The trait that has always defined and separated me is this stubborn tendency I have to insist that there HAS to be an explanation for why people act and live the way they do. I refuse to admit that randomness rules and chaos reigns supreme!
This perpetual perplexation is the driving force behind why I write, behind why I constantly push and test people, behind why I even bother getting up most mornings.
I've just got to make some sense of it all.
So, considering the above, my attraction to books can only be seen as a natural thing. I'm looking for some answers and, after all, books do contain many many answers. I'm not just talking about Psychology text books here. Even good fiction can reveal a great deal about the nuances of the human condition.
But why collectible books?
Surely a paperback contains the same information as the most intricately bound hardcover, or a first edition signed by the author? Absolutely it does. Perhaps the answer to that question lies in the idea of "layers" - the idea that things are often more than they seem and should be appreciated on more than one level.
Let's go away from literature for a moment and use the simple example of giving and getting flowers. Flowers look and smell alright, and taken at that superficial level, I suppose they do a serviceable job of brightening up a room and covering up any staleness in the air. On the other hand, there are just as many home cleaning products on the market that can do the same thing, are less expensive and come in many attractive colors.
So why then, are there so many flower shops around?
Because giving and getting flowers has virtually nothing to do with the actual flowers at all.
It's all about layers. Layers of feelings and meaning and care and appreciation. It's about understanding the miracle involved in even growing a flower and appreciating the processes involved in getting them the thousands of miles to where you live. It's about agonizing over what combination of colors and scents will most likely result in a smile or feeling of warmth from your recipient. It's about the symbolism contained within the gift: the devotion and the acknowledgement of love.
I, for one, do not give flowers lightly. That's because I understand and appreciate the concept of layers.
Books, like flowers, are grown. Most of us "get involved" at the finished stage, so do not think about the months of agony a writer goes through in order to push out a book. Did you know that Ernest Hemingway rewrote the ending to "A Farewell To Arms" 39 times before he felt it right!?! Absolute agony. When I read his deceptively simple prose, I try to remember the difficulties he endured, the many years he suffered from depression, his eventual suicide...
Writing well is near-impossible. Perhaps my acknowledgement and appreciation of this fact is why I always prefer a good signed copy of any book I admire.
Given the pain of "birthing" a book, does it seem right to treat it as a throw-away? After all, that's exactly what paperbacks are designed for. The glue and bindings and paper are purposely made as cheaply as possible in order to save costs, and even the most lightly read and diligently cared for paperback is unlikely to last more than a decade. I own my share of paper-backs too, purchased mainly for economic reasons, and feel they have their place - for stuffing in a purse or bag to be read at work, or for relaxing with in the bathtub. They're convenient, cheap, and low-risk...sort of like renting a movie.
But for the most part, the majority of any decent literature ought to be worthy of permanent residence in your home and should be in a form and quality that allows them the opportunity to last.
Factor into that philosophy an appreciation for the craft of book-making, which is an art all in itself. A skilled Bookbinder can take a worthy novel and improve it into a visual and tactile accomplishment as well, through the skilled used of leather bindings, spectacular fonts and stunning illustrations, along with all kinds of unique applications of design.
One of my more over-used sayings is "familiarity breeds contempt" and certainly books (not to mention, people, for that matter) are so plentiful these days, we rarely give them the respect they deserve. It's hard for us to get our minds around the idea that there are now more books published in a single month than were in existence only a 100 years ago, when entire towns contained only handfuls of books and the idea of throwing away such a precious commodity was utterly preposterous!
It's all about appreciating things and people on many levels.
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