“Every book, every volume you see here, has a soul. The soul of the person who wrote it and of those who read it and lived and dreamed with it. Every time a book changes hands, every time someone runs his eyes down its pages, its spirit grows and strengthens.”
The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón
I've been thinking about books recently (you're shocked, I know). Not particular books, as in their content (I mean I have for studies, but that's besides the point), but on the physical book itself.
It struck me today as I was sitting in a coffee shop, pouring over a text (nothing exciting, really, just a secondary text for my dissertation) and I was struck with a profound thought.
I love books. Okay, I know you laughed out loud at that one. Of course I love books, why else would I be doing a MA in English Literature? Who spends their days (and a lot of nights) reading, and hates books? But what I mean is that I
literally love books. The paper, the binding, the covers,
everything about them. I watched a film recently that had man handling an ancient book and he wasn't wearing protective gloves - it physically hurt me to watch it! And I knew it wasn't real. That's how deep this goes for me.
