Today I finished reading a book that took $200 from the owner. I don’t feel particularly priviledged having read it, because a book is just a book, no matter how much it costs. Poorer written books may cost more simply because they were written by such “classics” as Jane Austen. That is to say: The quality of writing has nothing to do with the cost of the book. Look at James Patterson hardbacks as an example.

It was a really amazing book, though. I’ve now read all of Patrick Süskind’s publish books, and I still only own two of them. It’s usually a much more odd feeling to be content that I don’t own books that I have read. I like to have them in my library to re-read at a future date, if I enjoyed them. However, with Süskind’s books, it doesn’t feel quite so unusual that I’m not running out to spend all my money to purchase them. Maybe it’s because I’m practically broke at the moment with the knowledge that at least three of his other books will cost me about $150 each. I don’t think that’s the reason.

I think the reason is that I’m so glad having had the opportunity to fall in love with the man’s wonderful writing; I’m more priviledged to have read the words at all, than to have read the words of a $200 book.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about an author before and I can’t seem to put into words exactly why I feel this way. For instance, Haruki Murakami instantly became one of my favorite authors based on one book: Kafka on the Shore so I rushed out and bought all his other books with the expectation that they’d all be just as brilliant. Patrick Süskind became one of my favorite authors after reading Perfume, and I didn’t rush to buy any of his other books; in fact, the other one I have was given to me by a coworker.

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