The other week I went to a secondhand book market despite my months-long, self-imposed book buying ban. I knew that I was going to break if I went. I’m very aware that secondhand books are my ultimate weakness, a not-so-secret kryptonite that completely breaks my resolve. But the event was set up by a local charity and the proceeds were going to be supporting people in my area affected by homelessness. So there was no way I could say “no”.
When I stepped into the large room where the market was held, all I could see were tables and tables of beautiful books. Like a brilliant sea stretching out towards the horizon. There’s something so magical about a sight like that — all these possibilities laid out bare before you. Inside these stacks are characters that might become your best friends, romances that might emotionally devastate you, and stories that might burrow themselves inside your heart and imprint permanently onto your soul. The possibilities feel endless — especially as you begin searching through the stacks, discovering books you have never even heard of before, never thought once of picking up.
You start to realise that social media hides the vastness of published books, and that secondhand markets and the act of thrifting opens it back up again.
I always thrift with no expectations. I want to browse the stacks with no preconceived ideas of what I may find. I love the little adventure of searching with no agenda, the feeling of hope swelling in my chest as I hunt the stacks, simply allowing the universe to bestow upon me something special, something I might not necessarily think I need but something I definitely should. I think that’s where you feel the magic the most: discovering a book that hadn’t crossed your mind until it was in your hands. You don’t get that same experience with shopping online, for example.
I walked away from this secondhand book market with three beautiful books: To The Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf, This Side of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald and Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides.
They are gorgeous, older copies with discoloured pages and folded covers and that intoxicating preloved book smell. You know, the smell that strangely sets the entire body of a reader at ease. The copy of To The Lighthouse still had a bookmark hidden amongst the pages, the previous reader marking their page or a quote with a small piece of cardboard. For some reason as I held this makeshift bookmark in-between my fingers it felt strangely romantic. I wonder what this past reader thought as they placed it here, why this page was so important to them. I was also reminded that anything can be a bookmark, that we don’t need to have something aesthetic. Sometimes we just pick up a book and start reading feverishly, already so lost in the story that we reach for the closest thing beside us. That’s how intoxicating reading can be. Thrifting books can remind us of that.
And maybe this sounds a little bit like romanticising, I have no shame, but there’s something so charmingly sweet about finding dog-eared pages, left behind bookmarks and scribbled annotations in secondhand books. I don’t know who the reader was before me, but I feel connected to them. I wonder if we experienced the same emotions as we both read this book. I wonder if they felt the magic too.
It’s this feeling of connection that made this secondhand market an even more magical experience. Not just because you’re standing in a conference room full of books that were once lovingly preowned by so many other people, but because I felt connected to the other human beings in the room itself.
I was flicking through a box of books and overheard some girls discussing “A Little Life” by Hanya Yanagihara. “Have you read it yet? Did it emotionally destroy you?” one of them asked the other, peering around the leaning stack of books in her hands. And usually I’m the kind of anxious, nervous soul that would have kept her head down, but perhaps it was the magic surrounding me amongst the books, or the heady feeling you get when you take in that used book smell, but I blurted out “yes it emotionally destroyed me too”. Both of us laughed, smiled and then chatted enthusiastically about the most traumatising book we’d both ever read and our thoughts. For me, something like that doesn’t happen very often.
But I really love how books and reading can bring people together, even for the slightest, most fleeting moment. That book lovers can come to a secondhand book market like this, or even a thrift store, and feel safe enough to share their love and passion for reading with complete strangers. I love connecting with other likeminded readers — but sometimes in real life that can be harder. My anxiety takes over a little with people I don’t know, my nervous system tingling. I second guess everything that I’m thinking, I wonder if the books I like to read sound dumb or childish or pretentious. Somehow the internet feels safer. But every now and then I have opportunities like this market to find real life connections and even a couple of minutes fills me with joy and gratitude.
If you can’t tell, thrifting books is one of my favourite activities.
When I shop at a bookstore or online, I can research beforehand and create a list of all the books I’m searching for. I have a good idea of what I’ll find because most bookstores curate their catalogues from the same trends, the same bestseller lists. The same authors, the same types of stories, the same tropes even, populate the shelves everywhere you go.
But thrifting for books feels like an adventure. You don’t know what you’re going to discover on the shelves or packed away in boxes, maybe even in the nooks and crannies of old furniture. Sometimes you discover a book you’ve been searching for everywhere, other times your hands brush across the cover of a book you never knew existed. Sure, old copies of popular books may be there too, but always amongst them are what are considered mainstream misses — you know, those that were overlooked or under-marketed when they were released so you won’t find them in a bookstore anymore. Those are priceless. Those make sifting through stacks and stacks of books so worth it. So I guess what I’m trying to say is that thrifting feels like an adventure because of the endless possibilities. A real life treasure hunt.
It’s nice to spoil yourself with new books — I’d be a hypocrite if I said I never did that. I mean, I’m on a book buying ban for a reason. But sometimes spending $30 on a brand new book feels like an impossible ask. So it’s nice to go somewhere like a secondhand bookstore or a charity shop, or even a large scale charity event like I went to the other week. Not only are you saving money, supporting local businesses or charities, and slowing down on the overwhelming amount of consumption we do as a collective — but you’re also opening yourself up to so many possibilities, so many books, so many stories.
And, in my opinion, that’s pretty damn magical.
Do you love the magic of thrifting books too? I’d love to know what hidden gems have you found while out thrifting or shopping for secondhand books. Tell me in the comments!
Until next time,
- Madeline
I’m going to NYC next weekend with an empty suitcase. Does that say it all 😂 BTW have you read Jeffrey Eugenides’ The Marriage Plot? I read it a number of years ago and loved it.
You’re so right about feeling connected to past readers through secondhand books! I feel this way about old postcards. It’s my favorite thing to do when I go to an antique store is to look for the old, written and sent postcards and read the stories of the people who sent them and the people who would have received them. It’s haunting, in a beautiful way