How being in London transformed the way I look at book-buying.
“Well, what about collecting more editions of books you already have?” you might ask. I don’t do that, either. In my opinion, it’s almost like a waste of money. There’s no point in having two of the same things when one would do just fine. It’s just the same words, the same plot, the same characters; why would I need another one?
For years, this has been my philosophy whenever I enter a bookstore. But during my study abroad trip to London, that all changed.
I didn’t come to London intending to buy a lot of books. In fact, I assumed I wouldn’t purchase very many because I couldn’t think of any specific books that I wanted. I had one or two books that other people requested I pick up for them, but I didn’t have any in mind for myself. (Of course, I secretly hoped that might change.) My only reason for buying my first book in London was purely to say that I bought one—I was afraid I would disappoint the people who expected me to come back with an armful of them. I was afraid of disappointing myself.
And then I walked into The Last Bookshop in Oxford.
The moment I stepped over the threshold, a matching set of shiny covers caught my eye. They were Wordsworth Classic editions of Jane Austen books. I had read these books multiple times and already had them on my bookshelf. So, true to my philosophy, my brain told me that I didn’t need these editions. Yet, for once in my life, the pull of the covers was too strong; I kept coming back to those books, staring wistfully at them while my friends walked on. In the end, I bought all of them.
Originally, I thought that day had just been a fluke—a one-time event that would never happen again. But I was proved very, very wrong. One week later, I found myself at Waterstones buying a series that I had never read before, convinced solely by their beautiful covers, an interesting premise, and a few good reviews.
Yes, you read that correctly. Someone who never purchases new books has now bought ten books in five weeks. It’s as if my entire book-buying formula has flipped on its head.
But why?
Let’s go over the books I bought. Making a list always helps me.
It didn’t take much thinking to realize that I bought those Jane Austen books purely for their beautiful covers. I'd also bought one Shakespeare play, because I’ve been collecting the MacMillan Collector’s Editions, so that was one thing I'd planned on searching for while I was here. As for the last two books, the series that I bought on a whim ... all I knew was that the UK covers were pretty and some people liked reading them. I had been considering whether or not to get the series during my five weeks here, but that day in Waterstones was when I decided to just go for it.
But why did those covers make such an impact on me, to the point that I abandoned my philosophy and bought them anyway? And why did I take such a gamble on an unknown series, buying it without reading it first?
What I have come to realize is that London (and its surrounding areas, like Oxford) finally rubbed off on me.
There’s no other way to explain it. I went to Oxford for its amazing architecture and literary history, and on that day trip, I felt closer to the literary community than I had ever been. So when I entered that bookstore, I caved under the influence of all the books and knowledge surrounding me. It was like my mind, knowing I was in a special place with strong ties to literature, gave me permission to break my “rules.” I still remember the way my heart swelled when I walked out of Last Bookshop with a bag full of books, the overwhelming, euphoric giddiness that filled my soul.
That impulsive decision to break my little book-buying philosophy in Oxford finally opened up the floodgates. I suddenly had a desire to purchase more books, a desire to break down the barriers in my mind. I came to realize that those scruples were just a result of my indecisiveness: the constant fear of doing something I would later regret. Those “rules” made it hard to enjoy bookstores because I always felt like I was failing as a reader (though, to be fair, it’s not as if buying hundreds of books would prove that I was actually as enthusiastic about reading as I claimed).
The feeling of being surrounded by books has always helped me along. I think that’s why my trip to Waterstones was so successful; it reignited in me that same sense joy I used to feel in a great bookstore, browsing without a care in the world. Take, for example, The Book Loft in Columbus, Ohio. It is made up of multiple floors and endless rooms of books. There is no break in the bookshelves, so that you have never-ending options of tomes to read. That is when I most feel free, because it seems like the whole world is open to me—and Waterstones gave me the same feeling. By the end of my perusal, I had so many books in my hands that I needed a second opinion to narrow down my options; I knew if I bought all of them, I would spend too much money and drain my bank account.
It's been a while since I’ve spent too much money on books.
But that’s what London does to you. It slowly takes hold of you and remolds something inside, softens you so that you’re suddenly open to change and adventure. It’s a perfect place for someone like me—a lover of books and writing—and even though I arrived unsure about what I wanted, the atmosphere slowly seeped into me, peeled away my hesitations, and let me really feel like I was a part of it. And once I felt like I belonged ... I could do anything.
I don’t know if this new enthusiasm is going to stick when I return to the United States, but I hope it does. I can’t wait to walk into a Barnes & Noble or Half-Price Books and browse all of the possibilities they hold.
I just need to let my bank account recover from the books I bought in London first.
