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