For BabelBabe

BabelBabe just published a wonderful post entitled "There is a world of difference between domesticity and domestication." She describes the beauty and magic of Persephone Books, and this immediately reminded me of my own Persephonies and the joy they have brought me.

In honour of BabelBabe's beautiful post here is a photo of the books that are not in my grandfather's library, but in my bedroom:

And here, dear BabelBabe, is the very first Persephone I bought:

Here is its inside cover. I knew you'd like that!

I was visiting my parents in London...it was probably around the year 1999. Miss Commentbox was about 8 and Master C was about 4 years old. I fell into my mother's arms, handed the two of them over to her, and then I spent a week trying to remember who I was and what I was doing and whether anything outside the domestic world really and truly existed.

I think I came across "The Homemaker" at Daunt's Bookshop. My mother sent me there like a doctor prescribes medication: "Go to Daunt's, go there twice a day for three days and come back if you don't start feeling better."

I started to feel better.

Once I returned home to Sydney my mother sent me Persephone Books as they were published, like mail-order medicine. She and my father went to the first Persephone shop one rainy Sunday afternoon and found Nicola Beauman there trying to hang a framed picture (I think it might have been a map) above her desk. She let them into the shop even though it wasn't officially open yet, and my father helped her hang the picture.

Dear BabelBabe,

How I wish that I could invite you over to my house and lend you a Persephone or two. But this post is the best I can do for the moment. Thanks for reminding me of those silvery beauties, and thanks for such a wonderful post.