The Echo of Old Books

by Barbara Davis

There is nothing quite so alive as a book that has been well loved. —Ashlyn Greer, The Care & Feeding of Old Books

“Books are like people, Ashlyn. They absorb what’s in the air around them. Smoke. Grease. Mold spores. Why not feelings? They’re as real as all those other things. There’s nothing more personal than a book, especially one that’s become an important part of someone’s life.”

“Books are feelings,” he replied simply. “They exist to make us feel. To connect us to what’s inside, sometimes to things we don’t even know are there. It only makes sense that some of what we feel when we’re reading would . . . rub off.”

Books were like people. Each carried its own unique energy, like a signature or fingerprint, and sometimes that energy rubbed off.

Without a reader, a book was a blank slate, an object with no breath or pulse of its own. But once a book became part of someone’s world, it came to life, with a past and a present—and, if properly cared for, a future.

Books were safe. They had plots that followed predictable patterns, beginnings, middles, and endings. Usually happy, though not always. But if something tragic happened in a book, you could just close it and choose a new one, unlike real life, where events often played out without the protagonist’s consent.

a rough exterior often masks something quite fine, while a sheen of respectability frequently disguises the opposite.”