A new meme has been circulating through Twitter in which a guy with his girlfriend is caught "appreciating" another girl's look. The mutability of the meme is that the labels of each part can vary. The one I saw that I liked the most, and what inspired this essay, is this one:
There's an allure to a book. Bookstores are quasi-sanctified ground for me, with the library-esque reverential feeling of speaking in Sacrament Meeting whispers, the particular smell of books and (often) coffee invoking a specific attitude both putting me in a specific mindset. Bookstores are less places to buy and something and more experiences to be enjoyed.
Because of where I live, I don't get to go to bookstores as often as I'd like (read: Daily), but I'm not so far away that I can't go whenever I really need to. My favorite was Borders, but that died the death a decade or so ago, so while I still pine for their weekly coupons and preferred their atmosphere and selection, I have since moved on to Barnes & Noble.
I know that some people have disdain for the newer stores. That's understandable. Though B&N hires bibliophiles, they're very much a corporation that happens to sell books, rather than booksellers. Independent bookstores are thin on the ground in my neck of the woods: There's a couple of used bookstores in the Provo area, and The King's English in Salt Lake is a beauty of a store. For the former, it's difficult to go to those stores if I'm looking for a particular book, especially if it's new. They can notify me if a used copy comes along, but for the most part, I'm better off hunting online. As for the King's English, though they sell new books--and host local authors for signings--they're quite far away and, understandably, don't offer a teacher discount.
And that's the hard part about loving bookstores: Books are cheap, but not in the quantities I wish to buy them in. I mean, I've always felt that, dollar for dollar, books provide the greatest amount of entertainment per hour than any other medium (though some video games' replay value is in the hundreds of hours, which is a great return). But I spent dozens of hours reading It and it cost less than $9. Cheaper than a movie ticket.
But just because books are (comparatively) cheap doesn't mean that I'm not always looking for a deal. And when I purchase through Barnes & Noble, I get a teacher discount of 20%. That's not a small amount, particularly for a teacher. Because I view book buying as a karmic move, I try to purchase new whenever I can (and whenever the author's still alive to receive the royalties). Sometimes, I want a book the day it comes out, which preempts the used bookstores entirely. And, in my defense, I'll buy a new book from Barnes & Noble sooner than I'd buy it from Target or Wal-Mart, even if it is a little more expensive at B&N. Gotta support the business, yo.
Nevertheless, I always have a weird mixture of joy and guilt when I buy another book. One half of that comes from the fact that a pick-me-up for my depression is retail therapy, and there's nothing I'd rather spend money on than books. So the joy is a squirt against my mental illness, which is good, but then I feel bad considering how many books I have on my shelf, waiting to be read.
I've gotten worse as I've aged, too. With more (comparatively) money than what I had as a young adult (or kid, naturally), I am willing to buy a book simply "because", even if I know in my heart of hearts that I don't intend to read it. The spines of some of the books in the room in which I'm writing this are staring at me with the same shocked, offended expression as the girl in the meme above.
I'm trying to change my feelings about this, however. Reading a book is important--and the action itself is pleasurable and enjoyable--but buying a book is its own important act, too. While I need to improve my reading schedule, I feel like I ought to relish the allure of books I buy as its own separate--though connected--worthwhile experience.
Now to get my bank account on board with my new understanding.
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| Yeah, basically. I got it from this tweep. |
Because of where I live, I don't get to go to bookstores as often as I'd like (read: Daily), but I'm not so far away that I can't go whenever I really need to. My favorite was Borders, but that died the death a decade or so ago, so while I still pine for their weekly coupons and preferred their atmosphere and selection, I have since moved on to Barnes & Noble.
I know that some people have disdain for the newer stores. That's understandable. Though B&N hires bibliophiles, they're very much a corporation that happens to sell books, rather than booksellers. Independent bookstores are thin on the ground in my neck of the woods: There's a couple of used bookstores in the Provo area, and The King's English in Salt Lake is a beauty of a store. For the former, it's difficult to go to those stores if I'm looking for a particular book, especially if it's new. They can notify me if a used copy comes along, but for the most part, I'm better off hunting online. As for the King's English, though they sell new books--and host local authors for signings--they're quite far away and, understandably, don't offer a teacher discount.
And that's the hard part about loving bookstores: Books are cheap, but not in the quantities I wish to buy them in. I mean, I've always felt that, dollar for dollar, books provide the greatest amount of entertainment per hour than any other medium (though some video games' replay value is in the hundreds of hours, which is a great return). But I spent dozens of hours reading It and it cost less than $9. Cheaper than a movie ticket.
But just because books are (comparatively) cheap doesn't mean that I'm not always looking for a deal. And when I purchase through Barnes & Noble, I get a teacher discount of 20%. That's not a small amount, particularly for a teacher. Because I view book buying as a karmic move, I try to purchase new whenever I can (and whenever the author's still alive to receive the royalties). Sometimes, I want a book the day it comes out, which preempts the used bookstores entirely. And, in my defense, I'll buy a new book from Barnes & Noble sooner than I'd buy it from Target or Wal-Mart, even if it is a little more expensive at B&N. Gotta support the business, yo.
Nevertheless, I always have a weird mixture of joy and guilt when I buy another book. One half of that comes from the fact that a pick-me-up for my depression is retail therapy, and there's nothing I'd rather spend money on than books. So the joy is a squirt against my mental illness, which is good, but then I feel bad considering how many books I have on my shelf, waiting to be read.
I've gotten worse as I've aged, too. With more (comparatively) money than what I had as a young adult (or kid, naturally), I am willing to buy a book simply "because", even if I know in my heart of hearts that I don't intend to read it. The spines of some of the books in the room in which I'm writing this are staring at me with the same shocked, offended expression as the girl in the meme above.
I'm trying to change my feelings about this, however. Reading a book is important--and the action itself is pleasurable and enjoyable--but buying a book is its own important act, too. While I need to improve my reading schedule, I feel like I ought to relish the allure of books I buy as its own separate--though connected--worthwhile experience.
Now to get my bank account on board with my new understanding.