Confessions of a book hoarder.

Today was Bag Day at the book sale at the library. You know how it works - take a brown paper grocery bag, fill it up with books, pay five bucks for the lot, then go home and relish in the booky goodness.

That got me thinking, about books in general, and about my relationship to them. I used to be a hardcore SF geek, but at some point my devouring of that faded a bit, and horror started to edge in. They're definitely still my two favorite fiction genres, but at some point fiction started feeling the pressure from non-fiction and what I suppose can be broadly classified as 'classics' (Note: I suppose it's possible that my three semesters at St. John's might have influenced this. Just maybe.). Amongst my finds: An intro-to-poli-sci text, a two-volume complete works of Shakespeare, a lovely little volume of "English literature: The beginnings to 1500", and a smattering of political and/or historical books, including a book about "thought and expression in the sixteenth century" in England (cleverly entitled The English Mind). Geeky, perhaps, but...well, that's no big surprise, really.