a book with a story

I read a story in the Seattle Times this morning about the rise in sales of used books. The gripe is that used books don't provide the publisher or author with any profit or royalties. I have mixed thoughts and habits.

I love used books. I love the smell, look, and feel of used books. I love the smell of the shelves of books at Powells in Portland. Dust and must float through the air and hit me the minute I walk through the door. I often will open a book and stick my nose into its pages; like a dog, getting acquainted with its character and history. More of my books were bought used than new, I would imagine, though have never counted. I love my used copy of Ulysses ("Fred, 1945") and a red leather-bound volume by Emerson. My used books are certainly my favorite volumes on my shelves. My two favorite bookstores offer used books--Powells and Epilogue in Seattle.

I do have one exception in my preference for used books. I do my very best to buy poetry books written by living authors new. I want publishers to get the message that there is a market for poetry and to support the poets themselves. It is not a life of glamour, fame, and fortune, so the eight cents they get from my book purchase matters. One of my favorite people on the planet, Laurie Lamon, recently had a beautiful book of poetry published by CavanKerry Press, The Fork Without Hunger. It is really quite stunning.