Bookshops still hold magical fascination with their multiple shelves laden with the artistry of wordsmiths who have crafted stories and histories that are timeless as the works of Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen and a multiplicity of contemporary writers spanning many decades through to today.
The reader is transported into a world of heartbreak, love, crime, mystery, suspense, science fiction, fantasy, memoirs, how-to books and histories of generations past and predictions of the future. This is just the tip of the iceberg in the bounteous valuable books that grace our libraries and bookshops.
My own fascination with books started with having a mother who is an avid reader and a maternal uncle who was eager to share his prized books from his stained glass, antique bookshelves that ran along four walls of his room. They were majestic and mysterious, a mini bookshop in a study.
Anna Karenina, A Tale of Two Cities, Great Expectations, and A Christmas Carol are fondly remembered as books that had cloth covers, were well-worn and difficult to return to the gracious lender, once read.
Hours spent lost in a bookshop brought cherished delight to my introverted world that was fascinated by faraway places. I mentally marked my next purchase and saved every nickel and dime, counting my ducats each night like Shylock, but eager to have the money saved for the next great read. I loved birthday presents that were a few bobs here and there rather than an aliceband or cardigan which held no value in my world of books other than to keep my hair out of eyes when reading or keeping me warm on that winter afternoon when I remained riveted to the story.
Pennies saved to buy my beloved book is a tale I am bound to tell to the end of my days. Pennies wisely saved and wisely spent.
The treasured purchased book was safely carried home, my name was proudly etched with a fountain pen, in black ink, in the most artistic font (so I thought) I was able to create in the words, This book belongs to…
Some sad tales of those cherished books were those lent out that either never made their way back home to my bookshelf or were unrecognisable in their dilapidated returned condition. I mourned the loss of and injury to my book pals.
Bookshops must never be forgotten nor cast aside, they should be the place where parents and grandparents take their young ones to, for the experience of a life time – the look of a cover, the feel of the pages and the words that bring endless delight whether read alone or read to by a melodious voice – these are memories that never fade.
A bookshop is a peaceful sanctuary of silent voices waiting to be heard.
Teaching children to save a bit of pocket-money to buy their favourite book inculcates a lifetime love of reading. Taking children to a bookshop to choose a book they want to read and then add to the beginnings of their book collection is an opportunity every child should have.
Spread the love – no age restriction applies if the content is appropriate!
Happy Reading! Happy Sharing!
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