Confession

I have an obsession with new books. But I’m also cheap. I scour book sales and mostly half.com for all my and my children’s book purchases. My husband does the same, and there are but few books on our shelves of which we are the first time owners. Some have outdated library barcodes, others carry lingering smells of strange shops or homes. You know the ones, the scary ones you borrow from the library where the story behind the last patron seems to steam the pages with a more interesting scent than the plot itself. Anyways, my point is that there is something so perfectly pleasant about a fresh, crisp, never been opened book that just makes me melt. It is the reason behind my infatuation with the glitzy new books stores, even though another part of me prefers the comfort and quaintness of the second-hand bookstores, the new ones carry the new books and thus my fascination.

I love to read and have tried desperately to pass on that love to my children. You may know that I have read them poetry and novels since before they could sit up, and more often than not I will purchase the books we will read. Used copies, of course, which usually come by mail straight to my door. A couple of summers ago, I had this romantic notion that it would be a forever memorable experience for me to take my children to a bookstore and pick out a new book for us to read together. I anticipated that somehow buying the book brand new would make a huge difference and make a big impact on my children’s desire to devour our story. My children were two, three and five at the time, and we left the bookstore with tantrums, beggings and me threatening never to enter another bookstore in my life, all while trying to nonchalantly purchase “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” as if buying a new book for full price was something I did every day. The experience was indeed memorable, at least for me.

So when Grandma recently sent some money for the children soon after making our summer book lists and after the baby lost his absolutely most favourite book, I insisted that we try our luck again at purchasing some new books. It was, for the most part, a delightful experience. I chose a book for each of the children and they each got to choose one for themselves. The boys, of course, chose Star Wars (but at least it wasn’t another Star Wars toy) and their love of reading those books over and over and over is definitely formed. I chose a book for myself as well, and the baby couldn’t let go of his new book thrilled to pieces and saying “dog” over and over again! The checkout devastated me when I learned the price, and still the cashier tried to convince me I needed to join some sort of club that (for a small annual fee) would give me a 10% discount. I swallowed hard and explained that I could never for the life of me spend this much money on books, that it was a gift from Grandma, and truly it was a special gift. We all loved the experience, and my new book smells so nice and clean as I turn each new page thinking only of what the book may hold in store for me. And I have to try very hard to refrain from going to half.com to see what a bargain I could have gotten. For now I will revel in my new novel, and hope that someday my kids will remember their two brand-new book shopping experiences, but mostly remember the old books that came in the mail, and that they were read to.