Today while I was packing up these lovely books ready to go to their new nests, I was thinking about how much joy a book brings. About how much joy these books have already brought.
How once we start reading them, the really good ones, everything falls away around us. The room melts away. Even we disappear. Until all we can see is the world that these incredibly talented writers and illustrators have created. I like reading in bed. But I was walking through my beloved Brixton High Street yesterday, not lying in bed in the middle of Brisbane. And last week I was in Barcelona. And before that back in Brisbane, but in the 80s. That's why we read isn't it? To get lost in the beauty of the world? And the romance of it. And the sadness sometimes. The thrills and the fear of it. The comforting uncertainty of not knowing what will happen in the next chapter of the book. To distract us from the (not so comforting) uncertainty of not knowing the next chapter of our actual lives. To amplify our connection to life by experiencing it in all it's forms (from the safety and comfort of our favourite reading spot).
And just like all those other things that we love, once you're in that beautiful, magical place that reading takes us, you really don't notice the little blemishes on preloved books. Or the creases, the laugh lines. Or the saggy bits, or the water marks. You just see something you love. And just like us, each time we love and are loved, we grow and become more exquisitely unique. I think that's the same for furniture, and toys, and clothes and of course books. Wonderful books. Books which give and give and give, and can and should keep giving long after their first and only read.
I guess I had a little existential moment this afternoon thinking about all the joy that these books have brought and will bring. It makes me so happy to think of them making an impact on more than one person.
Thanks for supporting Bin Chicken Books. But more importantly, thank you for giving these beautiful books another chance at love.