When I was five years old my mother led me into the squat, rusty brown library complex in our town to ask for a library card. Now up until this point I was already a proxy library user through my mother but today that was going to change: I wanted a card in my name. My mother was excited to share the love of the library with me. The librarian on the other hand, was unimpressed. She stated I was too young to have my own card and refused. My mom of course explained that on the official paperwork she would of course be responsible for the books, but if they could just give me a card with my name on it, they would be encouraging a young reader. The librarian was not swayed, the answer was a firm no.

Thankfully the libraries (and librarians) I’ve had in my life since that fateful day have been far more supportive and helpful, whether it was to help my research at university or nowadays if I need help tracking something through the state lending system.

Considering my love of collecting books I imagine it might be a surprise that I am also an avid library user, but the truth is finding a book in a shop and finding a book at the library are two different kinds of joy. Just like receiving a book you forgot you pre-ordered in the mail is a different (but equally exciting) feeling as getting the notification that your library hold is finally available. What I’m saying is, give me books in every way possible.

However, I do occasionally have an interesting cross-over where I get a book from the library only to realize with absolute certainty I must have it in my collection. It doesn’t happen often – the truth is I usually have a good idea of a book that I will enjoy once as opposed to something I will need to keep with me. The stakes are usually quite low as well when you remember you can always borrow a book more than once (my younger self did this all the time – especially for books on tape).

But there have been notable exceptions.

One is a classic: Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier. I’m not sure why, but I just didn’t expect to fall in love with this story. In hindsight that was an odd assumption considering my love of gothic novels and novels about English class conflicts. The copy from the library was older – from the 1980’s – with a gold embossed red leathery cover. As soon as I read the last line and let out the breath I’d been holding through the final passages I knew I’d need my own copy. However, I knew it would be important to be patient. With a classic you have the luxury of waiting until the right copy finds you and sure enough, the Folio Society delivered it right to my door (actually, my husband saw it in the Folio catalogue and gave it to me but still – it was delivered to my door). It’s gorgeous and stands out on the shelf just waiting to catch a reader’s eye with its bright red slipcase and gold title on the spine. There’s a flowery, dramatic R stamped on the front. The end papers are the same dramatic red. So, although I’ll always remember the library copy that introduced me to the book, I also love my copy sitting on the shelf.

Another recent library to collection convert was Shadowplay by Joseph O’Conner. A friend told a friend about the book and as soon as she heard there was an Irish novel examining both the life of a famous writer while also playing around with storytelling and genre (very much my wheelhouse) she immediately sent me a message. Shadowplay is a fictional narrative of Bram Stoker’s life with a healthy dose of creepy Dracula tone that is just phenomenally written. It wasn’t widely released in the US at the time I heard about it, so my small local library had to order me a copy from the State-wide system (which cost me a whopping $0.25 – seriously please do whatever you can to support your local libraries). Three quarters of the way through the novel I knew I needed to always have it on my shelf. There were passages that pulled me through time and space and into the narrative so completely that when I put the book down and reentered the real world it was almost disorienting. I knew that at some point I’d wake up in the middle of the night and just want to pick it up again, so I ordered it through my local independent bookstore. The day I returned it to the library was the day I got to pick up my copy at the bookstore. Unlike my copy of Rebecca, I didn’t get any choice in my edition of Shadowplay, but my fresh-from-the-publisher copy has its own magic to offer.

And so, I do love the library (in spite of that first librarian’s best efforts) and its possibilities and openness. I love knowing that a friend in my book club will probably read the same copy of our pick of the month right after I post it in the return box. I like wondering who read something before me… did it make them cry too? Were they disappointed in and ending, or did they like it?

But there’s also something to be said for the security of having certain book always within reach. The books that are in my collection are always waiting to be plucked off the shelf, for the spine to be cracked, the dust jacket to be straightened. More than once the bright color of a slipcase or special binding has caught my eye when I’m turning off the lights and heading to bed, a reminder that if sleep doesn’t come, I have other options than staring at the ceiling in the dark.

Either way, even as the two relationships and experiences differ, they all come down to the question: what am I going to read next?