Summer is the season of old hardcovers. You find them on the lower shelves of rented cabins, in the storage sheds of beach houses, or propping up the air conditioner in a third-floor attic window. The blurbs and the dust jackets now often seem silly and harmlessly overdone, like an unfortunate hat or a Day-Glo neck warmer. But the books themselves have a charming, tree-like solidity. They have endured, aged, perhaps developed hints of mildew and ant poison. The pages, despite the yellowing, are still in H.D.
via What We’re Reading: Michael Korda’s “Another Life” : The New Yorker.
Michael Agger 