For the love of Books

I always thought I was a book junkie, until my daughter grew up and perfected this particular addiction. She currently requires a two-bedroom condo just so one of the rooms can hold all of her books. Every inch of wall space is covered with shelving, and the closet doors in the room remain open because the shelving in there is on overflow with stacks from the floor into tall, teetering towers. I’m just waiting for the day she announces her need for a bigger place to house yet more books.

I bought her a Kindle for her birthday one year, and you’d think that would help with the size of her inventory. But no. While she’s bought many books for her Kindle, she still regularly brings home armfuls of new (or used) books because she likes the feel of them. The smell of them. The covers, the convenience, the habit.

I understand all that. I can hardly pass a bookstore without popping in and seeing something new (or old, since I write historicals). Every writer realizes there is a multitude of plot ideas hiding between book covers—twists on history, little-known historical happenings just waiting to be brought to life through the eyes of a character in a story. Whether we’re writers or readers, it’s hard not to want to go on a treasure hunt at each and every bookstore in the area. Bringing home a book, or having one delivered to your door, is like inviting in the outside world. A vacation from reality, a total get-away packed into a few hours, but oh so convenient because you control when you go, without ever leaving.

There is a lot of talk in this electronic age of ours about whether or not books in the bound paper form as we know them will survive. Perhaps some day we’ll all just use our Kindles or Ipads or another form of e-reader. Isn’t it the content that matters, regardless of how it’s delivered?

But there is something about a real book that comforts me. When I walk into a room full of books, I feel like I’m in a place I could love or call home. I love the feel of a book—one with an attractive cover, something I can easily flip back and forth in, something I can gauge how close I am to an exciting ending and resolution of all the conflict and questions. All that makes me hope books, as we know them, will never die.

Even if they do present a storage problem for some of us.

So I guess by now you’ve figured out why my daughter has grown up with an addiction to books. I guess that’s why I can’t get too frustrated with her, although I must say I’m a little relieved that she’s flown the nest. One book addict in the family at a time is enough, thank you. And as I’ve gotten older I’ve learned to part with more and more books—bring in some new books, ship some out.

What about you? Do you have a preference for bound books, or does your e-reader suffice? Do you know that feeling of bringing home a new book, just wondering where it’ll take you? What’s your favorite thing about books?