books had a life of their own?
I have been puzzling over this. I feel guilty when I give away a book. I rarely give away books unless I have specifically bought them as presents for other people. At that point I find myself, almost, explaining to the book that it cannot live with me.
They go off quite happily but I always find myself hoping they will be well looked after.
There are other books which seem to look at me like an abandoned cat. I pick them up to give them a comforting pat and end up bringing them home. The house is full of stray books. They have learned to cuddle into the most surprising places. They sit tightly together on the bookshelves. They perch above one another on the floor. They push their way out of cupboards and climb on the bed. I have to put them firmly off before I can sleep at night.
I wonder whether they sleep at night. Do they hold discussion groups instead? Do they open up? I feel certain they go visiting each other. They appear in places I know I did not leave them. They will sometimes go exploring for extended periods or get captured by humans and, eventually, find their way home looking tired and in need of a loving pat and a snooze on the shelf comforted by their friends. Yes, books need each other. They are not happy in isolation.
I am certain they have a life of their own.