
Originally Posted by
kged
A couple of years ago I bought a copy of "Othello" during a visit to a small town in the hills, because the flyleaf has a handwritten note (in the beautiful handwriting of a bygone age) which reads
"Alice -
a keepsake of a wonderful evening -
I shall be thinking of you, and longing for my next visit home -
Simon
RAF Hornchurch April 1940".
Did they ever meet again? Did they both survive the war? To hold a piece of someone's history like this is very special to me. In fact, it occurs to me as I write that the only guilt I feel is in not re-selling these books, and passing them on to interact with new lives.
This fits very neatly with a rant I posted recently about why I loathe Kindles and similar abominations. No-one will ever experience that dizzying connection across lifetimes to people long gone, in the midst of great events, by buying a used e-book; they are dead things. Real books live, and they live on after us.
Bookmarks