Does the way we acquire books have an impact on the way we read them? A lot has been written about the sentimentality surrounding books; cherished books from childhood, books given as love tokens, handed down from our parents, to our own children, the books that we would save from fires, and launch into space for aliens to read. But what about the sad stories? The books abandoned on park benches, collections inherited from a decreased friend, those sold off by libraries because no one wanted to read them, and the books that we scavenge when bookshops go bust?