Thursday, September 3, 2009
There is nothing that compares to the melancholic exhultation of opening the first copy of a new book. Years of thought and labor that you believed were entirely your own are distilled into an object that, once bound, is no longer yours. It takes time to get acquainted with the whole thing that had previously been separate parts. As you turn the pages, you experience a mixture of déjà vu, recognition, and surprise, as if remembering something that has only just been born.