The Physicality of Books
Do you have any memory connected to books that you would like to share?
Intro · Likes · Rituals · Necessity
Examples · Memories · Bios
Jay Lake
a) My earliest memory of reading is a Cat-in-the-Hat dictionary in French when I was about three-and-a-half, back in the 1960’s. We lived in Dahomey (now Benin), a former French colony in West Africa, and I went to a French language preschool. To this day, my understanding of the difference between a crocodile and an alligator is that an alligator “c’est un crocodile d’Amerique.” This memory of reading a book is one of three or four memories I have from Dahomey, the earliest I can recall in life. b) The first time I read Gene Wolfe’s Shadow of the Torturer, which I picked up off a college housemate’s shelf. I did nothing else for about forty eight hours except read the Book of the New Sun tetralogy, and (reluctantly) sleep and eat. Those books have had more influence on my thinking about fiction and on my efforts to create it than any other.
David Langford
I don’t particularly try to collect autographed books (though I once failed to resist a G.K. Chesterton signature)... but had a sense-of-wonder moment on finding that my signed first edition of one of Cabell’s key fantasies, The Silver Stallion, had previously been owned and signed by one of that author’s greatest fans: “James Blish, 1968.”
Tanith Lee
A recent acquisition: A secondhand copy from 1941 of Clamence Dane’s ethereal, terrifying The Moon Is Feminine—one of the unique books of the 20th century—edition old, yet pristine, and clothed in pink and turquoise. I did actually kiss this copy as I received it. But then, I’ve waited over 15 years!
Des Lewis
The way a book can carry you through time and keep you you. The recent re-ownership of a Rupert annual from 1954 vividly brought back the smells and thoughts and joys and griefs of a six-year-old boy that was once me. We may slough off skins and pretensions of personality throughout the years, but books soak up and eventually give back the essential “you.” This may sound pretentious, but at least you no longer have to pretend you’re you.
Nick Mamatas
An old girlfriend of mine used to read The Stand over and over again—once every two months at least. When the covers fell off, she kept reading. When the first and last leaves started crumpling and then finally fell off, she kept rereading. When the spine gave out, she held it together with a great black swath of gaffer’s tape and kept rereading. When the pages finally started disintegrating and the ink smudged beyond recognition, then she was done with The Stand. Made me rethink my opinion of Stephen King.
Javier A. Martinez
One summer I was reading Footfall, by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle. Not that this is a great book or anything, but I was a kid, maybe 13 or so. The book was from the SFBC and smelled very strongly like a book, that mustiness, pulpish smell. That smell was always there while I read that book that summer, sitting on my front porch in the swing. It was a great summer, like something out of Bradbury, and the smell of those pages has always remained with me. To this day, whenever I catch a whiff of the bookish smell, I always remember what a great childhood I had, reading SF, fantasy, and horror, and how lucky I am to be in a profession where I can continue to develop my interests.
Farah Mendlesohn
The devastation of being given the wrong books by a relative who thought any title would do. The pleasure of receiving a boxed set of the Narnia Chronicles (I loved the way they fit together and the whole-ness of the design); the realization about five years ago that I could afford hard backs/first editions. Spending prize money this year on a first edition I could not usually afford.
