The Smell Of Books
Nothing compares to the pleasure of buying a new book. I love wandering among the shelves and dimmed lights of a bookstore. Entering this kind of places is one of my favourite ways of relaxing. I pick a book up, open it at a random page and start reading. If I like what I read I buy the book. Back covers are not very helpful, I don’t even bother reading them.
Most people like the sensation touching the pages and the cover of a book gives you. I’m no exception; I like turning old yellowish pages, hearing the creaking sound they make, passing my finger over the back of a volume after it has been read over and over. But what I like best about books is their smell. Paper can absorb the typical smell of a place, and it can tell a double story: the one which is printed inside the book and the story of the many hands that have held it, the sunny places where it has lied watching the dust dance suspended in air and the conversations that have taken place near it. By smelling a book we can guess many things about its previous life.
A free copy of The Charismatic Rebel: The Figure of Lucifer in Milton by David Sourcil was in my briefcase as I left David’s office. We had agreed he would phone me as soon as possible to tell me if Linda had changed her mind. He had given me all his contact details and, since he had noticed that the cover of his new book had caught my eye, he had insisted I should take one. He thought I might be interested in reading about John Milton and I was. But, to be honest, I was definitely more interested in the painting displayed on the cover. It represented an angel with a devilish gaze. His similarity with Gwen’s favourite subject was more than striking and I found myself overwhelmed with curiosity once again. Father and daughter obsessed by the same figure. What did that mean?
Once at home, that night, I sat on the sofa and opened David’s book at a random page. I had just started reading the sentence Lucifer is the angel who rebels to God and, ultimately, to his destiny….when the phone rang.
- Could I speak to Mr. Indigo Eyebrow please?
My heart skipped a beat. It was Linda.
