About this time last year, a co-worker and I were discussing Zadie Smith’s Swing Time after a company holiday book swap. I hadn’t read any Smith, but my co-worker was a huge fan, and I asked to borrow her copy of NW. She gave it to me —grudgingly; it was signed!—and I devoured it over Christmas. But what I found myself most impressed with when I first opened the book was the personalized bookplate my co-worker had on the first page. I told her I liked it when I returned the book, though I didn’t ask where it had come from. I assume she has them on all the books she owns. It’s a brilliant idea, to mark those books as part of your personal library, or to claim them as your own if you plan to send them out into the universe. Continue reading Tis the season: On sharing books
Booksharing is a broke bookworm’s greatest weapon against a lack of reading material.
Everyone has a book (or seventeen thousand) that they either want or just have to own. I myself have three bookshelves in my bedroom that have been carefully — and painfully — pruned many times over my tenure in that space, and there are some books I can’t part with. That’s left me with a two rather large stacks of recently read books that don’t fit on the shelves, and a fairly intimidating pile or to-be-read titles. That hasn’t stopped me from basically taking up any book that is offered, handed, or sent to me. Continue reading On borrowing books