I just received my book today by courier (the store had held onto it in order to reattach the covers for me), and now that I actually have it, I love it even more than I'd anticipated; having the item here, in my home, and being able to hang out on my sofa and flip idly (if carefully) through it is just so different an experience than examining it in an antiquarian bookstore or rare books library. The book really ought to seem out of place here--among my selzer cans and CDs and unopened bills--but I think it's actually those everyday objects that transform it: no longer something to be examined only in a silent room, under somebody's watchful gaze, between the hours of 8 and 5, it now can be flipped idly through, picked up and set down again, and experienced, really, as it was supposed to be experienced.
And since I know y'all want to share that experience with me, here are a few pictures that don't at all do it justice, but that keep The Book, like myself, sufficiently pseudonymous:
Front cover. The bluish spots are just a result of the camera flash.
The introductory letter to the reader, obscured by my left hand (which also gives a sense of the book's dimensions).
Off to order some book supports. . .