I have always loved books, since my earliest childhood memories. My mom remembers when I was three years old, that I used to get up in the night and "read" by the passage light, eventually falling asleep on a pile of books. The problem book lovers face is that they also tend to love owning books, whether bought new with that distinctive smell, picked up second hand or passed on between friends and relatives. My first bookcase was given me for my sixth birthday by my grandfather, a beautiful piece in solid wood that I have kept to this day, always in pride of place as the large spacing of the shelves makes it ideal to show off my best art, architecture and archaeology books. It is also the home of my compact complete Oxford Dictionary, bought from wedding gifts of cash: a strange choice of memento for a wedding, but I had married a partner with a shared love of books, which we successfully passed on to our two children. My first bookcase: in pride of place in my living room ...
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