I SNIFF BOOKS

Little Writing Corner Podcast

I SNIFF BOOKS

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-9:14

I SNIFF BOOKS

HOW I FEED MY ADDICTION AND HOW I'M CONTROLLING IT (sort of)

Little Writing Corner

Mar 26, 2025

Transcript

(My own photo of Barter Books in Alnwick, England)

This week’s post comes to you from my holiday in the North East Coast of England and there will be talk of book shops! Apologies for the delay today - WiFi issues!

If you are a lifelong reader (and writer), the alchemy of paper and ink is deep-rooted in you, and you will distinctly remember the first book you ever sniffed. I was the kid at primary school always found in the book corner reading from the selection of Ladybird fairytale picture books.

assorted children's book — Photo by Sven Brandsma on Unsplash

Those were not the first books I sniffed. I was too busy learning what the words were.

My primary school, in Scotland, was an old Victorian building of sandstone featuring rows of those long, tall windows you open with a wooden pole with a hook on one end. I have a pole like that in my house now as I’m teensy and can’t reach the top windows. The classrooms smelled of rubber gym shoes, damp coats, and sleepy pillow-hair.

Smell, sniff, the first heady aroma of the book that started my addiction.

(A print by Neil Slorance:Available to purchase online at Neil’s Etsy Shop: artbyneilslorance)

The books in my school were old, usually covered in protective plastic. I would be a big girl in the upstairs classrooms before we had a delivery of brand-new books.

They came in neat, heavy piles to the teacher’s wooden desk up front, distributed to each student’s desk with a satisfying thomp.

Making Sure Of Maths

brown wooden table with books on top — Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash

I remember that title. The book was a large A4-size one with curved edges.

I thumbed through the tight pages and experienced that immediate waft of printed ink and thick paper. Printing press. Chemicals. A book high.

Let me be clear. I hated maths at that time. I’m so old that arithmetic was an added complication (forgive the pun) as the UK moved from imperial measurements to metric.

We learned to convert old to new money (brand-new coins and notes), converting measurements, old to new. Painful. Except when I went to the local sweetshop, as the assistant had even less of a mathematical mind than me and I always got more sweets than I should have for my 1p.

But. The smell of that new book Making Sure of Maths had me looking forward to these new calculations every time I prised the book open. My book-sniffing addiction had begun.

Move forward several decades (many decades) and I’ve had my fill of brand-new hardbacks with sprayed edges.

I searched for new ways to feed the addiction and stumbled upon it by chance.

New ink is old to me now. Old books are where it’s at.

Old books. Oh, the stories. The spines well-stretched, pages laying flat, soaking up smells.

(Another of my photos of Barter Books, Second Hand Book Shop in Alnwick, N.E.England)

In old books, I have the exciting possibility of additional story.

I pick up my latest and can smell the posh old house where books sat amongst trinkets in a sitting room painted by a professional decorator, a room only ever used for visitors, a room to partake of a sherry and good book in the evening by the glow of a coal fire; maybe the soft tones of a gramophone playing old vinyl, hard 33rpm albums scritching out melodies.

black ladder beside book shelf — Photo by Juan Sisinni on Unsplash

I may pick up the smell of a traveller on another book, one who has items from around the world in their house, books that may have been transported in a trunk on a container boat, arriving months after the owners arrived in this new place. Staff. Mothballs. Old money.

I often see transporter ships in sea on the Firth of Forth. My very elderly neighbour who lived abroad for much of his adult life used to say “a flitting” when he saw those container ships - in Scots, a “flitting” means “moving house” and I like to imagine crates of books on those ships, going on to new homes, finding new shelves, their owners relieved when they open the crates and smell the books once more. Added sea brine, mizzle, and dockside dust.

cargo ship on sea under cloudy sky during daytime — Photo by Anastasios Antoniadis on Unsplash

My addiction has been with me for years and isn’t something I aim to recover from.

I control it now by forsaking the same, repeat aroma of newness, and seek out the old, the worn, the one with additional stories attached for free.

Now and then if I do visit a bookshop I look with longing at the childrens books laid out on a table. I know my nostrils would enjoy the hit, the inks of the illustrations, the joys and hopes of the children who read the pages; the smell of raspberry jam sandwiches, apples, and Joe 90 bubblegum.

Instead, I’ll content myself with the knowledge that I have a holiday booked. Holidays are usually arranged around some book event or book shop to visit – and even if they’re not, I’ll do the necessary research to see how much further we can go for a day trip…to sniff. I can’t be the only one. Have you done it too? Ensured your long weekend away is somewhere with bookshops to explore?

So, this post comes to you from my holiday this week - over the border from Scotland to the North-East coast of England where I will probably spend a whole day inside Barter Books. It’s a vast secondhand bookshop located inside an old Victorian railway station – they do lunches inside the old Waiting Room and it’s home of the original Keep Calm and Carry On poster from the war years. The poster was discovered during renovations of the building. There’s a toy train that runs on tracks on top of the book-cases; there are coal fires, rugs, sofas, and miles of books. Yes, it honestly is a real shop you can visit!

I’ll go overboard with sniffing, get giddy, and then develop a shoulder ache from the tote bag full of books I’ll bring back.

Last year’s visit resulted in me buying an in-ordinant amount of books for Jolabokaflod, the Icelandic tradition of exchanging books to read on Christmas Eve, then spending the evening reading. I’m not Icelandic, I’m Scottish – but who’s going to say no to a book opportunity like that?!

Another trip is planned for Scotland. Leakeys Bookshop in Inverness is another stunning shop on several floors with a huge wood-burning stove – so I intend to visit in the cooler months!

Another that I visited in recent times is in Wigtown, Scotland’s Book Town due to the sheer number of bookshops in the little town. It holds the largest secondhand bookshop in Scotland and I spent quite a bit of time there and even bumped into owner, Shaun Bythell who penned his own non-fiction books about being a bookseller. (link at the end)

(My own photo of The Book Shop in Wigtown, Scotland)

Keep me in your thoughts. I don’t think anyone has ever died from this book-sniffing addiction. But, I don’t think anyone has ever been cured either. And why would they wish it?

Happy sniffing, readers, and writers. Be sure to share your bookshop recommendations – especially secondhand bookshops where we can experience book sniff with extra fragrance!

Until next time, this has been Jackie from the Little Writing Corner.

PS Normal service will resume next week with a Post about writing a short story.

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