Perhaps it's understandable that as a publisher I have a fond relationship with books. I weep over the fate of books (and the photographers who made them) when I see a great book subside into the obscurity of history. Newly minted books emerge from the bindery with such hopes and momentum. Then decades pass and that once-great book, like us I suppose, recedes into the dark corners of our book shelves or the dusty confines of the used bookstore. Or the local landfill or recycling center. I like to think that books are a first step toward immortality. In practice, I know better.
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