August 9 is National Book Lovers Day. The origins of a special day set aside for bibliophiles remain a mystery, but there it is: the one day of the year given over to those of us whose books are indispensable friends, soul mates, and alter egos.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved books. I’ve worked in bookstores and libraries, owned three bookshops myself, and have written book reviews for Western North Carolina’s “Smoky Mountain News” for over 25 years. My local library is as familiar to me as my kitchen. Like other bibliophiles, I’ve always got a book going, sometimes two or three at the same time. In the past few weeks, for example, I’ve read two romance novels for review—Aryn Wicka’s “Tethered” and Carina Taylor’s “Easy as Pie”—and have begun George Eliot’s “Middlemarch” for my personal edification and enjoyment. Meanwhile, on any given day, I’m yanking a half-dozen or more books from my shelves for work-related or personal reasons.
