I bought a book…

… called It’s a book.

This is an adorable picture book by Lane Smith that so accurately captures a reader’s love for books as well as a reader’s anxiety over the current status of books as an endangered species.

I am not sure how much a four year old would love this book, but I do so so so very much! Yesterday when I got the book, I went around the house hugging it. I was hugging this book, and also all books. I love the varying smells of different paper and ink combinations, the swoosh-swish sound made when you turn a page, and the fonts both elegant and serious.

I am displaying this sturdy hardcover picture book on my shelves. I stare at the cover that says “It’s a book.” This is a simple statement of fact of course, yet this also is what any bibliophile squeals when they locate a book, especially one he or she is fond of: “It’s a book. It’s a book! It’s a book.”

reading in public: Read what you want, including the weeks-old New York Times Magazine.

Reading the New York Times Magazine on the train has been an indispensible element of my Sunday routine. I first flip through the entire magazine, to the chagrin of whoever happens to sit next to me, to whet my reading appetite. Then I settle into my reading, starting from the very beginning with “The Way We Live Now” column. When I start to lose my concentration, or get antsy, or feel like briefly acknowledging the presence of the other people on the train, I look take a look around. In particular, I love to spot a fellow reader, especially a fellow reader of The New York Times Magazine.

I can’t resist checking which article the other person is reading. I am really just curious to see if at this moment, two strangers who happen to coincidentally be on the same car of the train, reading the same publication, are also reading the same article and possibly pondering the same ideas. But I must admit, if the other reader is on one of the longer pieces in the middle of the magazine while I am still enjoying the short weekly columns in the front of the magazine, I somehow feel behind in my reading. And if I happen to read the New York Times Magazine on a Monday or, gasp, a Tuesday, I feel a bit like a reading delinquent on display, a complete slacker who does not deserve to so effortlessly receive Virginia Heffernan’s witty column every week.

Then yesterday, I spotted another weekday New York Times magazine reader on the bus. I soon realized, after my compulsive checking of the article she was reading, that she was reading, not this past Sunday’s, but last Sunday’s magazine! I felt slightly superior, I am shamed to say. But then I realized that this lady does not care what anyone thinks of how much she is behind in her reading. She is proudly flopping the large thin papers of the two-week old magazine. I don’t really care either! I am going to read my super old periodicals in public too. Thank you brave lady who let life get her somewhat behind on her reading!

Normally, I don’t care if the book I am reading is 5 months old, 5 years old, or 50 years old. Granted news get old (and possibly irrelevant), I would enjoy my magazines and newspapers a lot more if I could just relax and ignore the imposing date printed on every page. A great lesson just in time: The New York Times last Sunday has already turned December-sized. It is thick with great holiday content like the fat book review and a holiday T-magazine. The date, especially on the Sunday paper with its surfeit of feature articles, shouldn’t be considered an expiration date… but a starting one.

And if that fails, I guess there is always reading these periodicals on a screen (e-reader, tablet pc, smart phone: take your pick). Then no nosy fellow commuter like me will be able to figure out if you are reading the current or the past edition of this or that publication, or if you are just starring at a blank screen to avoid making eye contact with people.