In Praise of Books

While we were noodling around in France we visited Charite sur Loire, a town devoted entirely to books (and pilgrimages - it's a way station on the route to Compostella, and as reading is a kind of pilgrimage, a journey of faith in the hope of acquiring understanding, the two sit happily together).

There are bookshops galore and thought-provoking quotations from eminent authors stencilled onto the buildings - here's one from Hamlet hidden away above the frontage of a wine merchant.

Strolling through these ancient streets in the bookish heat, thumbing through an astonishing range of volumes: old and new, poetry and prose, illustrated and plain text, was such an uplifting thing to do.  Because reading is a solitary pastime, it is a positive pleasure to be somewhere where the value and delight of it is so publicly affirmed - and even though you read a novel on your own, it is a collective experience that you are tapping into, a fact that was made abundantly clear in this lovely town.

So although I know that the tide of e-books washing up around us is unstoppable, and in many ways I welcome it, I came away from Charite sur Loire brimful with affection for the printed word -- that distinctive smell that old books have, the notes that previous owners may have jotted in the margins, the faint discoloration of the paper, the broken spines, the tatty dust jackets -- all signs that something has been loved and enjoyed. If you want to devour a story, read it on Kindle, but if it is something you want to savour, go out and buy the real thing.

PS In Charite, even the doors have writing on them!