Books do take over the furniture of a room
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
My wife and my bookshelves have had enough. When my wife kicked me out of my old office and took it for herself I had to move upstairs to a room that was nominally a sitting room but was used for nothing but gathering dust - and containing our CDs, old vinyl records, and a wall full of bookshelves. These shelves were already full but I had to relocate another thousand or so books from my study. Every shelf became a crowded tenement, with no logic to the order. Books were stacked, two deep, until my library looked more like a parody of an autodidact's dream rather than a collection of three decades of book-buying. I didn't like it but I put up with it.
But the shelves started to weep with the strain. They began to buckle and the dust was getting thicker as it became hard to get at any books to clean them, never mind find the right one to read.
A decision was made. Well, my wife made the decision and I went along with it. Books must go. We have an attic that is already full of old IT books and old Bass Player magazines and Mojo magazines. You may be seeing a pattern emerge here.
So, finally, I got down to taking the books off the shelves and dividing them into three piles.
In less than two hours I had over 1000 books to donate to the local charity shops. Better yet, I'd rediscovered books I had forgotten I had, and I had jettisoned a lot of second-rate books that I would never think of reading again.
The two piles left consist of books I've read and believe I should keep - but this pile is forever in danger of shrinking the longer I leave it lying on the floor before packing up for the attic - and books I just want to see on my shelves - augmented by those classic books left that I have yet to read.
At the moment, my wife is unsure whether she's ahead on the deal because I'm holding back on the transfer to the attic and there are piles of books on the floor in various parts of the upstairs. She's not being too pushy about it yet,however, as I think she realises some of the psychological barricades that the exercise has stormed.
Books have always been more that the contents for me. I love the shape and the feel and the smell of books - old and new - and I rarely read a book I do not own. Paying for a book is part of the experience and, unless the book is simply too dreadful to keep - Digital Fortress by Dan Brown, for instance (no link because I refuse to encourage its purchase) - I'm unwilling to part with it after reading it.
This is unhealthy and I have known that for a long time. Finally, this exercise gave me a way to get over that. I've still got a long way to go and there are books on the floor I can see from here that I could probably part with and feel no lasting pain. This raises the whole question of why I have felt the need to keep them so long.
The only response to that question is to try and answer it. Actually, I suppose I could ignore it but I'm going to start choosing some books at random from the 'shelves' pile and try and examine what they mean to me.
And by the way, although the title of this post may suggest otherwise, I have no Anthony Powell novels anywhere in the house. Go figure.
But the shelves started to weep with the strain. They began to buckle and the dust was getting thicker as it became hard to get at any books to clean them, never mind find the right one to read.
A decision was made. Well, my wife made the decision and I went along with it. Books must go. We have an attic that is already full of old IT books and old Bass Player magazines and Mojo magazines. You may be seeing a pattern emerge here.
So, finally, I got down to taking the books off the shelves and dividing them into three piles.
- charity shops
- attic (to replace the books and magazines jettisoned from there)
- back on the shelf
In less than two hours I had over 1000 books to donate to the local charity shops. Better yet, I'd rediscovered books I had forgotten I had, and I had jettisoned a lot of second-rate books that I would never think of reading again.
The two piles left consist of books I've read and believe I should keep - but this pile is forever in danger of shrinking the longer I leave it lying on the floor before packing up for the attic - and books I just want to see on my shelves - augmented by those classic books left that I have yet to read.
At the moment, my wife is unsure whether she's ahead on the deal because I'm holding back on the transfer to the attic and there are piles of books on the floor in various parts of the upstairs. She's not being too pushy about it yet,however, as I think she realises some of the psychological barricades that the exercise has stormed.
Books have always been more that the contents for me. I love the shape and the feel and the smell of books - old and new - and I rarely read a book I do not own. Paying for a book is part of the experience and, unless the book is simply too dreadful to keep - Digital Fortress by Dan Brown, for instance (no link because I refuse to encourage its purchase) - I'm unwilling to part with it after reading it.
This is unhealthy and I have known that for a long time. Finally, this exercise gave me a way to get over that. I've still got a long way to go and there are books on the floor I can see from here that I could probably part with and feel no lasting pain. This raises the whole question of why I have felt the need to keep them so long.
The only response to that question is to try and answer it. Actually, I suppose I could ignore it but I'm going to start choosing some books at random from the 'shelves' pile and try and examine what they mean to me.
And by the way, although the title of this post may suggest otherwise, I have no Anthony Powell novels anywhere in the house. Go figure.
Labels: books, bookshelves
