Time Has No Moral Qualities

Book lover. Bookworm. Book store. Book reading. Book festival.

The weight of soon-to-be-read books in a bag. The smell of freshly-printed books. The little kick of someone seeing a book under your arm, and, with genuine curiosity, asking “What are you reading?” It’s a book. You are book people. That’s how it works.

As a kid, I always had a book with me, reading first thing upon waking and at night, in bed, until I couldn’t keep my eyes open, under the desk in a boring class, riding on buses and in cars, holding a book in front of me while I walked to school, struggling to find a way to read a book while I rode a bicycle.

When someone exclaims, as book people often do, that they simply love books, that they are a reader, that what they really want to do is go somewhere cozy and just read and read and read, I want to hug that person and say, Read the rest of this entry »