Livia, Joanna, and I went to a big book sale at the local public library this morning. You never know what you're going to find at sales like that. The prices were good: $1 for hardbacks and 50 cents for paperbacks (including trade paperbacks). I picked up eight or ten novels, most of them fairly contemporary thrillers by authors I haven't read before. I don't mind betting a buck a book in a case like that, especially when the proceeds benefit the library. I don't check out all that much these days, but I like knowing it's there.
Those of you who remember my post about baseball novels a month or so ago will understand why I was excited when I found a couple of Chip Hilton novels by Clair Bee. Unfortunately, when I looked closer I realized they were "new, updated" versions of the original novels. Maybe I'm being unfair, but right back they went onto the shelf. Nearly all the "updated" novels I've read in my life have been nowhere near as good as the originals. (Yes, I'm talking to you, Frank and Joe Hardy and your chums.) Anyway, I did find a 1945 baseball novel by Jackson Scholz. It's a later reprint but appears to have the original text. That one I grabbed.
We also got a bunch of non-fiction books on various subjects to go in our research library (a high-falutin' name for dozens of books stacked here, there, and yonder), and Joanna picked up quite a few books for her third-grade class. Right now the bags, nearly a dozen of them, are still stacked on the sofa, waiting to be gone through, so I don't really know what we have in there. I do know, though, that it was a very pleasant way to spend part of a Saturday morning when I really should have been working.
Or Maybe You Do
1 hour ago