Colin had the most extensive personal library. He loved science fiction, fantasy, and mystery. We shared an appreciation of the classics: Adams, Asimov, Clarke, Heinlein, LeGuin, et al, and the  living masters:  William Gibson, Neil Gaiman, Neal Stephenson, Nick Harkaway, Andy Weir, and far too many others to list or call to mind.

Colin had a most special place in his heart for Terry Pratchett and all his works and wanted to be Commander Vimes when he grew up.

It was hard to keep up with him and his ongoing quest to discover new authors, devouring books like delicious little snacks and yet always finding more to stave the hunger. If you recommended a book to him he would absolutely move it to the top of the list, read it comprehensively, and couldn't wait to discuss it. He always brought a new perspective or noted something I missed entirely, which would remind him of another book that I simply must read, and if you liked that then you'll love this, and so the chain continued.

I liked to gift him books that compiled archaic words and trivia into neat little tomes. The better to arm him with more  delightful, old-fashioned turns of phrase that gave his speech its signature flourish! His was the vocabulary of an unabashedly literate man who loved the taste of words and language on his tongue. 

He was content to spend his evenings quietly with his nose in his Kindle, that contagious, boisterous laughter ringing through the room when something tickled his fancy. I will miss that unforgettable laugh.

I remember a specific corroboration about how we both liked Tolkien and GRR Martin stories well enough, but both (shhhh, look both ways) hate a travelogue. Such a relief to hear another voice confess our secret sacrilege. "I don't see enough dialog on these pages."  "I don't care what they ate for breakfast!"  "Oh they're gonna sing a song about it now? Of course they are."  "Get 'em moving, plot awaits!"  

I've met few people who treasure not just reading but actual bound books as much as I do — their weight in your hands, the texture of deckled edges under your fingers, the sound of the pages turning, cutting through the silence. Colin was a kindred spirit who shared what can only be a fetish in this digital age for the printed word.  For all his technophile nature, he was still "of the old school" in this. To collect and carry a physical library around with you for life is a commitment, and often a burden, but also a joyful stewardship of your own accumulated knowledge. I may have Kindle in my pocket, but home is where the books are. Colin would definitely concur. 

When we became roommates, our collective library covered every inch of the huge living room wall  (much to the distress of the burly dudes who had to actually move our boxes). It was a sight to behold. It was impressive. We could have restarted civilization after the zombie apocalypse with just that modest library.

Colin couldn't fathom how anyone could organize their books by color (in my defense, only the non-fiction ones) and still actually find anything (in my defense, I reliably can). "You, madam, are an iniquitous heathen aesthete! ...But daggum that sure looks purdy."

We used to stare at that wall of books and daydream about our dream libraries in our dream houses. Floor to ceiling shelves with sliding ladders evolving into fanciful dirigible elevators ("because: ew, stairs"), evolving into mine carts ("for the books, of course"), then into roller coasters ("why should the books have all the fun?"). And, look, we have all this space (it's big, really big), seems a shame not to throw in an orangutan Librarian. Or two. Let's call it three. Ook. Ook. Ook. 

George R.R.Martin wrote: "A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one."

Surely, Colin, that tenacious book worm, packed a million lives into his. 

♥️