To the Editor:qqjili
Re “Our Bookshelves, Ourselves,” by Margaret Renkl (Opinion guest essay, Aug. 29):
On Oct. 6 last year, my three children and I lost our home and our dog, Lulu, in a fire.
Of all the objects that were lost that day, the loss of our books has been the most difficult to absorb, and grief over their loss appears in odd, unpredictable ways. (For example, my youngest son has refused to even look at the replacement copy of “The Wild Robot” that I bought him within days of the blaze.)
The books that we were in the middle of reading. The books with jam smears and with water marks from splashy tub read-out-loud sessions. My duct-taped copy of “Women Who Run With the Wolves.” The underlines, the earmarks, the smell of used books that were previously owned by libraries.
This article made me cry with joy and relief. And it made all four of us feel somehow comforted knowing there are people who might understand that what was lost was irreplaceable.
Niki LeffingwellMissoula, Mont.
To the Editor:
Like Margaret Renkl, I’m a bibliophile. I’ve been a member of the same book club for 33 years. My family writes books and writes in books, and I am incapable of walking past a Little Free Library without stopping.
Recently, I’ve grown to love audiobooks, too; my husband, Rob, and I listen during road trips. I loved the evocative narrations of “James,” “Circe,” “Hamnet” and “Their Eyes Were Watching God,” and William Hootkins’s interpretation of “Moby-Dick,” a masterpiece that neither Rob nor I had conquered on our own.
Yet I agree with Ms. Renkl: “I will always prefer a book I can hold in my hand.” I like underlining the good parts, scribbling in the margins and shelving a beloved novel among favorites from other chapters of my life. I even have two designated bookshelves for signed books: Tom Wolfe, Sue Grafton, Dr. Spock, Mario Vargas Llosa.
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