On Saturday, Misha and I visited Princeton, New Jersey, home to a well regarded bookstore: Labyrinth. On the remainders table were two copies of The Collected Stories of Leonard Michaels for $7.98. Coincidentally, I had a copy waiting for me at the library, but it’s such a big book and of such valuable content that I thought I might just want to have it permanently. In the end, I opted not to get it.

Two days later I went to study at a library in Manhattan. I had to pay $8 in fines in order to check out another book, which I did so I could take home a book I won’t read.

Then I went to the local branch of the Brooklyn Library to retrieve Michaels. On my way to the exit, I spied a cart of “free books” and thought better of it. I had specifically not bought any discounted books because I fear I might move one day. But then I fought my instincts and went to the cart, where I found 7 books that I carried home, where I found a New Yorker in the mailbox. Barely able to put my key in the lock, I thought maybe I had been greedy. I lay my booty on the coffee table, texted Misha that I got him a surprise, and went to work on The New Yorker.

One of the books is THE GIFT by Marcel Mauss, an essential anthropology text that the Labyrinth Books I worked at uptown sold plenty of to Columbia students. The foreword informs me that there is no such thing as a free gift. Society expects you to reciprocate, but first you must receive.