The scene: Game Night at my parents’ house. I’ve just finished trouncing everyone at Alhambra, and we’re taking a break to cook dinner. (Don’t worry, I got my ego deflated afterwards, coming in last at Tripoley and middling at Apples to Apples.)
My mom and I are talking books. Because we do. A lot. She’s already offered to loan me her shiny new copy of Love, Loss, and What We Ate. (I may or may not have squealed and started jumping up and down until she put the book in my hands. We’re both big Top Chef fans.) I mention how cool it was to read an original edition from the library (that was Kindred, last week) but I was boggled at a time when a hardcover could cost only $8.25.
So Mom heads off into the jungle. By which I mean her bookshelves. Not an actual jungle, but she has a lot of books, so it takes her a few minutes to find what she’s looking for.
She comes back with the oldest book still in her collection, The Time Traders, first paperback edition, 1958.
It was $1.25.
Yes, yes, I know, inflation, relative value, all that jazz. It just tickles me.
And of course, now I’m borrowing that one, too. I just love old paperbacks.