Thanks to Seattle librarian Nancy Pearl, we have freedom to admit our book lust. And with Jessa Crispin, the Bookslut, on our side, we have no reason to be ashamed, of how much we read, how quickly we jump from title to title, how we just can’t seem to get enough. Something very visceral drives us to the book, it seems. The textured stroke of each page, the brilliant colors and covers, some ravishing, some demure. An altogether magnetic attraction. Something romantic, something animal—let’s not split hairs.
So who among us isn’t dubious of the e-book? Who among us doesn’t look askance as bookstores close doors across the country? For every book lover, every literary Don Juan, bibliophile, codex Casanova, who among us isn’t as passionate for the very houses that store them? We sometimes feel as star-crossed lovers in our digitized era.