I'm reading Books and Cigarettes by the indescribably wonderful George Orwell.
At the beginning of the piece George Orwell tries to calculate the worth of his books. What struck me, what I wanted to post about, was the fact that he didn't include paperbacks! I suspect that in Mr. Orwell's day they must have been rarer or printed later but I was still so surprised- especially in the context of my recent post about only needing paperbacks to be happy- well in terms of books anyway.
George Orwell is perhaps the writer I admire above all others, especially in terms of style. He says nothing that does not need to be said and his every word, whether he is writing fiction or articles, is necessary; it's as if he's writing for me. If he didn't feel that paperbacks counted then perhaps virtually my entire book collection doesn't count. That probably isn't what he means though, I'm sure it's just a change in the times- but that's interesting in itself isn't it- that it's really such a luxury to buy a hard back nowadays- certainly for my friends and peers anyway.
The book is bliss by the way, of course; it's ideal to carry in case of extended waits for buses or friends as it's a slim volume of joy and it would be a fantastic stocking present if your mind, like mine, had turned towards parcels and you know what.