Editor's note: While Patrick Caneday takes some time off, we’re running some of his choices for re-publication. This column was first published Jan. 9, 2010.
I caught the wife in bed with another man last week. I can't really blame her, though. It was Ernest Hemingway. I mean, who wouldn't? What did freak me out was Steinbeck, Maugham and Fitzgerald stacked up at the foot of the bed waiting for their turn.
It might be time to box up some of these old used books I've collected over the years.
There's just something about a used book store that I can't resist; the musty, dry fragrance of aging tomes. I imagine the hands that have touched them, absorbed them and passed them on. There's life in a used book store, rooted and time-honoring, that can't be found elsewhere. And for the last 20 years, my sanctuary of the scroll has been Brand Bookshop.