I

like pristine things. Here’s my
ironclad logic: If it’s new, it’s
going to be more durable. The
pristine condition seems like a guaran-
tee of quality. The moment when I peel
off the screen protector of my brand-
new phone is a defining point when I
can start calling myself the owner of a
quality product. A shiny new, unused
object speaks to me, “I’m yours now!”
I’m protective of new things, espe-
cially new books. I would turn each
page slowly to not leave a crease on the
paper. Sometimes, because I have the
habit of reading while eating, I would
accidentally drop a drip of salad dress-
ing on the page. I would stare at the
spot blankly and curse at my careless-
ness. It’s almost as if I defiled the chas-
tity of the book.
I forgave myself, however, when I
left a drop of vinaigrette dressing on
a used book. Many people cringe at
used books, even if they are in very
good condition. They say, “How do you
know the book hasn’t gone through
some funny business in the hands of
the previous owner? What if they pick
their nose while reading the book?
What if there is some pathogen hiding
between the pages?” But most of these
people lick their fingers when they
finish a bag of chips, even after eat-
ing without previously washing their
hands. Their attitude becomes ironic.
Maybe they are right. I seem to have
too much confidence in book owners. But I also have faith
in my immune system, so I’m willing to take the risk.
Used books do annoy me sometimes. Like when the
previous owner does too much marking in the book. I
can relate to them; I’m also the type of reader who enjoys
underlining, scribbling, drawing smiley faces, and writ-
ing “LOL” on the side. But the markings of other people
distract me most of the time, and they lead me to focus
on the wrong lines. My solution is to erase all the pencil
marks carefully. The process takes a few minutes because
I have to do so gently, making sure that I don’t wrinkle
the paper. However, this method fails when the marks
are written in ink. I would need to use an entire bottle of
white-out to mask those.
While those little notes written between the margins
can be annoying, they are also my favorite things to look
for. One time, as I was about to fall asleep reading Kant’s
“Critique of Pure Reason”, I found the word “sapiosex-
ual,” written in smooth, beautiful handwriting. I had to
use Merriam-Webster to look the word up, and when I
found its meaning I understood that whoever wrote the
word was expressing the admiration for Kant’s legend-
ary mind. Maybe they went too far by saying that they
are attracted to a philosopher from the 18th century, but
I get the gist. Intelligent people are sexy, and we have a

word for it.
Another rare find in used books is personal inscription.
Most of the readers are too lazy (myself included) to leave
such a thing. I own a copy of Bill Bryson’s “A Short His-
tory of Nearly Everything”. On the first page, someone
writes: “To expand your already comprehensive knowl-
edge.” The note is signed off with an “x”. My knowledge
is for sure not comprehensive, so I almost blushed a little
reading this short line. Whenever I was too lazy to turn
the pages, this little note leaped into my head and yelled:
“Live up to that standard!” So I read on, and finished the
book at an unprecedented speed.
Fortunately, I have easy access to used books. Within
walking distance, there is a used bookstore called Dawn
Treader. When I step inside, it’s almost as if I’m in a
hoarder’s house — a hoarder who only cares about books.
It’s a sea of books. I can place my eyes at any spot in the
store and see books. There is that distinct old book smell,
which I also call “the smell of time.” I can never stop
myself from taking a huge breath when I walk in, or open
a book that has remained unopened for years. I would
then, inhale a large number of dust particles. There were
times that I started sneezing immediately, but I didn’t
blame the books. I simply feel relaxed in the space. I can
freely sit on the stool and flip through the pages. The

bookstore offers great prices for anything one finds in
there. It’s the only place where I have the confidence to
walk up to the register without even looking at the price.
A boutique bookstore is just down the street. Beauti-
fully decorated, every genre of books carefully laid out,
newest books always on display with hand-written staff
reviews. There is a lovely café upstairs. They are also
the only place that sells authentic Japanese stationery.
Everything is pristine here. Almost every book they sell
is in the hardback edition. This means that I can guar-
antee a price tag above $20 when I flip to the back of the
books. Somehow, the place doesn’t seem genuine. I feel
confined, and almost guilty if I read a book without buy-
ing it. Under the delicate, sophisticated appearance, they
set up an obstacle between the books and their custom-
ers. Knowledge becomes a luxury at places like these.
So I spent a lot of time wandering around Dawn Tread-
er, and have bought countless books there. They have set
up the perfect image of a bookstore: a place that carries
knowledge and nothing else. No fancy decorations, no
coffee, only knowledge. One day I will leave this city, and
all my books will go to Dawn Treader. Here’s my goal:
for the benefit of their next owners, I shall minimize the
scribbling I leave in my books, so the lineage of knowl-
edge can carry on.

Wednesday, December 4, 2019 // The Statement
6B
No decorations, no coffee: My favorite
used book store sells knowledge

BY IVY CAI, STATEMENT COLUNMIST

PHOTO BY DANYEL THARAKAN