We had a post here a while back that was all about books we love and destroy. But truly, no book has been more loved—and destroyed—than this poor thing.

This happened to it too.

Do you think the back cover was attached? Of course the back cover wasn't attached.

Why would anyone do this to poor Shakespeare?

Here's what happened. Diana fell in love. Love, as we all know, is not kind. The book lived in her room: in her bed, on her floor, under her bed—and more. Her dad, known on this here blog as Aragorn, son of Arathorn, or Strider, or "him," didn't have the heart to tear the complete works of Shakespeare out of his 6th grader's hands. Who would? And so, we watched it die.

Until! The most excellent commenter known as Giddy said, "Send it to my cousin!" And we went for it. And some time passed. And money was exchanged. And then, lo and behold, just in time for Father's Day, we got this!

Look at it! It's cloth-bound now!

And look at its maps!

It's alive!

Note: I was crowing about this with a friend of mine who is a rare book dealer, and he said, "But you probably could have bought a new one for all of that," which took me aback, because it's irrefutably true. But then I realized: in this case it was love. The pages—they absorb that, right?

Don't they?

Anyway, I am glad I did it, and it looks beautiful, and a happy father's day to all.