“Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few are to be chewed and digested.” – Bacon
A place of belonging is somewhere that you can submerge. It validates who you essentially are. There’s nothing else you need.
One place of belonging for me is a bookshop. To be specific, my local bookshop, George Kelsall of Littleborough (please see the link below). There’s an old kitchen chair on the second floor; that is my time machine. Sometimes I’m gone so long they forget I’m there and turn out the light. They remember in the end and put it back on again.
I like the randomness of finding. The sense of fate. This book was meant to be in my hand for my journey. I like books that have weathered. I like to think that I’ve come across a stone that marked another traveller’s way. Whether the book was written in the 50s, the 60s, Victorian times, or even a thousand year’s ago; it’s new to me.
– Jean Cocteau, “Les Enfants Terribles”, 1929; transl. by Rosamond Lehmann
– Junichiro Tanizaki, “Some Prefer Nettles”, 1928; transl. by Edward G Seidensticker
– S H Burton, “The Criticism of Poetry”, 1974