My library is big. Very big. Too big. It takes up a whole wall. Five rows of books stacked from one end to the other. “The most expensive wallpaper there is !” a friend of mine used to say. He was right. After a while, you just stare at it and don’t even bother opening those books anymore. They just become part of the decoration. But when I bought them, it was because I liked what was inside, the photos, the paintings. They talked to me, and I wanted them close to me.
I am part of the pre-digital generation. I like to touch books, go through the pages, feel the paper, smell the ink. I like the tactile, physical experience of it. So even though it has been a nightmare moving them from one place to another, pack those boxes again and again, I’ve nevertheless always brought them along, everywhere I‘ve lived.
So my library is part of my life now. Along the years, I have fed it little by little, seen it grow, to eventually become this “thing” I felt responsable for. My books are like tattoos. Some may have faded away, some I may not be very proud of anymore, but every single one of them has meant something to me at some point. As such, they are intimate reminders of who I am, where I come from. But like tattoos, they are also there to be seen, to be read and appreciated by others, and this is why I have decided to share some of those books through this blog.