I go to the strand to see, read, buy books, but primarily, I realized, to touch books. Since reading involves engaging and imagining, it is an activity that engages multiple senses. We see the words, the parade of ink patterns to make sense of, but also touch and smell the books in our palms. Papers of different quality, age, and material smell different. The combination of paper and ink creates variable smells, some musty, some chemical, some floral. The aesthetics of the font contributes to the overall smell of the book. Then there are the issues of the sense of touch. Does the paper feel rough, bumpy, or glossy? Is the spine hard and reliable or soft and delicate, like a baby or a lover to coax and take care of? Does the book feel docile,the kind that will obey you into your bag and get along with all the contents already there... or will it resist then dominate the ecosystem with its size and strength? Is the paper blinding white or warm yellow? Will the paper crumble in your hand or give you a paper cut? I go to the strand to touch and smell books because I love them. Perhaps I love books more than actually reading them, which became apparent when it took a while for me to realize that the Caravaggio book I was falling in love with was written in Italian. I was tempted to buy a used copy of "Art and Illusion" simply because I liked the cover in this older edition and the paper that aged with dignity. I resented a nice portable cheap copy of "Middlemarch" that hid from me when I desperately sought out a copy. Books are physical. My collage and assemblege teacher feels our paintings before giving a crit. He seems to say, "how do you know a painting without touching it?" Well, how do you know a book without touching it?
