A week ago, I ordered EB White’s The Trumpet of the Swan on Amazon. The book was delivered yesterday, but surprisingly, it was not packed in an Amazon envelope and bubble wrap. It seemed to have been sent by an indie bookstore at Kolkata, I guess.
The book doesn’t seem new, although the pages aren’t dog-eared, and there are no notes or markings. The paper looks yellowish, and it smells like an old book. Perhaps, it was stocked at the store for a long time.
A book (Dogsbody) that I received a month ago also looked evidently old, but not used. I was initially a bit upset about not receiving new books. I prefer books turning old in my possession. 🙂
But, after having read Dogsbody, and a couple of pages from what I received yesterday, old books appear more friendly and intimate. I usually don’t borrow books from libraries, so I couldn’t discover the happiness of reading old books all this while.
Now, I realise that there is something comforting about yellowish pages and that fragrance. Old books exude some sort of a warmth. Like a friend, who only gets better with time. 🙂
I am not mad at Amazon for not sending a new copy. But, I think, they should have, at least, left a note. I am going to write to them about it. 🙂