Books, Books, and more Books

I had an unusual experience at the library today. I went in to pick up the stack of books that was awaiting me on the hold shelf. The woman in front of me in the check out line eyed up my selections, noted the four Dorothy Sayers novels (which Danielle inspired me to seek out) and also the Laura Lippman novel (the latest instalment in the Tess Monaghan series which I have been eagerly anticipating), and correctly surmised that I’m a mystery fan. So is she, and it so happens that the trunk of her car was full of paperback mysteries that she was about to drop off at the Goodwill. She said that she’d feel much better passing them directly on to a keen mystery reader than dropping them into the Goodwill donation box where they might well languish unread. I was persuaded to take ten books by an array of authors whose work I’d been meaning to try but hadn’t got round to yet. I’ve been known to claim that it’s more a matter of books finding me than of me finding books. This experience would seem to prove the point! Is it any wonder that my bookshelves are overflowing?