I must admit, I'm uselessly addicted to the book as object. I mean, I'm obviously addicted to the book as provider of content. That's a given. But I realize, more and more, that I'm totally bonzo for actual books. For specific books. Not just any old Sunday afternoon tome lying around. But certain... ideal books. The books that simply call to me.
The most current object of my affection is The Forever War, by Dexter Filkins. Not the hardcover, mind you. Trade paperback. It's specific, this book lust. Yes, I really want to read the book for its contents (which are supposed to be brilliant). But I love this book. Trade paperback. The dusty, orangeish glow of the cover. The gloss of it, the texture of it, the weight of it. The perfect feel of the pages, the paper so perfectly chosen. The font, the design. Just the way it feels in my hand. Just the balance of it, the perfect amount of give and bend to the pages. It invites me in. Calls me in.
I think this is what I'll miss when the Ebook Overlords take over. The content will be there. But where the book lust? How do I glory in the pages if there are no pages?
The Forever War. Yes. Okay, yes, I can get it at the library. And probably will. (Got no money) But... but... but... I want the book. I want it as a thing for my shelf. I want it as a piece of my house, a piece of myself. I'm greedy for it. Unashamedly so! A proud greed. Mine, mine, mine!
So who's with me? Book lust, anyone? What's a book you had to have? Reading wasn't enough. Had to slip that book under your coat and make a bolt for the door...