What does Google smell like?
Hello, friends!
Last week, my daughter decided the internet was garbage, and old books were gold. “Don’t you just think books are a better place to find knowledge?” she asked me. “Instead of, I dunno, like, just looking at Google all the time? Google’s too easy. And it doesn’t smell like old books, either.”
She’s right. Google doesn’t smell like old books. What does it smell like?
After school one day, she began scouring my study for old books, but wasn’t quite sure where to start. “Where are the really old ones?” she asked. So we took a little tour, during which I explained the different islands of books:
- There’s the flight of books on my desk, all of which are there as references for my own writing. For The Dark Age in particular, that collection includes everything from Goodbye, Vitamin to Good Morning, Midnight
- There’s a stack of books by favorite authors on a small table, near the whiteboard: Paperbacks by Michael Chabon, Kazuo Ishiguro, Margaret Atwood, John Steinbeck
- There’s a collection of stubby bookshelves where I keep “special” books—signed copies, first editions, hard-to-find titles; over there I’ve got many more Chabon titles, my signed copy of Ann Druyan’s only novel, etc.
- There’s a rickety old metal shelf I brought home from work years ago, which is filled mostly with comics, graphic novels, or other odd-shaped books
- The wire cart next to my desk holds a selection of books I’ve read and re-read many times over, or that I plan to re-read, from Station Eleven to The Last Samurai to The Mothers
- The hall outside my study is jammed with stacks of books I planned to read last year, and still plan to read this year
- The large shelves along the back wall are literally all of the other books, many of which I haven’t yet read, many of which are obscured by a forest of pencil cups
- The books arranged on the dresser in our bedroom upstairs are all short story collections, readily available for brief reading stints before sleep
- The books stacked haphazardly on the dresser, blocking the short story collections, are all books I intend to read soon, and which should probably migrate to the downstairs hallway to join the other books competing to be next
From all of this, Squish chose Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman, though she was sure to point out that, while it definitely wasn’t old or smelly enough, it looked pretty interesting. Daily since then she’s educated me on all sorts of myths I’d never heard before. (And when we re-watched Thor recently, familiarizing ourselves anew with those movies in anticipation of Thor: Love and Thunder, she was particularly vocal about all the ways in which Marvel bungled the execution of the myths.)
I haven’t been in a library or bookshop since the pandemic began, and I miss the things Squish has championed this week. Worn hardcovers, yellowed paperbacks, the particular scent of well-loved books. I miss wandering through stacks, unsure where you’re at, or what you might find. Squish’s fervor got me thinking about all of the libraries and bookstores that I’ve been to in my life. Memories of reclining against the shelves at a small community library in Channelview, Texas, thumbing through a Peter Straub or Stephen King novel and ignoring the kids’ shelves. Or claiming a study carrel all for myself in the Anchorage city library, and working for hours on a novel that, twenty-five years later, would still be in a drawer. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of a Waldenbooks, gorging on Calvin & Hobbes books while my parents browsed. Finding one of my own books in a bookstore in a beach town, and signing it for the startled, happy shop owner.
My own reading lately has been slower than usual. I finished Lily King’s twenty-year-old debut novel, The Pleasing Hour, then began reading Island, by Siri Jacobsen. Both are marvels of visual language, and lend themselves to savoring, not speeding through. Arriving shortly are several more novels, including Elif Batuman’s Either/Or, Nina LaCour’s Yerba Buena, Sara Novic’s True Biz, Nicole Krauss’s Forest Dark, and May Sarton’s Journal of a Solitude.
What books are you reading lately? What keeps your pages turning?
✏️Until next time,
Jg
Thanks for subscribing to Letters from Hill House! You’re reading the free edition.
- If you’d like to also receive The Dark Age letters, here’s how to do so
- If you’re enjoying the newsletter and would like to buy me a coffee, here’s how to do that
- My web site has more writing, and info about my books
- If you just want to say hello, just click Reply, or email me
Note: This newsletter may contain affiliate links for which I earn a small commission from qualifying purchases.