Quote:
Originally Posted by Feanor of the Peredhil
Finding a used book store you've never been in. Realizing it's your dream store, at the end of a long driveway surrounded by untended rose and lily beds, with flourishing peonies and weeds, with cats wandering through the towering shelves of books that reach far over your head. Three stories in a renovated barn, with labyrinthine aisles and steep staircases with rickety railings. The smell of must and books that haven't been opened during your lifetime, being sold for a dollar a piece.
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Hmmm...your find sounds much more picturesque, but I just found a regular storefront edition not 5 miles from my house (but it does have cats -- I suppose necessary to keep the rodents from nibbling the treasures), operated by a feisty old lady who I believe has memorized each of the thousands of books crammed to the rafters. I found a folio copy of Duc de Berry's
Les Tres Rich Heures in excellent condition (I'm a 14th century
fanatique), a four-volume set of Churchill's
History of the English Speaking Peoples, an early English translation edition of Hugo's
Notre Dame de Paris, and various and sundry hardbound novels to replace tattered paperbacks (Huxley, Dee Brown, Orwell, T.H. White).
I came home excitedly with my finds, only to have my significant other roll her eyes and walk away mumbling something about my books spilling out of the study and encroaching on her living room space, the spare bedroom, the dining room and the first floor bathroom. She's so easily irritated.