On a recent visit to my parents’ home in Wales, I found myself in my old room which, admittedly, given the lack of space in my current London flat, acts as a bit of a shrine to my childhood – filled to the brim with old keepsakes.
Amongst the pink drapes, wind-chimes, old sorry-looking bears and never-to-be-opened-again files of school notes, is a lone shelf that sums up what inspired me to read as a kid – my collection of Winnie the Pooh books. And I don’t mean the different types of Winnie the Pooh spin-offs that have been published over the years, such as I Love You Winnie the Pooh or The Trouble With Bees (although I did spot Eeyore’s Book of Gloom in there somewhere…) but simply the original tales in their many different packages. There’s even a special edition copy that I found on a shelf in Singapore and lugged in my backpack through Australia, New Zealand, India and Nepal to get home. Yep – I have to admit it – I’m definitely a bibliophile when it comes to Pooh!
Looking at these all lined up on my shelf, I wondered why it is that I’m attracted to collecting these beautiful representations of my childhood. I suppose right there are two answers before I’ve even started – they’re beautiful, and they remind me of my childhood. But I keep trying to put my finger on why I feel I have to own them in so many different designs, when they are simply the same stories over and over…?
I’ve slowly come to the conclusion that it’s a mix of fear and lust. Lust for the myriad of designs; for the myriad of colourful bindings that encase what to me, are some of the most precious words in my memory. Eeyore’s solemn words of despair on one page, Piglet’s shrieks of comical fear on the next, all interpreted in a different way by the publisher who packages it. Some have black and white pictures and simple, plain bindings; others have shiny jackets and colourful illustrations on quality paper; while others are encased in decorative slipcases as if they were meant to serve as pieces of art.
And fear? Well the fear part comes from the fear of my favourite words ever disappearing from a paper page. No – I don’t mean that the words will physically fade in my copies, neither do I mean that digital books will replace printed books (we’ve all been exhausted by THAT debate), but that the pretty editions I see on the shelves or find in a second-hand shop will one day go out of print, or be shifted off the shop shelves to make space for a newer version of the timeless classics. When there are so many interpretations of the same books out there, I develop a sort of Pokemon-fever – I just have to ‘catch’ them all…
But what of the kids of tomorrow? With the availability of digital apps and ebook formats of their favourite titles floating around and existing as codes of text on the ether, will they care to collect their favourite books just for the sake of it? Will the ability to click and instantly access the books they want, no matter the packaging, be more attractive to them than the idea of keeping something forever?
One thing’s for sure, Eeyore doesn’t really have the answer: “This writing business. Pencils and what-not. Over-rated, if you ask me. Silly stuff. Nothing in it.”