I have The Count of Monte Cristo and it is mine. I tell people about this when they come into the shop and watch them flush with admiration or envy or disbelief or complete disinterest.
There was no need for this purchase; I have far too many books now than I can ever read.
Robert said that this is no reason to stop getting more books.
I admitted that gluttony prompted me. It is a second hand volume and, although mildly damaged, is still very handsome. It wears leather, blue and gold with crimson accessories.
It weighs as much as a small leather building.
This book has, at some point landed in a pool of water, briefly but definitely. Its underside is swollen, injured. The gold edged pages are beautiful; the book closed shows a solid gold box. But the water damage has loosened the gold edging on the bottom and it now showers me in gold whenever I pick it up, it shares its gilding with me; when I open the book to read its golden heart, more gold is thrown at me.
I keep on telling people about The Count and how I might read it in the garden on the warm evenings. I have never read The Count of Monte Cristo, only read about it…Damien said there is a TV show about it, a guy locked up like a fool and all that. Good show.
The sheer elegance of the book wins all; the sheer heft of the book wins again. And leather.
David said: you won’t like it.
One old lady said: oh dear, that uneventful thing, it went on forever.
I pack up the shop and head home through the afternoon to my good, good evening.