I’ve often thought of books as a gift and the act of reading as opening that gift: the sense of the unexpected, the feeling of having been enriched by something priceless. Rummaging in the local library as a child felt like rootling through a treasure chest, not knowing what jewel of a story I would come across next. By borrowing and returning books, I developed a strong sense that stories were meant to be shared.
So what a delight to read Lewis Hyde’s The Gift, and find it unfolding into gifts wrapped within gifts. Hailed by Margaret Atwood as a masterpiece and a “classic study of gift-giving and its relationship to art”, this passionate paean to creativity has been acquiring fans ever since it was published in 1983. When I recently bought a copy as a Christmas gift, the bookseller’s eyes lit up.