects but also two relationships (in this case, two bad ones) and it felt wrong.

This somewhat unhealthy but happy attachment to books no doubt dates back to my childhood, to two artistic parents and a house anchored by bookshelves, but we’ll leave that for a different time. This blog is not about me; it’s about my books. And I have quite a few. Many of them have traveled with me across countries and oceans, on planes and trains, in duffels and side bags and coat pockets. We’ve lived together in hotels, hostels, and apartments, in the Middle East, the mid-Atlantic, and places in between. Some (The Anatomy of Melancholy and 2666, to name a couple of heavy ones) I’ve carried thousands of miles and never read.

By necessity my books are itinerants, my great fear is that one-day they will be homeless. By writing about them here, I hope to give them a virtual shelter – a home away from whatever the future might bring. But that’s just the beginning. I also hope to shed a little light on the companionship they’ve provided and the ways they can illuminate different corners of the world.