Every year our local ‘friends of the library’ organization hosts a giant book sale. Paperbacks for 50 cents, hardbacks for $1. Boxes and boxes and boxes of books to pour through. The sale is always on a Saturday and Sunday, with Saturday being a by-the-book fee, and Sunday being a set fee per box of books. Sunday offers, obviously, a great deal – but by then you risk missing out on the ‘good stuff’ since it’s already been picked over the day before. Given that the books for the sale are always donated, and that the money goes back to a good organization, we always attend on Saturday.
The books I care to read, the fiction books, aren’t very well organized. If it’s fiction it’s lumped together – which means sci fi are mixed right in with romance which is mixed in with every other kind of fictional book. This requires going box-by-box trying to find something that catches your eye. You should also know that this requires being quick, a little ruthless (and yes, I do mean snatching that book you’re eyeing as fast as possible before the little old lady across from you can get her hands on it. Let’s face it, she’s probably thinking about doing the same thing to you!), and the ability to do all of this while being shoved around by other people who are trying to get in and look at the books, too. It’s also important that, should you be unsure of a book, you pick it up anyway and hold onto it while you wander around the treasure trove of boxes. You can always put the book back, but if you don’t have it in your hands then there’s a good chance it’ll be gone when you go back for it. This is serious business, ya’ll.
Ultimately, I came home with a small variety of books to read this summer. I have a birthday/4th of July staycation planned in a few weeks, and I’m fully intent on relaxing by the pool with a big glass of iced tea and losing myself in some stories. A few I can’t wait to get into:
• The Year of Fog by Michelle Richmond
• The Lantern by Debora Lawrenson
• The Sewing Circles of Herat by Christina Lamb
I purchased 13 books total, 7 of which were Star Wars books (I can’t help it! I love them!), and doesn’t even include the myriad of books already on my shelves that I’ve purchased at Half Price Books and still need to read. Is there such a thing as an unhealthy love of books? If so, I don’t think I want to know.
