Penguin Love

Penguin features largely in my childhood, and even as an adult. Penguin classics, they call it. I didn't intentionally buy them. The parents, the aunts and the adults bought me books month after month and year after year. Nobody says no when I say I want to buy books. They shove money in my tiny hands and tell me to buy all that I want. To their credit, they didn't roll eyes when I came back with awesome prints of graphic novels (Like M.A.S.K.). Hahaha. But mostly, I came back with fiction novels.

I've always associated Penguin publications with serious literature and reading. I keep forgetting that they do science fiction and horror too. I've moved apartments so many times in my life that the good books have gone into storage, and occasionally, I take them out to air. In the fine tradition of childhood tantrums, I've spectacularly flung chairs against the wall, and dramatically shatter vases against cabinets, but never have I thought to tear pages out of my books. Those are my precious things.

At home, we've carefully stored the leatherbound antique classics and favorites which have been hunted down during overseas jaunts. Boutique stores, dingy shops, collectors' clubs, fancy bookshops and all alike, I burrow in them and sieve through their wares. I could farm this out to someone else to do it, but it's a job I'd like to personally tend to. Familiarity with the trade means I can make a call on bulk purchases. There's something awfully fascinating and attractive about bookshops, especially the dark dingy ones.

These books aren't just meant for display in the library. It's also meant for keeps, and sentimental value. I'm very anal about the way I handle books- no dog-ears, no opening them at more than a 60-degree angle, no dirty hands, etc. Luckily among the friends and I, we practise sanitary book-reading habits, and have grown to have no issues with sharing books among one another.

I can't wait to peek at more books at "An Ode to Penguin" happening this weekend till 16 July at The Arts House.