How can an object simultaneously embody an abject rejection of oneself and a harmonious accommodation of ideologies that run contrary to those built upon one’s own experience? The written word has for centuries stood as a true signifier of civilization, and, to this day, the book remains one of the most palpable reminders of lived experiences from all corners of the world and all of human history. They can transport the reader to kingdoms and epochs that may have previously seemed unfathomable, activating the senses in a means that simultaneously feels wholly unreal and pervasively authentic. This submitting of oneself to experiences can stay, unknowingly, with the reader for a lifetime. The viral nature of meaning-making demands that understanding can only be achieved in the most specific of circumstances; however, despite itself, no word carries with it a value that is measurably more or less than any other. Books, in this sense, remain just as they were eons ago, as one of the most valuable tools for the dissemination of ideas and emotions alike. Whether passed along familial lines of heritage or found at a roadside garage sale, every book contains within it every single bit of data that there ever has been or ever will be. Although their purpose is intrinsically tied to that of education, it seems as though the book continuously evades all attempts at understanding and it is for this reason that the book deserves to be celebrated amongst the pantheon of devices that bestow godlike certainty to our existence.