Do you carry books with you when you’re out and about in the world?
And, do you ever try to hide the covers?
When I was a wee lass, my mother asked me to refrain from bringing my copy of Dave Barry Is Not Taking This Sitting Down, which features the author seated on a toilet (with his pants down but his boxers up), into any public place. That was the last and only time I didn’t carry the book I was reading at the time with me into the world.
I am never without a book. Paperbacks, naturally, are easier to stash in my bag, but, as a student with a backpack, one more hardcover will only make my back stronger, right? I read during any spare moment I can get, so I need to have my current print read on me at all times. I don’t try to hide covers; I’m never ashamed of what I’m reading. (Plus, the nature of how I read, with notecards and Post-Its and pens, tends to make me look a lot more studious than I would otherwise.) In fact, I love cheesy covers—as evidenced by my love for cheesy speculative fiction paperbacks from the eighties and nineties—so the sillier the better, really.