The ever-so distinctive smell of old books is a Floo powder that transports me to my childhood: the water heater in primary school that I spent most winter mornings propped up against, chasing like a second Timmy after Julian, Dick, Anne and George through hidden coves and mysterious lighthouses; my grandmother’s couch, where I lost entire Saturdays exploring the Enchanted Wood and the Faraway Tree; the back seat of our family’s car, where I dedicated long car rides out to the Magaliesburg helping Nancy solve clues; and the most magical place to exist outside of those pages: The Boskruin Library.
It was a wonderful thing, being raised by a mom who loves books as much as I do. I’d get to spend almost every day after school maxing out my library card and weekends nosing through new and used book shops. Which is why, when I read about an entire neighbourhood dedicated to books in Tokyo, I had to go check it out.