Why I will never own a Kindle ...

...and why I would live in a cardboard box--without furniture--as long as it was filled with books and great art.

"There is something almost sacred about a great library because it represents the preservation of the wisdom, the learning, and the pondering of men and women of all the ages, accumulated under one roof. I love books. There is something wonderful about a book. We can pick it up. We can heft it. We can read it. We can set it down. We can think of what we have read. It does something for us. We can share great minds, great actions, and great undertakings in the pages of a book.

"Emerson was once asked which, of all the books he had read, had most affected his life. His response was that he could no more remember the books he had read than he could remember the meals he had eaten, but they had made him. All of us are the products of the elements to which we are exposed.

"Parents know that their children will read. They will read books and magazines and newspapers. Cultivate within them a taste for the best. While they are very young, read to them the great stories that have become immortal because of the virtues they teach. Let there be a corner somewhere in the house, be it ever so small, where they will see at least a few books of the kind on which great minds have been nourished." Gordon B. Hinckley

book nook eulogy

They moved my favorite section in the bookstore. It's not completely the end of the world, only sort of. The art section used to flow into the architecture section and from there formed a rivulet into books on interior design. It was this seamless coming together of all things beautiful, an endless ocean of inspiration.

Up a story, I'd build a top-heavy skyscraper, removing books one level at a time. I was uninterrupted, minus the ambitious do-it-yourself-er who would wander over into interior design only to find that the measure twice cut once sort of books were on a different set of shelves.

Now I have to trudge through periodicals and the buy-one-get-one-free table only to arrive next to the Cafe where a girl in workout gear sips espresso and reads Shape. Then there's the dude in a fly fisherman's vest checking out the travel guide to Montana. In the section about making a house a home, I feel rather homeless.

The bright side: Sometimes I'm not so fond of escalators...

When I was Rome-ing

I stopped in at King's English today to pick up our latest book club read. It's full of cozy corners, wood floors worn down with the scuffing feet of eager readers, and chairs awaiting those very readers to plop down with a book and page-turn to their heart's content. No matter how many times I've been there, nor how many "watch your step" signs combined with red tape running across the threshold leading into the fiction section, I always seem to stumble. The sales reps at the front desk get quite the show. Today was no different.

I left with a book I read a short review about here. I haven't been able to put down. After learning our book club selection wasn't in stock, I quickly found one to take its place then asked the clerk what business I had picking up two new books, especially since book club is this week and I haven't even seen the book we're to be reading. Speaking of the one I haven't been able to put down, "But look at the darling cover! I'm such a judge-a-book-by-the-cover girl. And...it's British. All the better." We were instant friends. "I don't know how you work here," I said, approaching the counter. "Me either. Someday I'll have to eat my books for survival. Lots of fiber, though," she said, taking her place behind the register. As I handed over my cash I said, "And you'll be recycling. A noble gesture, indeed."

"When We Were Romans," by Matthew Kneale. Add it to your to-buy/to-read list. It's adorable, even on the inside. Read JoAnna's review below:

The tale is narrated by a nine-year-old boy, whose mother abruptly moves him and his sister from England to Rome when she becomes convinced that his estranged father is spying on them, turning the neighbors against them and trying to hurt them. As their adventure turns more madcap, you start realizing that things may not be quite what they seem. The little boy has such a sweet, authentic voice and your heart swells for him; the whole story is told with misspellings and run-on sentences. (He also loves talking about the universe and crazy Roman emperors.) It's one of those books you can't put down; at bedtime, I'm always fighting to keep my eyes open...