One goal I have is to possess an enviable library. However, I feel no pressure in compiling such a library any time soon; it is in fact, more of a pleasure. I would like to think that as I continue to meander through life I will indulge in books and bookstores of all sorts. Slowly, I will tick books off an ever growing list. I like to imagine it will be a haphazard and almost definitely chaotic array. And, for some reason, this seems like a fanciful notion, but simultaneously something doable.
Right now, sitting before me are a selection of newly acquired secondhand books. One belonged to Justine Wootton in 1987. Another was given as a gift in Tokyo, August 1978. Claire Munch read poetry. Some have yellowed pages, others hastily scribbled notes. The ones I like best are inscribed with endearing inscriptions. Query: Why would you want to buy books firsthand?
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Answer: In order for you to enjoy second hand books.
I would be most amused if that query turned up in a book.
Haphazard, by the way.
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