I like to equate literary tastes to the human palate, and when I plunk down next to my dear friends’ bookshelves, I hunt through them the same way you’d analyze the shelves of a refrigerator you’ve gotten the go-ahead to ransack. I linger with their fridge door open, hoping to see what foods we may have in common. Who knows- maybe they like my brand of jam, or they store their wheat bread in the crisper, too. The same goes for bookshelves; I constantly want to see what genres and editions we have in common.
