Way back in mid 1990s when I started reading novels (thanks to Hardy Boys), I noticed that novels can be mainly classified into two categories: Old and New. The differentiation being in print and appearance and style of writing and even in smell! The rummy thing was that Old always won against New in my preference.
There were New novels and Old novels and I invariably enjoyed reading the Old ones more than the New ones. This feeling has not changed even now. There is something about an antique novel, which has withstood the passage of time that makes the novel most cherished and enjoyable.
Just the other day, I chanced upon a couple of Wodehouse novels. While one seemed new with nice paperback, the other had some pages torn. I chose the latter without hesitation. The desire of choosing the Old novels is still afire within me even now. And yes, many a time I have smelt the charm in the old book!
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