Confessions of a Book Thief
In mid-April I took part in a week-long author tour (Wordpower) organized by YABS. This Monday I received a follow-up email from a librarian at one of the schools I visited.
(This is not the school I visited; it's a gorgeous old building I saw in Moncton, NB.)
She said, “You must have made quite an impact because all three of your books have already been stolen…” She went on to inform me that only the most popular books get stolen. So I’m flattered. I guess.
Even though I haven’t worked in a library for two years, that part of me cringed. Stolen books? Oh, yes. I remember that well, especially one time when a tree planter, who was in the area only for the summer, asked me about a temporary card, then cringed when I named a low price that was refundable after all books had been returned. The next day I noticed that the trilogy she had been holding and had returned to the shelf was gone. All three books. I was steamed. Of course, I never saw her in the library again. For years I’d occasionally hope that she’d be struck with guilt and return the books … to any library anywhere.
Confession time. I, too, am guilty of once having stolen books from a library. I was in junior high and over the moon for anything written by Leon Uris (who mostly wrote about WWII, a passion of mine even then). I read the two Uris books our school library had, dutifully returned them, then a few weeks later I snuck them out of the library to re-read. You have to know I had no intention of returning them.
Why did I do it? Because when I did, I eliminated the chance that anyone else could enjoy those stories. As a writer, I always say that stories are for sharing. Except, apparently, when you’re a junior high student passionate about that story. So passionate that you want to hoard it, pour over it again and again, get lost in that story no one else now has access to. Yes, stealing a book is an incredibly selfish act. All theft is.
When I started writing, the guilt of those long-ago thefts niggled at me. So when Drummer Girl was released, I gave my old school two of my books and told the librarian my sordid tale. She laughed.
I’m sure she can list books that are currently MIA. Every librarian can. And while we appreciate that those missing books are being loved, part of us hopes the reader will be struck by guilt and will return those books so other readers can discover them.
But as the writer of those stolen books? Yes, I am flattered. (Especially since the librarian has re-ordered them.)
(This is not the school I visited; it's a gorgeous old building I saw in Moncton, NB.)
She said, “You must have made quite an impact because all three of your books have already been stolen…” She went on to inform me that only the most popular books get stolen. So I’m flattered. I guess.
Even though I haven’t worked in a library for two years, that part of me cringed. Stolen books? Oh, yes. I remember that well, especially one time when a tree planter, who was in the area only for the summer, asked me about a temporary card, then cringed when I named a low price that was refundable after all books had been returned. The next day I noticed that the trilogy she had been holding and had returned to the shelf was gone. All three books. I was steamed. Of course, I never saw her in the library again. For years I’d occasionally hope that she’d be struck with guilt and return the books … to any library anywhere.
Confession time. I, too, am guilty of once having stolen books from a library. I was in junior high and over the moon for anything written by Leon Uris (who mostly wrote about WWII, a passion of mine even then). I read the two Uris books our school library had, dutifully returned them, then a few weeks later I snuck them out of the library to re-read. You have to know I had no intention of returning them.
Why did I do it? Because when I did, I eliminated the chance that anyone else could enjoy those stories. As a writer, I always say that stories are for sharing. Except, apparently, when you’re a junior high student passionate about that story. So passionate that you want to hoard it, pour over it again and again, get lost in that story no one else now has access to. Yes, stealing a book is an incredibly selfish act. All theft is.
When I started writing, the guilt of those long-ago thefts niggled at me. So when Drummer Girl was released, I gave my old school two of my books and told the librarian my sordid tale. She laughed.
I’m sure she can list books that are currently MIA. Every librarian can. And while we appreciate that those missing books are being loved, part of us hopes the reader will be struck by guilt and will return those books so other readers can discover them.
But as the writer of those stolen books? Yes, I am flattered. (Especially since the librarian has re-ordered them.)