Phobias of a bibliophile... and getting over them !!

I love books. Not just for the stories in them but also for them as physical entities. I love the cover pages, the blurbs, the musty yellow sheets or the crisp white pages, the smell of ink and the texture of a hard cover.

This love of mine for books as things also makes me a little finicky about their condition. I hate it when people keep books dusty and torn; when the bind is coming apart and when the dust jacket is torn. I hate it when people mark text in books or dog-ear them (My mind is usually crying out aloud "Why don't you use a bookmark for heaven's sake or Just remember the page number !!!"). Even writing notes in books which were bought as gifts for friends and family were not my most favorite occupation. Other than the fact that one needs to be creative, honest and funny all at the same time, it also meant that those oven-fresh books were a tad bit disfigured by my hand writing. However, as a prime example of double standards, when someone gifted me a book, I would want them to leave me a note (even a sticker once... ;)) as my return ticket to that moment. And then every time I would open the book or read the note, I would be transported to the feeling that lingered with me upon reading the note and seeing the book (and I would have this smile plastered over my face :)). And so with this justification, I would allow myself to disfigure some of the books but only on the first few pages.

Now, I know this obsession of mine with books is crazy because books, like people, are valuable for what is in them and not for how they look, but this is just an idiosyncrasy (yes, yet Another !!!) of mine. Now I do hope you don't judge me based on this because this fetish of mine somehow extends only to books and not to people.

Now, coming back to the story on hand, with my concerns for the appearance of a book, I've never really liked the idea of second-hand books. It somehow meant that what i had in hand and what I loved was someone's possession. I could never feel that the book was truly mine... But then when I was forced to leave most of my books behind during my recent move, I had to cut some corners from my lofty desires and i did resort to buying second hand books. And in the past three odd months, I have invested in a lot of books. Some of them despite being "used" were in a great condition and I had no reason to complain.

But then.... some books were distinctly used. They carried notes, messages, scribbles.

Notes and messages which held tiny stories in them. Stories of people who had lived and loved. These were books that were given out of love and appreciation. And somehow these scribbles did not give me the goosebumps. They told me of a life that once lived. They told me of people who once lived, of their loved ones and of their lives. These books made me feel like a kinship with something bigger than me as an individual. These books made me feel like I was guarding something important, a piece of history - something bigger than me. Something that could one day be a part of history.

I know it sounds too self important but when i see a book with someone's love/concern written all over it, it makes me feel that someday, someone will be happy they found it. And till that time I get to be the one to protect this piece of history and legacy... It's a self-indulgent and overtly romantic thought but hey, I am what i am - a foolhardy romantic who just tries to be practical.... :)

And I guess the finicky bibliophile is growing up now... :)