Your author, Annie, is now some kind of bookish heroine for me and I’m so glad she wrote you. There’s a certain feeling I get when I’m thinking about books and what they do for me, and you reignited that feeling tenfold. I’ve read similar books to you before but none of them have your humour, your wit. I felt kind of grotty at the time and couldn’t really move or allow myself the brain power to even think of ignoring your bookish pleas. You know the one, the ‘you know you want to read me instead of whatever you were going to do, so read me, go ahead. I found you in my local library, along with a couple of other books I borrowed at the same time as you. It would be an opportunity missed not to write a letter to this book (even though it’s a completely unoriginal idea, but who cares, letters are cool!) Dear Dear Fahrenheit 451, Then I found Dear Fahrenheit 451 by Annie Spence, a book of love letters from a librarian to a bunch of books she’s encountered as a reader and from working in public libraries. I hopped on my newly serviced bike, with books for return in my bag and an eagerness to take more home with me. The day the library re-opened after Christmas and New Year I was THERE.
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