When I started collecting books many many moons ago, I always imagined passing them down to my kids to read and enjoy. Books were, and still are, among my most prized personal possessions. And perhaps if I had been born a century or two earlier, this scenario would have played out as planned. Instead, as I dust old bookcases and somberly place books into storage, I realize that this generation has no interest in printed books. They still read, perhaps more than ever, just not from ink on a page.

I can’t feign complete surprise that my children don’t share my love for the printed page. After all, I myself have all but given them up in favor of eBooks. Still, print holds some power for me, even if it is mostly that of nostalgia.