The Gentle Madness

Apparently I have a problem:

This is what my living room looked like after hitting the county library book sale a week and a half ago.  (Oh hey, and Katie’s on the couch, too.  I just noticed that.)

Keep in mind that I had brought home just as many books after the city library book sale two weeks before that.  (Whoo, and I had to be quick to nab ’em at the county library sale, because people there were RUTHLESS.  When I arrived, there were four bookshelves full of children’s novels, and after twenty minutes in the picture book section, I returned to find only ONE shelf of novels left.  Wow.)

Obviously, I’m a fan of the picture books.  ‘Tis true.  I’ve been collecting them since I was a teenager; I brought my more valuable ones to college, which lead to Brian and I becoming friends (we traded books a lot).

But it’s becoming a problem.  When I first began to collect picture books, I chose them based on the quality of illustration alone.  Now that I know something more about children’s literature (more than the average person ought to know, really), I focus on finding books that are out of print, or likely to be so.  Therefore, my book sale splurges are done with the attitude of, say, rescuing Holocaust refugees (“If I don’t take them in, they’ll disappear forever!“).  I despair whenever I see really good books that are only a year or two old showing up as library discards.  Didn’t anybody want to read them?  Or did the librarians not do a good enough job of promoting them?  Oh, tragedy. And schadenfreude — because those books are now mine.

*rubs hands together with evil grin*

One thought on “The Gentle Madness

  1. That looks like HEAVEN. I’m such a sucker for childrens books. I don’t buy them anymore but I break bags coming home from the library with my allotted 100 max. People just shake their heads. It’s a condition, I know. But here’s my question, where do you put them all?

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