Incorrigible bookslutting, dorky old SF about losing limbs, and lunatic angels?

Today, on my day off from working in one bookstore, I, naturally, found myself in yet another bookstore instead.

Then, when I finally got myself out of that one, I went on to a third. As, you know, you do when you are an incorrigible bookslut, and all.

And, apparently, the third time really is the charm. Because there?

There, I somehow managed to stumble across a used copy of my so-favourite-mine-looked-roughly-fifty-years-old-though-I’d-gotten-it-new childhood book. My favourite childhood book, which I had lost in my little Epic Appalachian Escape out of my childhood home, and was still unapologetically mourning:

lightsabers
(Yeah. This is from way back when the Star Wars Expanded Universe was actually still somewhat sane. And yeah, I really was that much of a nerd. Still would be, probably, if the EU hadn’t exploded all to hell.)

And when I suddenly spotted it just sitting there on the shelf, I may or may not have gasped out loud, immediately bounced up onto the balls of my feet to grab the thing, and then clutched it to my chest like I thought someone was going to abuptly barrel into the used paperback room to try and wrestle it away from me, and I would then have to fight for my book to the death. (Spoiler: No one did, but if they had, I would have won. I take my bookslutting seriously, after all.)

I may or may not have also come a little bit close to tearing up, once I was holding onto it.

A little bit. Maybe.

But if you’re here reading this blog, I fancy you’re a reader in general. And if you’re a reader, I am sure you understand what it means to have a book be yours. Where the physical copy itself means as much as the content, the book you picked up countless times for comfort, the one with the spine broken a multitude of times, the one that falls open right to your favourite page, the yellowing book with that gorgeous old-book smell that you wore into the pages yourself…

Lightsabers was that, for me.

And as such, it was essentially irreplacable. I wanted to replace it (and the rest of the entire series, and also several other series I had lost), and badly, but at the same time was incredibly loathe to do so. Because those replacement copies wouldn’t be mine.

This, though? Stumbling across it unexpectedly this way, rather than buying some random used copy online? This one book in the series, on its own, when this is the one that was my favourite?

That’s as close to mine as I’m going to get, I think. And I was happy as all hell. ♥

And then? A few minutes later, I came across yet another book I had absolutely loved and lost, and was looking to replace!

scar night

I didn’t have the emotional attachment to The Deepgate Codex that I did to the Young Jedi Knights, but damn did I love it. And damn am I excited to start a re-read. :)

(And let’s just ignore the fact that my idea of nostalgia appears to be really dorky old sci-fi YA about losing limbs, and a city in chains terrorised by a lunatic angel called Carnival, shall we?)

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