The magical appeal of paper

I am a sucker for a steep bargain on a used book. Today I bought a copy of The Aeneid translated by Robert Fitzgerald. I've already read the Aeneid multiple times and I already own a copy of the C. Day Lewis translation and Gutenberg has several good versions - but how could I resist - It was lying dejected on the public Library discard shelf - perfecty good condition (indeed, hardly ever been read) and I had the opportunity to give it a good home for 25 cents. So I did.

I love the Library's discard shelf. One of my favorite finds of all time is a beautifully illustrated hardback copy of Thor Heyerdahl's Kon Tiki (Why is Kon Tiki not required reading anymore?). I like to tell myself that I am building a collection of great books for my children to read - but I'm kidding myself. There is something magical about the possession of a real, paper book, especially an old, used one, that turns me on.