My visit to Book Heaven
Today's been a blur of Scrabble tiles scattering the floor,
laughter bursting throuh the door in the form of unexpected
visitors, and two very sizeable bars of Cadbury's very best.
But let's not talk about today. Let's talk about the visit to Hay-on-Wye, or, Book Haven. (For those of you who don't know, Hay-on-wye is a town in Wales, known for its multitude of second-hand book shops; in other words, Heaven.)
It was absolutely magical. I walked into the bookshop, greeted by the sweet, musty smell contained in all those ancient tomes, with words practically bursting out of the seams. (I'm not entirely sure books have seams, but it sounds romantic. :P )The geek in me was practically drooling at the mouth.
You can imagine what happened next; I wandered around as if in a dream, perusing the beautiful shelves of goodness and holiness. :D The only let-down to my fantasy was the lack of mile-high shelves; like the ones in Beauty and the Beast. I don't know, maybe I had some ridiculously romanticised idea of gracefully climbing one of those library-ladder things to the very top, toppling slightly, only to find a glorious combination of Maxim de Winter, Heathcliff, and George Emerson on the adjacent ladder. *swoons*
That's not quite what happened. The only people populating the shops were silver-haired men with bulky backpacks and false teeth, who all stared at me ferociously, as if a teenager's only purpose to visit a bookstore would be to graffiti Shakespeare and mistake the pages for a type of Swedish food.
Ah well. I came home with a beautiful armful of books; my only frustration was not being able to find 'The Parasites,' by Daphne du Maurier.
I've persevered for a long time with my orange-bordered Puffin editions, and now I am rewarded with leather-bound, dust-covered tomes, scarlet and egg-shell blue and jade, gold titles indented in the crumbling spines. I've always been grateful to have books to read, no matter what they look like, but owning these worthy copies is another experience in itself.
It was also highly interesting to see the charming little notes scribbled in the back of the books. I bought an absolutely ancient edition of Winnie the Pooh, and when I turned the front page, I saw, written in graceful fountain pen - for Kathleen - from Augusta Stoop. December 1929.
It just fascinated me to think of Kathleen, whoever she may be, reading the very same book all those years ago. I went into quite a daydream about it and never got past the first page! :P
Anyway, enough of this absolute nerd rant. I may start drooling over the keys.
A la prochaine, mes cheries!
But let's not talk about today. Let's talk about the visit to Hay-on-Wye, or, Book Haven. (For those of you who don't know, Hay-on-wye is a town in Wales, known for its multitude of second-hand book shops; in other words, Heaven.)
It was absolutely magical. I walked into the bookshop, greeted by the sweet, musty smell contained in all those ancient tomes, with words practically bursting out of the seams. (I'm not entirely sure books have seams, but it sounds romantic. :P )The geek in me was practically drooling at the mouth.
You can imagine what happened next; I wandered around as if in a dream, perusing the beautiful shelves of goodness and holiness. :D The only let-down to my fantasy was the lack of mile-high shelves; like the ones in Beauty and the Beast. I don't know, maybe I had some ridiculously romanticised idea of gracefully climbing one of those library-ladder things to the very top, toppling slightly, only to find a glorious combination of Maxim de Winter, Heathcliff, and George Emerson on the adjacent ladder. *swoons*
That's not quite what happened. The only people populating the shops were silver-haired men with bulky backpacks and false teeth, who all stared at me ferociously, as if a teenager's only purpose to visit a bookstore would be to graffiti Shakespeare and mistake the pages for a type of Swedish food.
Ah well. I came home with a beautiful armful of books; my only frustration was not being able to find 'The Parasites,' by Daphne du Maurier.
I've persevered for a long time with my orange-bordered Puffin editions, and now I am rewarded with leather-bound, dust-covered tomes, scarlet and egg-shell blue and jade, gold titles indented in the crumbling spines. I've always been grateful to have books to read, no matter what they look like, but owning these worthy copies is another experience in itself.
It was also highly interesting to see the charming little notes scribbled in the back of the books. I bought an absolutely ancient edition of Winnie the Pooh, and when I turned the front page, I saw, written in graceful fountain pen - for Kathleen - from Augusta Stoop. December 1929.
It just fascinated me to think of Kathleen, whoever she may be, reading the very same book all those years ago. I went into quite a daydream about it and never got past the first page! :P
Anyway, enough of this absolute nerd rant. I may start drooling over the keys.
A la prochaine, mes cheries!
5 Comments
I also love finding little details in old / second hand books - its almost like finding another story in the history of the book itself, isn't it?
I also now feel like I need to visit Hay-on-Wye just to see these magical second hand shops...
I love the fact you have such a respect for other peoples words. Your blog is very inspiring. and the fact Ailsaclare shares your views makes me feel happier about the youth of today. all I ever hear about is how many more idiots have got ASBO's agaisnt them. (even my neighbours dog has one).
Thank you for the enlightenment :)
Jak
I also can relate to the disdain of the elders looking upon the young ones with contempt as if they would rather piss on the books than read them. I'm 24 and have had my first novel published and older generations instantly react differently once they realise this.
Andy
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