Whether we are talking about the spoken or written word or the code translated by compilers and executed by CPUs, we need languages to get ideas out of our heads and into the world.

Before I understood anything about computers, I understood books. When I was in the fifth grade, my friend gave me two installments of the Hardy Boys: Case Files series, and I developed an appreciation of the book as an object.

I became a collector. Soon I had my own bedroom bookcase with a dividing line between books I’d read, and books I wanted to read. My father also noticed I was becoming a reader, and he made me a promise that cemented my path: he would buy me all the books I asked for. It wasn’t long before I was buying books faster than I could read them, a problem that only got worse when I got to college.

Ann Arbor had (and still has) an amazing array of bookshops. When I arrived on campus, there were still stores that sold physical textbooks alongside school logo-emblazoned coffee mugs, sweatshirts, and shot glasses. There was Borders Books (store number one), and a number of used and rare dealers, downtown.

But my real weakness was for the sidewalk stalls set up by bearded men in the evenings. Here you could find good books for a dollar or two, each. Many of them were classics that every collection needed, so I bought indiscriminately.

And then, after college, and after I married my lovely wife, we discovered the library book sale. These events helped us grow our library to proportions that made movers eyes bug out of their heads every time we relocated with the Navy.

Finally, I found myself among the ranks of the rare book hounds. Starting with my need to read everything by Martin Amis, I grew my collection to include first editions and signed copies of his works.

These days I’m more particular about my acquisitions, but I still buy books faster than I can read them.