It’s Time to Clean Your Books

Of all my possessions, the only ones I really, truly love are my books. They are like friends—no, they’re family. And I have been neglecting them.

True, some books I handle regularly, mainly poetry collections and cookbooks. But most of them—novels, essay collections and memoirs, tomes about apples and oysters and architecture—are parked on my shelves, quietly keeping me company, warming my room with their array of colors and textures.

And they’re gathering dust. Occasionally, a particularly enticing spine will catch a visitor’s eye, and they’ll ask to borrow it, and I will go over, pull it out, and sneeze.

Join me. It is time for us to change this.



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