Gifting books to loved ones is a tricky thing. It might not be immediately obvious, but the giving of books as gifts can be a wholly selfish endeavor. Being quite the enthusiastic reader myself, I can understand the mad urge to buy a friend a book. However, I always ask myself the following questions before I take the plunge: Is the receiver actually a reader? Do their tastes run parallel to my own? Is the gift ultimately a selfish gesture? Am I only sharing because I want the receiver to like the book even though there is a chance he would enjoy a Nintendo DS game instead? Good questions, all, and if only I knew the answers, I could avoid my current pickle completely.

I recently had the idea to surprise a good friend with my beloved copy of Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. The friend in question is a very important one. We met in college, all of nine years ago, and while we share a strong mutual affection, we have spent the bulk of the past nine years dating other people, breaking up with other people, chatting online, sending text messages, talking on the phone, and generally nurturing our friendship from a significant distance. I would be a horrible liar if I denied wanting to keep him in my pocket and carry him around with me. We shall refer to my pocket pal by the name of Jay.

If I tried to describe Jay, I would characterize him as a musician, a comedian, and a smarty pants. Most of all, though, I think of Jay as a foodie. I am also a self-proclaimed foodie, and we spend a good bit of our time debating the merits of this or that spice, cheese, or artisan bread. Oh, and Anthony Bourdain—I love Tony while Jay favors British hothead chef, Gordon Ramsey. Jay is kind enough to share his favorite recipes with me, and I lament the fact that my cooking inspiration as of late goes only as far as my crock pot. In recent months we have expressed our mutual interest in environmental issues and it was with both food and environmentalism in mind I hatched a plan to share the Kingsolver goodie—undoubtedly my favorite book of the year thus far—with Jay.

But is he a reader?

He’s well-read! Does that count? He probably read all of the classics he was supposed to slog through in high school, whereas I find myself trying to make up for lost time now. He has already read Huck Finn and spends his time with Chuck Palahniuk these days when time and motivation allow. Though he might not race through books the way I do, using and abusing them and tossing them to the side when finished, he picks one up thoughtfully now and again. We talk about books along with our other interests.

Alas, I cannot be sure he will read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle when it arrives on his doorstep or any time soon for that matter. In fact, I couldn’t really say whether he will enjoy it when he does. Based on my knowledge of his reading, my choice of gift is a wild card. It is quietly edgy in its own right—preaching the positives of local eating, the petroleum industry’s investment in factory farming, and even the hidden motivations of U.S. seed distributors. It is exciting to me, but perhaps I would be better off sending a pristine copy of Palahniuk’s newest novel, Snuff.

What I do know for sure, is that a book can be an intimate gift; a gift to bridge the miles and years and allow me to share some part of myself—some of my intellectual and emotional stimulation and a bit of inspiration from the words that had such a profound effect on my life. The sentimentality suggested by the title of this piece lives in the way Jay and I have chosen to nurture our relationship over the years. We watch television together in separate houses 1,000 miles apart. We share our favorite music, we take pictures of our surroundings, we ask about each other’s parents. We do what we can to feel close to each other in the face of a ridiculous geographical separation. I think you have to be sentimental to nurture a friendship for nine years with almost nonexistent face time.

I have already written a note on one of the blank opening pages of Animal, Vegetable, Miracle expressing my wish that he enjoy the book, now or later, whenever the mood strikes. And that if it does not appeal to him, he must lay it aside without struggling to finish. The gift of a book, this book, is more about sharing a little piece of myself than it is about Kingsolver’s words. I left my favorite pages turned down. My notes are scrawled in my teacher’s hurried handwriting in the margins. The book has been living with me for four months now, longer than the combined time Jay and I have spent in each other’s company. Perhaps the book can be a stand-in for now.

Despite the pitfalls of gifting books, maybe I have nothing to worry about. I tend to see this token as a gift of self rather than a selfish gift. It is a gift of affection, of intellectual exploration, and sentimentality. It’s a sweet gift for the sweet, from one sentimental fool to another. If nothing else, he will have a token that holds a piece of me until we see each other again.

Books Mentioned in this Column:
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life (Harper Perennial, 2008)

Snuff (Doubleday, 2008)


Andi is a recovering university academic employed by the North Carolina community college system as an English instructor. While she decided to forego a Ph.D. and career as a professor, she fills in all the free time her current position affords her with editing literary publications, reviewing, freelancing, and blogging at Tripping Toward Lucidity: Estella’s Revenge. Her work can be found in the journal, Multi-Ethnic Literature of the United States (MELUS), and Altar magazine as well as online in various venues such as PopMatters.com. She is a member of the National Book Critics Circle (NBCC), and writes fiction. Her turn-ons include new books and gelato, while her turn-offs are reality television and washing dishes. Contact Andi.