Books are having a fashion moment. Quite literally.

Earlier this month, Valentino presented its latest collection inside the Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève in Paris. The show was called Antibiblioteca, inspired by Umberto Eco’s collection of unread books.

At Milan Design Week, Miu Miu hosted a literary club, while Jil Sander and Apartamento created a temporary library of books selected by artists and designers.

Even Dior is taking its next show to the Old Library at Trinity College Dublin.

I find myself wondering what exactly fashion has fallen in love with.

The book as an object? The ideas it contains? Or everything a book seems to say about the person holding it?

A book can be displayed without being read. It can be read without being owned. It can be admired for its design without any interest in its contents.

It reminds me of Eve Arnold’s famous 1955 photograph of Marilyn Monroe reading James Joyce’s Ulysses. The photograph raised the question of whether she was genuinely reading such a demanding novel or simply posing with it. Yet Monroe had brought the book herself and was apparently fascinated by its language.

Whatever the reasons, I’m delighted to see my favourite object in the front row.