traveling companion

I finished "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" while in Berlin, and being such a weighty tome for a backpack I wasn't keen on carrying it back with me. But it was also worth holding on to as it is a nice hard-bound volume and a light re-read. Next door to 27 Wortherstrass where I was staying was a bookshop with a small sign in the window: Second-Hand Books in English.

"Perfect opportunity." I thought. I can shed myself of this big-as-a-breadbox-book and maybe recoup some of the $35 expense in buying it. Alexia had told me that the American versions were in high demand in Germany as the art and typesetting were more attractive and the book itself was just better made. I felt a twinge of tourists past who might have traded Levi's in East Berlin for three gold bars and a black-market assault vehicle. And a cool leather jacket.

I met the proprietor, Paul with the tartan trousers, who told me he had "just this week" had to special order an American imprint of "HP and the Half-Blood Prince" for a client. My hopes increased.

He offered me 4 euro. About 7 bucks. Hardly a return on my investment. But I wanted rid of its bulk and bother and saw this as an opportunity to pick up something new and interesting to read during the rest of my journey. After all, he was offering me a whopping 5 or 6 euros in trade. He was moderately helpful in suggesting books not on travel necessarily, but books centered on where I would be traveling. I left the bookshop with an English-translation of the Danish somewhat-mystery "Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow" (but not the American-version, which was titled "Smilla's Sense of Snow"). It is set in Copenhagen, which was my next destination.

I didn't get through much of the book while abroad. It is fairly slow and methodical, but seductively so. I am really enjoying it, but it is not entirely engrossing for airports and airplanes. I have joined its pace and am part of Smilla's casual curiosity now. And I have found something. Not a clue to the story's past, but of the book itself.

Somewhere around page 216, tucked into place like a slight bookmark or merely a incidental filing place was a receipt.

Eight years ago, in Terminal B, Remote Bar B, in Newark, New Jersey, someone had a draft beer while reading this book, likely waiting for a flight or flights which would ultimately bring him, or her, to this place. Berlin. This person paid with a five. And s/he was served by Greg.

Maybe it was the tone of the book, or the spirit of the book, but this slip of paper got me to thinking about the past life of this book. A little about the owner, the past reader, but moreso about the book. As a librarian by degree, I have often held ancient volumes and considered their history. Again not the history contained within its pages (more accurately, related upon its pages), but the history of its pages. The secret life of books.

This is not the American version. It had to have been originally purchased overseas. Maybe the reader was waiting in Remote Bar B for a connecting flight, having just landed in New Jersey, and not on his way to Berlin at all. But ultimately, this traveler, this reader, made it to Berlin, and to Wortherstrass. Or did he? Maybe once finished the book was passed on to another, who then read the book on her way overseas, returned the book back to Europe. Did she have the beer in Terminal B? Did she flirt with Greg? Did he?

Somehow, with any possible permutations and stories unto itself, this book traveled from Europe, to the States (at least to New Jersey), and back to Europe, and to Berlin, and to the little bookshop of second-hand books in English and into the hands of Paul of the tartan trousers.

Did the book come directly? Were the people who handled it interesting? Did they have curious adventures, with this book as a silent witness? Or companion? What stories could be told tying together the little dramas of those who have held this book?

The secret life of books.

It is a combination of the mood and mindset created by Peter Hoeg, and my own innate curiosity and creativity which lead me down this stream of consciousness.

Although, it's been eight years. Maybe it's just been sitting in a box somewhere with other old books and Paul of the tartan trousers bought it in bulk.

But still.

I'm just sayin'.