Fantastic Metropolis

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Forrest Aguirre

Back in the early ’90s, before I knew what I wanted to do with my college career, I picked up a hardbound edition of Dinesen’s Out of Africa. Because of that little volume (and, I believe, not only because of the text therein) my life has taken several turns that would never have been, were it not for that brown and black box of paper magic. Books are objects of power—be careful the next time you hear one’s siren’s song through the aisles. Keep a safe emotional distance, as that power cannot be treated lightly without consequence.

Hawk Alfredson & Mia Hanson

Mia says, “When I was about five years old I had a book of The Senses that I really loved. I especially loved the tactile part of the book that had something that seemed like coarse bear hair growing from the pages. I’d like to see an intelligent book come out sometime with bear hair inside!”

Neal Asher

The first book I ever read was not a Janet & John. It was called The Wasp Without Wings and involved a conversation between an ant and an oak tree. Then I remember being spellbound while a teacher read The Hobbit to the class I was in. My first time in a public library my mother asked me what I might like to read and I said something about how I enjoyed said Hobbit. Directed to the relevant shelf the first book I picked up was The Two Towers. Looking back, I can see that I didn’t stand a chance: I was destined to be a science fiction and fantasy writer!

Dale Bailey

From the very first I sensed that books had significance. My father collects rare first editions—Sir Walter Scott, especially, but a wide range of 18^th- and 19^th-century English writers—and I sensed the value he attached to them as objects that transcended the text within them. He loves Scott’s Waverly but he knows it’s just not the same reading it out of a cheap paperback edition. My memories of my father are inextricably bound up with my earliest memories of books.

R. M. Berry

I remember in maniacal detail and with a vividness that defies sanity every book I ever failed to finish.

K. J. Bishop

A few years ago I was on holiday in the UK, and went to the British Museum library. I was looking at the books on display in glass cases, and one in particular caught my attention. It was open at a poem called “The Golden Journey to Samarkand.” A beautiful illustration accompanied the text, but it was the poem itself that really captivated me. However, the author’s name wasn’t visible, and I couldn’t see any staff who I could have queried about it. A couple of days later I went up to Scotland to visit a relative, my late grandfather’s cousin Betty. While idly browsing her bookshelves, something made me choose one volume, The Collected Poems of James Elroy Flecker. I’d never heard of Flecker—I suppose I was just in the mood to read some poetry. I looked at the contents, and there in the list of titles was “The Golden Journey to Samarkand.” With great kindness Betty gave me the book, saying that being an “aged party” she was divesting herself of her possessions. (I’m happy to say that Betty is still alive and indomitable). I’ve since acquired Flecker’s play Hassan, and his biography by John Sherwood, No Golden Journey.

Richard Bleiler

Books have always been a major part of my life. I grew up in a big old house filled with my parents’ books, and now that I have a house of my own I find that I too am filling it with books.

Jay Caselberg

There were times in my life that I have had to part with books for various reasons. That’s probably one of the hardest things to do. I’m not a person who reads stuff again, but I like to have them there around me. Words have their own magic.

Michael Chabon

The way my father kept the books that he was reading or intended to read very soon out on various tables, end tables, coffee tables, all around the house, with their edges all perfectly squared to one another and to the edges of whatever table they were laid on. A habit which I have now begun to catch myself indulging.