My treasure is made up of hundreds of pages and thousands of words.

As far back as I can remember, books have always been a part of my life. Les malheurs de Sophie was my first book given to me by "Maman et Papa xxxx" . I found it recently, piled up in a pile of books to give away and I couldn't deny its history: the pages had yellowed, the cover was very worn. I saved it. Without being able to explain why, I attach sentimental value to all these books that belonged to me and that I have carefully kept. They tell both the story they contain, but also a little of my own: from the moment I bought them until the moment I put them aside, on the shelves of my library.

Little by little, I abandoned shopping afternoons with friends to window shop in front of bookstores. When I was younger, I hadn't yet understood the difference between independent bookstores and the big chain stores of this world. What really mattered to me was getting my hands on the latest Gavalda (who remains to this day my favorite writer) or the most recent Levy. Then, I started reading Quebec literature, part-time. Unlike some of my classmates, I tended to devour the books from here that were highlighted in my French classes. There I met Tremblay, Lessard, Demers, Roy to name a few and I developed a taste for this writing from our country. I then went in search of their peers and I have never found myself better served than in our small bookstores.

I don’t remember exactly the first independent bookstore I visited. I do remember that the smell wasn’t the same: it smelled like paper, not plastic. Their entry display was “New from here,” right in front of “Independent Authors.” There were no shelves of toys or kitchen items. There was just paper and wood to support it.

“ARE YOU LOOKING FOR SOMETHING, MISS?”

“EVERYTHING, ANYTHING, SURPRISE ME. I THIRST FOR WORDS AND ESCAPE.”

I have never been disappointed by a bookseller's recommendation. When their fingers run through the shelves they know by heart - without the help of a computer - in search of a rare gem, I feel in good hands. They have this gift of highlighting the prettiest book covers to catch the eye of people like me who are tempted by beauty. What can I do, it's stronger than me!

Just last week, I picked up the last copy of a book on a display rack. I had heard about this critically acclaimed book and it was bound to be the next addition to my collection. I turned to the manager and apologized:

“UH, EXCUSE ME. I CLEARED OUT YOUR DISPLAY, SORRY…”

"DON'T WORRY, MADAM, HE WAS HAVING TO WAIT FOR YOU."

Within the walls of these dedicated entrepreneurs, I discovered Quebec poetry, which is both sweet for the heart and the soul. I unearthed novels that made me laugh, cry, dream, that inspired me and shaped my way of thinking. When I take out my wallet at the petty cash register, I don't feel any pangs in my heart, even if I know that I'm spending a few more coins at the bookstores: every dollar spent comes back to me, indirectly. I invest in exceptional service, in a vast and diverse selection and, of course, in a rich and vibrant local literary culture.

When I set foot in chain stores, I don't find this friendliness and kindness. Between you and me, I have never experienced a beautiful story that begins with: "Yesterday, I was on Amazon. I ordered a book that I will receive in a few days (without having felt it, poked it, leafed through it...) and it was pleasant!"

“Did you find everything you were looking for?”

“Yes, thanks for your help, I would never have thought of that. I can't wait to read it!”