To the lovers of books, the heady aroma of a newly printed page is an unparalleled delight
THE musty, dusty smell of old books, secondhand books and other people’s neglected book shelves is so tempting for an addict that he just cannot resist being drawn towards it and getting transported to new pastures, unknown planets and strange lifestyles.
Fiction, non-fiction, poetry, short stories, coffee table picture books — the genre isn’t important to a real book lover. The feel of a hardback or paperback, between the fingers, the heavyweight or lightweight tome, held in the hand or balanced on the knee, the flowing and flowering of words leading the reader into new realms of delight is, to an addict, the be all and end all of... well... just about everything.
Since the advent of the computer age, numerous reports suggest that book sales have dropped through the floor — a claim also made when television came into being. Not owning a computer or a television, out of choice, I don’t have the hard facts pertaining to sales and readership figures at my fingers tips and, as the telephone is out of order today, I can’t dial someone to get the information either! What I can say though, despite worldwide falling literacy rates, is that I have yet to walk into a bookshop, of whichever type, and find it totally empty of purchasing members of the general public.
True, the price of books, never a cheap object at the best of times, does restrict the number sold. However, for those, and the majority of bookworms tend to fall into this category, who have to keep a strict eye on their budgets, there are always secondhand bookshops and street vendors lying in wait.
Personally speaking, towards the end of the month I have to grit my teeth, close my eyes and summon up my self-control when passing a bookshop. Occasionally, my self-control is sadly lacking and the bookshop comes first, in which instance, household menu become extremely inventive to say the least! I have heard of people who have, literally, to lie in wait for their spouse on ‘pay day’ to confiscate the monthly household budget before the said spouse gets even the faintest whiff of a bookshop in their page-seeking nostrils. This is addiction indeed!
Generally, book lovers tend to fall into three distinct categories. Number one: Those who have a permanent love affair with books but simply can’t afford to buy any and, thus, have to reply on borrowing from friends or from sadly understocked public libraries.
Number two: Those who can afford to purchase the treasures of their choice but, after reading them, happily ‘trade them in’ for other titles.
Number three: The addicts who, once they’ve got their hands on a book — no matter whether it turns out to be good, bad or indifferent — simply cannot bear to part with it. It just might be useful or informative at some point after all!
I fall into the last category and don’t mind admitting this at all. So does my husband. We are definitely book addicts. The house is stuffed to the gills with books. Shelves were long since filled and we moved on to windowsills, mantelpieces, tables, chairs, the floor and, in desperation, cartons of books with the contents laboriously scrawled on the outside.
We have books on almost every subject under the sun and, going through our collection, in the realm of 4,000 volumes, even we are amazed at discovering titles we’d forgotten that we had! Periodically, we do try and re-catalogue the, do try and find some that we can trade in for more interesting reading but, when it comes down to it, we can’t part with these old friends which we may, or may not, read or refer to again at some future date.
Our collection, which runs the gamut from children’s classics, science fiction, fantasy, westerns, women’s issues, writers, travel, art, history, poetry, adventure, Hollywood, sex, drugs and rock n’roll extravaganzas to religious volumes and a watch and clockmakers repair manual. The stock had a fantastic ‘infusion’ when, about eight years ago now, the ‘American Women’s Association’ library, in Karachi, closed down and, by a stroke of luck and a friend’s intervention, we got first pick of what was being sold off. Faced with an entire library to choose from, with a time limit of one hour in which to complete the incredible task, we did what any other sane book addict would have done under the circumstances — made an offer for the lot. We got them too. For Rs1 a book!
Half of the books, we didn’t have time to go through them all first, were delivered to our friends house and half to ours and we frantically drove backwards and forwards between both residences, for nights on end, grabbing what we each wanted. It was a difficult task to complete without resorting to outright lows as we seemed to want exactly the same books! The British Council, again in Karachi, later had a book clearing out sale and, despite a tight budget, we were there almost constantly, adding to our huge collection.
In moving house, from Karachi to Bhurban, packing books took forever but, we still couldn’t bear to part with a single one. I think one entire truck was needed to transport boxes of books alone and, getting these carried down the mountain to our present abode proved a puzzling task for the labours we hired. A fridge, a cooker, chairs and tables were acceptable but what on earth did all these boxes contain? They wouldn’t believe the answer of “Books” until we finally showed them the evidence!
A house without books is ‘empty’. A soulless place in which bookworms are an uncomfortable species. So, whilst, like the homes of other book addicts we know, there might not be much room to manoeuvre, it might be almost impossible to keep the dust at bay or the titles in some form of order, it is always possible, if not inevitable, to find that one of us has disappeared between the lines yet again!
To the lovers of books, the heady aroma of a newly printed page is an unparalleled delight 
