"I love books. To walk into one of the great cathedrals, soaring roofs, exquisite light, a stillness undisturbed by even busloads of tourists is a sacred experience. To walk into a library is, for me, also to experience the Holy. I'm not alone in this. I was just reading in two very different books, one written by a self-acclaimed middle aged agnostic Jewish intellectual married man; the other written by a passionate, if slightly neurotic, Christian single mom. Both agree on this one point: one of the vital spaces for the spirit (others being the great outdoors and certain buildings) is the library.

I have a love/hate relationship with libraries and book catalogs (and if I could get to one, I'd probably be torn in two by bookstores). All those books. All those incredible wonderful books, I yearn to read them all (well maybe not all. I'd rather read economic theory in small print than one of those pulchritudinous romances. Not that I fancy myself as some elitist but I read several hundred of them in the jail and the very notion of ever reading another makes me wild-eyed and whimpering. They have a "Clockwork Orange" effect on me. Not good). At the same time that I want to read all these delicious books, I am overcome by despair--the futility of it.

Never in a million years will I be able to read all the books I want to read. It's unbearable. I have kept this foible to myself, fearful of those raised eyebrows and nasty whispered asides, but then I read a dazzling essay by a favorite author and he confessed that he longed to read all those books, that he bought all these books he never had time to read; that the library was a terrible compulsion. He wrote of the joy of meandering through the stacks and the anguish of all those unread, never to be read, books.

When I read this essay, a surge of "yes!" coursed through my veins. It is good not to be alone in the nuthouse. This is why I love books: you can find camaraderie in your madness.

I read books--travelogues, adventures of courage and endurance. I read books--skilfully crafted essays on science, history, ideas, literature, every day life. I read books--thrillers, science fiction, mysteries, I read books I don't understand, don't like. I read books considered heresy, the Gospel of Thomas, the Qu'ran, Mao Tse Tung's Little Red Book, Mein Kampf. (The Gospel of Thomas is beautiful and pithy-a collection of parables and wisdom sayings; the Qu'ran is startling, confusing and on the most cursory level full of challenges to live a life full of compassion and generosity).

Since I love to read, I am most grateful that I have access to a surprisingly good library.

Many of the books in our library are donated by people and local groups. I hear other women complain about our library--that they've read all the books by a particular author and there is nothing left to read. They may as well stand in a well-stocked kitchen and complain that there is nothing to eat because all the chicken is gone.

I love our little library because it has challenged me to read genres, books, authors I would never have tried otherwise. Either I starved or I broadened by taste. Almost every week I go to the library and it is always an adventure. I might check out a children's book, a manual on plumbing, an art book, a mystery. As my roommate laughs, "I never know what books you'll come back with."

I also enjoy picking out books for my friends. "How did you know I'd like this so well?" they ask, when I read words that speak a truth I have struggled to define for myself. I relish the resonance and seek to share it, to pass it forward. And the better I know my friends, the more attuned I am to the hunger in their spirits. This is what I love most about books, they are abundantly generous; there are books enough to satisfy everyone." (Elizabeth Haysom, Fluvanna Review, July 21, 2005)

Elizabeth Haysom is presently incarcerated at the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women in Troy, Virginia. This column is one of a series, published under the general heading 'Glimpses from Inside.'