My mother, who would always buy her books new, hated it the vintage hardcovers with their cracked spines and threadbare cloth covers. True you couldn't go in there and buy the latest best seller, but when you held one of those volumes in your hands, you were leafing through another person'a life. Someone else had once loved that story, too. Someone else had carried that book in a backpack, devoured it over breakfast, mopped up that coffee stain at a Paris café, cried herself to sleep after that last chapter. The scent was distinctive: a slight damp mildew, a punch of dust. To me, it was the smell of history.
The narrator reflects on their mother’s disdain for vintage books, preferring new ones instead. Despite the physical wear of the old hardcovers, these books carry a profound sense of history and connection to previous readers. Each volume represents a life once intertwined with its pages, revealing that these stories were cherished by someone else who experienced them deeply.
This connection to the past is exemplified by the distinct scent of old books, which evokes memories and emotions tied to their former readers. The narrator finds beauty in these worn copies, underscoring the idea that a book is not just a collection of words but a vessel of shared experiences over time.
