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26 February 2008 @ 05:09 pm
I thank these kinsmen of the shelf...  
I totally bought a book on Sunday because there was an interview with the author in the back, and she listed some of my favorite books among books that had left a mark on the book she'd written: Possession, Charlotte Sometimes, Emma, and I Capture the Castle. (I mean, clearly I was already interested enough in the book to have flipped through it, but that list sealed the deal.)

It's so funny how I now feel like I've shared something with this person I will never meet, because we happen to have loved some of the same books. I've purchased all of these books more than once to give away to friends--and yet they're intensely personal, private, too. (I discovered, when trying to make a care package for her, that I almost never talk about my favorite books with my best friend from middle school. If it had been a package for anyone else, I would have thrown in at least one of these books without hesitation. And then when I did give her I Capture the Castle, she didn't like it all that much, and I was heartbroken.)

(Here's the Emily Dickinson poem the entry title is taken from, by the way. It doesn't get read/anthologized as much as "There is no Frigate like a Book," it seems, which is a shame.)

Unto my Books -- so good to turn --
Far ends of tired Days --
It half endears the Abstinence --
And Pain -- is missed -- in Praise --

As Flavors -- cheer Retarded Guests
With Banquettings to be --
So Spices -- stimulate the time
Till my small Library --

It may be Wilderness -- without --
Far feet of failing Men --
But Holiday -- excludes the night --
And it is Bells -- within --

I thank these Kinsmen of the Shelf --
Their Countenances Kid
Enamor -- in Prospective --
And satisfy -- obtained --
Current Mood: nostalgicnostalgic