An extended paean to the many joys of books: finding them, hoarding them, sharing them, savoring every quality of them, be it content, style, texture, heft, smell, what have you. The anticipation of opening something new or re-visiting old favorites or almost-forgotten pieces of our childhood. This little set of fifty short essays is clearly aimed at the bibliophile; Gray is preaching to the choir, not proselytizing. Any reader who picks this one up needs no convincing. What Gray offers if the chance to muse, compare experiences, reinforce beliefs, accept our own foibles; even forgive our transgressions, be they scribbling, dog-earing or neglecting to return lent volumes.
So this is an inconsequential, one-ended conversation; no startling insights but many an “Oh, yes!” moment. It’s a comfortable, reassuring read, focusing on our habits and emotional responses to the books we encounter. But in the end the book is not as penetrating as it might have been had Gray ventured beyond simply identifying the ways we relate to various kinds of books in different situations and endeavored to explore the psychic, historical, societal or cultural impact of books. It seems to me that a book of this genre ought to have provoked me more than it did; I found myself wanting a more stimulating conversation. It was pleasant but a bit too cozy.