We are all born mad. Some remain so.
Samuel Beckett

Collecting books could be an excellent hobby, indeed.  For me, it’s more like an addiction. How to describe it is not my goal. Rather, I would like to share some thoughts with you about my small issues.

My innocent book gathering began in a small antique shop in Vienna, where I bought Kafka on the shore by Haruki Murakami. Which happens to be one of my favourite authors together with Gabriel G. Marques and Paul Auster. Thereafter, I realised that this is what gives me joy, a truly blessing with each discovery. Over time, I noticed signs of slight obsession, which I willingly share with other used books enthusiasts (Sharing is a big word. Rather, I do it silently in my mind).

A large society of freaks, which I belong to, cherish books already pre-owned. Many of us can be found at the local charity shops, markets, or any rescue books stores with shelves packed with precious publications. Standing there and staring at those racks with a blush on our faces in search of something to read at a reasonable price is our ambition.
My affection for used books, in other words, comes from the scent and roughness of the paper, especially the edition with old school covers. The invisible imprint of the previous owner; a piece of someone’s heart, stays there. Isn’t it fascinating? Slightly sentimental in a way…

Consequently as a hunter of scrap paper, as some probably label it, I’m consumed with need to locate one more volume; cheaply purchased; in sweat and blood picked up from eccentrically smelling, stuffed with old books stores.

Is there something more alluring than opening such a book and reading a few pages to be sure you’ve made a promising choice? The feeling compared to that moment, right before a roller coaster starts the ride. You already have goosebumps. Although reading the next page in the comfort of your home in a cosy armchair, wearing warm socks is not that spectacular (I suppose I may have gone a little too far with this example). However, what can I do with this ridiculous urgency of mine to seek out the next bookish item? Well, guiltlessly get over it and live on without reproach or doubt. I wonder if that extraordinary madness is just my humble way of dealing with everything else in my life?

Yours L.