Reading is, and should always be, a pleasure

I buy books. Lots of them. Lots of books. For years, if I remember correctly, I haven't spent a week without adding - at least - a new book to my library.

To clarify the origin of my habit is unnecessary. First, because the arguments have already been put forward by others, with impeccable eloquence. The Italian writer Umberto Eco was proud of the thousands of books in his library that he hadn't read (and that he would never have time to read), because his books represented a reading project, a measure of his ignorance, a way of keeping his motivation intact, of reminding him of his smallness in the world, a life project. Gabriel Zaid, the Mexican poet and essayist, agrees with Eco, but his statement is devastating: “truly cultured people are capable of having thousands of books they haven't read at home, without losing their composure, or stopping buying more.”

Eco and Zaid’s ideas have not only encouraged me to ignore the comments of those who think that my habit of buying books is a dangerous one, but to continue buying books (and to be proud of the ones I have). I don't need any more justification than those who buy shoes, bags, watches, cars, bottles of wine, t-shirts or any other thing: because they feel like it. 

In the end, my life as a reader has always been guided by Montaigne’s advice: “I seek in the reading of books only to please myself…. I do not bite my nails about the difficulties I meet with in my reading; after a charge or two, I give them over”. I have taken the advice not only when it comes to the actual deed of reading itself, but of acquiring books. I let myself be guided, when I go to a bookstore, by my taste, and through the years I have found what pleases me the most.

I usually opt for paperback books (because hardbacks seem to be made to stay closed, they don't invite me to open them), with yellowed pages (I hate books printed on white, printer-issued paper), standard size (you can't take big books with you, and you should always be accompanied by a book). The ones I like the most are the ones that also smell good. (What a delight it is to run your nose through the pages as you read!). Over time I have also grown fond of large books dedicated to the visual arts, although I still can't stand their two column format and get frustrated by that glossy paper on which I can't comfortably make notes because the ink runs.

Montaigne was not talking about selfish pleasure. He was writing an apology of the type of pleasure that guides every child’s curiosity. Without that curiosity every pursuit of knowledge is futile. I enjoy knowing the author of a book by the color of the cover, knowing who published the volume just by looking at the font, and making my mental list of the best publishers according to the number of errors that - on average - I correct in each of their books. I discovered very early on another pleasure: that of rereading. Revisiting old glosses, laughing at them, being surprised by the connection I made years ago, but recently I also discovered the pleasure of rereading a brand-new copy of a book I have already annotated; sometimes in another language, sometimes the same language but another edition: starting it as if it were the first time, because those always taste different.

If at some point I felt guilty for having two identical books, living between two cities has relieved me of that guilt.  The best books require always being with you. I don't like reading on a screen, and it's not because I'm reactionary. I don't fear the end of the printed book and I have a Kindle. I like the smell of books and their physical presence, their company. That is another pleasure. If I regret buying my Kindle device it's not because I'm anti-establishment, but because I think of the books I could have bought with that money.

Books are not important in my life; they are my life. But some people are bothered by them. My mother, for example. Over time that opinion has changed, and now, in fact, she denies that they ever bothered her. But she and I know that it's true, books bothered her. In the past she said things like 'you already have too many books', 'first read all the ones you have before buying more'. Now, however, she limits herself to saying that it is not about the books, but about the disorder. What would she say about Umberto Eco's library? My answer is that a book is only alive while it is being read.

Almost every time he visits me, my best friend asks me the same question, as if to make sure that my answer has not changed: “Have you read all those books?”. The first couple of times I felt ashamed admitting that, unfortunately, I still have not read them all. Not even half of them. Now I answer smiling, knowing, with Zaid, Eco and Montaigne, that reading is a pleasure, one that includes being surrounded by the books we love (or would love) to read.