I keep trying to photograph the books I love, and they keep looking like furniture.

Books are hard to photograph. All of the interesting part is inside, and it does not show. What you get instead is the evidence of reading: a bent corner, a cup ring, a receipt from a town you had forgotten visiting.

Where they end up

I have stopped trying to arrange them nicely. These six were taken over a single wet week, as I found them, in whatever light the day felt like giving. Most of it was the wrong light, which suits most of the reading I do.

Open one to see it larger. The arrows will take you around the house, more or less in the order that I wander round it looking for my glasses.

Sample content for The Pixel, a fictional personal blog.