The Melancholy of an Unbattered Book

I don’t know how precious you are about books as objects, but Speyer was one of those critics by no means averse to ‘a bit of mud on the spine’. So long as they found their way back to the shelf eventually, he liked the idea of his books ‘going on journeys’. An unbattered book was to him a sad thing; like old men or women who have never really lived.

Yesterday’s post was, of course, very Speyeresque in tone – which is why today I feel inclined to direct you to this post, written back in August, which tells the entertaining tale of an altercation between Speyer and an aggravating magpie.

For a little more on books as artefacts and armaments, why not take yourself here.


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