Saying goodbye to favourite titles is like saying goodbye to friends. Combining the two can ease the grief of both
Secondhand bookstores used to fill me with dread. They were the places of neglected stories, of lost hours, of the authors the world had forgotten. This is, of course, not entirely true, but back then I was trying to be someone – a writer – and I saw secondhand bookstores the same way I saw graveyards: as places stories went to die.
The books that surround us say a lot about who we are – or were – and, two weeks ago, as I prepared to shift my life from Sydney to Barcelona, I sat on my bedroom floor staring at the 100 or so titles I had acquired over my six years in the city. Some were funny. A couple were classics. Most were depressing. I’m going to get rid of all my books, I told my mum on the phone. It’s no wonder I was sad; look at all this crap I was reading.
Continue reading...from The Guardian http://bit.ly/2WIW8sO
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