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I like cozy things. Nubby sweaters, too-small dorm rooms and buttered toast make me content.

The figurative mecca of coziness is the used bookstore. In the compactly, often precariously, stocked shelves of these faded, yellow-paged shelters, there is no harsh florescent glow. Tom Clancy doesn’t crowd the window. The commercialism and flashiness of the book business is stripped away and what’s left is a literary oasis.

All right, so maybe “oasis” is a bit excessive, but I think you get the gist. Flowery language is justified. Used bookstores are kind of the best. Lucky for us at Penn, there are two glowing beacons of wordy wonder at either end of campus: The Last Word Bookshop and A House of Our Own.

(Allow me to clarify that I am speaking here exclusively about novels and nonfiction books, not textbooks. That market has grown in so many ways to make up for how crazy expensive textbooks have become and their expanding rent, buy and download options transcends this debate.)

Before I go on a You’ve Got Mail-style bashing of the big bad chain bookstore, allow me to explore some other, newer avenues that have been nibbling away at the traditional used bookstore business.

The most looming and obvious of these is the online bookstore. Websites like Amazon.com, Abebooks.com and Books-A-Million allow customers partial to the gently worn to buy from used sellers operating exclusively online as well as bookstores looking to maximize their business in the e-market.

A House of Our Own has expanded to biblio.com, an online shop designed to “give local bookstores global reach.” According to the seller’s description, the store — whose flagship is a fragrant, richly wooden Victorian house — is now selling “a small fraction” of its books online. Websites like Biblio.com are the exception — they allow independent booksellers who already have an inventory and address to flourish. Other options such as Barnes and Noble’s online used book section and Amazon’s sprawling selection allow individuals to sell — taking business away from the bookstore on the corner to which, years ago, they would have sold their books.

This elimination of the middleman may seem like a good thing, subsequently eliminating cost and hassle. But, without getting overly sentimental, I must argue that something is lost in that cold, electronic process.

Take, for example, my experience earlier this semester when I discovered the B&N; used book section. Thinking I had cleverly sidestepped the inherent evil of the chain bookstore by purchasing from its supported independent sellers instead of from the retail giant itself, I was bitterly disappointed upon the arrival of my scrappy package.

Instead of Get Out the Vote! How to Increase Voter Turnout, a book about voting strategies for my political science class, I pulled back the bubble wrap to find Get With the Program! Guide to Fast Food & Family Restaurants by Bob Greene, Oprah’s personal trainer. Needless to say, I was not pleased. I ended up going down to A House of Our Own and buying their last copy. Oh, irony.

If you’re not corporately opposed to a business like B&N;, then consider a few other reasons to buy used: it’s cheaper, it’s more sustainable, it looks much cooler to be reading a vintage edition. Picking up your copy of Great Expectations from one of the two-dozen used bookstores in the city instead of from a chain helps small business, the environment and your wallet. Even purchasing online used books can’t beat a walk to the local seller because of the added environmental impact of shipping.

We’re college students. According to our stereotypes, we’re supposed to care about helping the planet and saving money. So why stop at recycling aluminum cans and showing up to meetings for free pizza? Let’s extend our college spirit and buy used, locally ­— instead of new.

Rachel del Valle is a College freshman from Newark, N.J. She hopes her appearance in this column will stop people from asking her if she’s 12. Her e-mail address is delvalle@theDP.com. Duly Noted appears every other Friday.

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