1.
Behind my desk, in my bedroom, there is a large bookcase divided into 25 cubes. On the wall facing my desk there are three bookshelves. Instead of a table, there is also a shelf at my bedside. Beside my desk is an additional bookcase, the Billy model from Ikea, with six shelves. All this shelf space amounts to about 56 feet.
I have turned my attention to my bookshelves and not what stand on them because I am reorganizing my personal library. I need to know how much space I have for my books, in order to accommodate the existing space for a logical, efficacious, and personalized classification system for the books I own, which currently amount to just short of 500 volumes. My endeavor, of course, is not a very great one. I do have a considerable number of books, but by no means is my collection large or unwieldy. I’m only 20, and as such my library is not a lifetime’s library — it is only the nucleus of a true library, with burgeoning interests, mistakes, discoveries, a few treasures, and several shortcomings.
As for the organization of the books, well, I must say that in its current state the classification is far from optimal. Most of last semester’s books are still on the shelf above my desk and deserve integration with the rest of my collection, instead of groupings by course reading material. My French books are all together in the Billy bookcase, which results in separating the Penguin edition of Chekhov’s Ward No. 6 and Other Stories, 1892-1895 from the French translation of Chekhov’s (or, as it were, Tchekhov’s) plays, published by Folio in two paperback volumes.
Similarly, the current state of my books creates rifts between ideas and eras, or tensions where there shouldn’t be any. For instance my enormous paperback of Allen Ginsberg’s Collected Poems lies on a shelf above my desk because I was too lazy to make room for it in the cubes. Thus Ginsberg is a room apart from his friend Kerouac (if their belonging to the Beats shouldn’t be enough to bring them together, Ginsberg even took the pictures on the cover of On the Road, which I think calls for neighboring spots on my shelves). In the cubes there are other inconsistencies: Junot Díaz is between the single volume Chronicles of Narnia and Anne Michaels; Hemingway shares his shelf with Amitav Ghosh, Toni Morrison, and Nabokov — I can’t think of any reason why those authors should rub covers.
Likewise, when I see Eco’s The Name of the Rose on one shelf and his collection of essays On Literature on the opposite wall, I know it is time to take all the books out, dust off the shelves, and start again from scratch.
2.
The first step in reorganizing my personal library is finding a system. Of this, there are many, some more improvised than others. In his bible of bibliomania, The Library at Night, Alberto Manguel explores the different facets of the library, and also the different ways to organize books. For his own collection of 30,000 books, which he keeps in his château in France, Manguel has chosen to divide his books by language, and then place them alphabetically. Rather drab for me, I think, considering the small size of my own book collection.
Some book collectors have been more original. Take Samuel Pepys for instance, the great 17th century diarist, who maintained a personal library (which still exists) of 3,000 books exactly, not a volume more. What is, perhaps, the most astounding feature of Pepys’ library is the way in which the books were organized: by size. All his volumes were numbered from 1 to 3,000, from smallest to biggest, and placed in that order in his bookcases, each volume bound in matching leather, and each book resting on a little wooden stilt matching the cover, to create unity in height — gentlemanly elegance.
What may be acknowledged about any organizational system is that they all have certain limitations. Even the Dewey Decimal System, used by the majority of public libraries in the world — which divides human knowledge into ten decimals, in turn subdivided into ten categories, and so on — is limited when it comes to books with split subjects (take the excellent Time Among the Maya, by Ronald Wright, which is part travel journal in Mesoamerica, part history book on the Mayas).
But I am looking for a more intuitive organizational system, something flexible and creative. An article in The Guardian’s online book section discussed “bookshelf etiquette,” organizational systems like grouping books by theme or color. One of the propositions was to place books together by potential for their authors to be friends. I choose a different path: all of an author’s books are together (no matter the language), authors that go well together go together, other books are placed by association of genre or style. I will start with that in mind, and see where it brings me.
3.
I remove books from my shelves. I grab multiple spines between my thumb and fingers, slide out the volumes and pile them on my desk, on the floor — soon my room is like a messy cave of paper and multicolored covers and spines. The wall behind my desk is bland, covered in empty cubes, spacious and clean. I am reminded of a time, not so long ago, when my entire book collection did not even fit on the six shelves of a Billy bookcase.
As I take the books out of their bookcases, crack open a few to see if the words inside still have the same ring, and admire the beauty of some covers, I start to understand that there are some books I do no want anymore. There is a vital difference between books you do not need and books you no longer want to have. I would willingly keep a book I hated if it had a nice cover (and I do, like Kazuo Ishiguro’s Nocturnes, a silly collection of short stories with a stunning, elegant cover). The books I am ready to give away are books I don’t care about: they are ugly, I have had them for too long, I have never read them and never will — they simply become a waste of space.
Take How to Read Novels Like a Professor, a paperback I bought a couple of years ago, in an attempt to uncover some of literature’s secrets before entering University. I drop the book with the other giveaways. A few days later I pick it up again and this passage catches my attention: “Books lead to books, ideas to ideas. You can wear out a hundred hammocks and never reach the end. And that’s the good news.” I certainly agree with that. No English major would be supposed to be caught dead with such a preposterously titled book in their library, and maybe that’s the reason why I wanted to give it away in the first place. I decide to keep it in my collection after all — for now.
In the end I’ve put aside two dozen books in the giveaway pile. By no means am I kidding myself that I’m actually getting rid of a large chunk of my library. I admire people who are able to rid themselves of books they love, give books away selflessly so that others can enjoy them. I know I could never do such a thing.
4.
I admit, with a hint of guilt, that I have not read all the books I own. Not even close. The majority of them, yes (I hope), but far from all of them. Despite the incredible amount of reading left for me to do before I really know my library, almost every week I buy more books.
Part of the problem lies in my appreciation for books as objects, as elegant collectibles. I like not only to read them, but to look at them, touch them. Larry McMurtry has phrased it rather elegantly in his memoir, titled simply, Books:
But there can be secondary and tertiary reasons for wanting a particular book. One is the pleasure of holding the physical book itself: savoring the type, the binding, the book’s feel and heft. All these things can be enjoyed apart from literature, which some, but not all, books contain.
While I have shelves full of books I have not read at home, I keep on thinking about which books I’m going to buy next. Although minor, this problem does create a fair amount of anxiety, essentially caused by the fact that I simply don’t read enough. Furthermore, as I reorganize my books I realize there are many I would like to reread soon. (At the top of my list: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Too Much Happiness by Alice Munro, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows…) Sometimes I wish I were that man in the Twilight Zone episode who finds himself in the ruins of a public library, with lots of food and all the time in the world to read all the books he wants.
5.
My library is also the most personal of filing systems, with countless mementos flattened between the covers of the books. There is a card from a blood-drive marking a page in Greenblatt’s biography of Shakespeare, reminding me of when I can give blood again. I slam away the congratulations card from the English department of my college which awarded me a prize in Shakespeare studies (oddly, the quote on the card is by Anaïs Nin) in the bard’s complete works (leatherbound, gold page edges). A business card from the Winding Staircase, a charming Dublin bookstore, falls out of De Niro’s Game, which I read in Ireland. Between my Oscar Wildes I find a touching card from my parents, given to me when I turned 18. I choose a better place for it: between the pages of a book on self-fashioning in the Renaissance they bought for me at Shakespeare and Company, in Paris, a place I have only been to in my dreams.
6.
I have finally emptied all my shelves. It was long — and tedious. Not in the physical sense, but in one that is, of sorts, moral. Removing all those books was the undoing of something that was set, a collection which, it seems, had built itself up, slowly, purposefully, into a cohesive whole. The work of an oyster.
After the toil of the unmaking, now I have to rebuild my library up — restock the shelves that now stand cleared, poised, filled only with light and shadows. After some consideration, the first book I place back on the top left cube, is Beowulf, masterfully translated by Seamus Heaney, the beginning of literature in English. I have to rifle down the spines of a few piles before I finally locate it.
Next up goes Tolkien. I cannot resist — without him I’m not sure Beowulf would even be taught in schools at all. His translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, first, to soften the transition, and then The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, Tree and Leaf, and The Children of Hurin. Then I place Herodotus, whom my girlfriend assures me thinks exactly like Tolkien. I am startled by my audacity. There is a jump from 10th century Anglo-Saxon manuscript to 20th Century fantasy writer to the father of history, a fifth-century Greek — my system is either creative or blasphemous.
7.
My girlfriend came to help me. Her presence was motivating — I have done more work in half an hour than in the last week. The Canterbury Tales are inserted between Beowulf and Tolkien by her recommendation, I add Peter Ackroyd’s The Clerkenwell Tales beside it. A cube inspired by military history starts with Thucydides and ends with a biography on George Washington — yet George Orwell, Alan Moore, and Annie Proulx all end up on it by association. From the look in my girlfriend’s eyes I know she thinks this is starting to look like a madman’s library. Nothing new there, bibliomania is a psychological disorder, I am told.
Putting Sylvia Plath with her husband Ted Hughes feels wrong, so we try to find a new lover for her. I think of Byron as a joke, my girlfriend proposes Mary Shelley as a fellow tortured female writer. The offer is accepted and Plath serves as transition into gothic fiction. Ironically, Byron ends up just after Shelley anyway (they shared more than shelf-space in their lives, after all), and before Polidori and Stoker. Books start to place themselves on their own.
There is a cube for my books about books: Anne Fadiman and Manguel, Borges (which I can no longer dissociate from the latter), 501 Must-Read Books, A Gentle Madness, The Companionship of Books, and others go here. There is a cube, or half of it, at least, for Faber friends: Eliot, Hughes, Graham Swift, Kazuo Ishiguro. Edgy writers (Bukowski, Tony O’Neill, Mark SaFranco, Writing at the Edge) share their cube with erotic fiction (The Gates of Paradise, Delta of Venus, the Marquis de Sade, Wetlands by Charlotte Roche, La vie sexuelle de Catherine M.) — Neil Strauss buffers between them.
I go on like this, a few minutes every day. Slowly, surely, books leave my floor, my desk, my bed, my bathroom, and regain their place on the shelves in some kind of order. Some associations are obvious — others, not so much.
8.
Finally the cubes are filled again. I can breathe a bit more in my bedroom. I enjoy looking at the neat rows of spines, follow the literary path of my own twisted organization system. Still, there are many flaws on my shelves, mainly caused by lack of room (or perhaps because the number of books is too great). Some books just don’t “fit” anywhere, others would go well in too many places. Ian McEwan, for instance, ends up sharing his shelf with female writers like Doris Lessing, Emily Brontë, and Virginia Woolf. I have to think of the shelves as a work in progress in order to live with their limitations.
Then, of course, there are also some things I love about the new shelf-arrangement: the various degrees of moral and social incorrectness in the cube that starts with Oscar Wilde, then moves to Thomas Hardy and D. H. Lawrence; how A Moveable Feast rubs covers with John Glassco’s Memoirs of Montparnasse; and that His Dark Materials finally stands beside my three editions of Paradise Lost.
9.
Over my desk I place essays on philosophy and literature. My heavy anthologies — costly books with a fair amount of repetition (parts of The Canterbury Tales appear in at least three of them) and some textbooks I keep as reference — go in the sturdy Billy. I also shelve my art books there, like my Janson’s History of Art, as well as some exhibition catalogues, which map out my travels: the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, the Chester Beatty Library in Dublin, the Ivan Mestrovic Gallery in Split.
Lastly, I put back my books in French. I keep them together, two compact shelves of ivory spines. I have always wondered at the uniformity of French covers, often white, usually bland. I start with Don Quixote, move down to Alexandre Dumas, the Arsène Lupins which belonged to my father, then Québecois literature. The next shelf is mostly from France: Sartre, Camus, Flaubert, and Littell (which I put beside the latter because of the masterful description in Les Bienveillantes of the narrator reading L’Éducation sentimentale as he walks through fields devastated by war), and contemporary authors like Makine, Folco, and Pennac.
10.
Now my shelves are full again, or almost. I have given away enough books to leave two empty shelves — one in the Billy and the topmost shelf above my desk — waiting to be filled by new acquisitions (which certainly won’t be long in coming).
This adventure in bookshelf etiquette helped me take control of my library, rediscover what I have, solidify my appreciation for my books — the majority of which are probably going to follow me for the rest of my life. I have realized how many books I own but have not read (The Portrait of a Lady, Nicholas Nickleby, War and Peace, Beyond Black…), but I know that I am not quite ready for some of them, and they can wait a while longer. I dream of owning and reading all of Atwood, Munro, Updike. There are many books I should own but do not: I have nothing by J.M. Coetzee, or Ovid, or Paul Auster. I have Bolaño’s 2666, but not the Savage Detectives; Waugh’s Vile Bodies but not Brideshead Revisited; Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, but not Love in the Time of Cholera. My book collection is full of hopes and holes.
Thus I have a second library, in my mind, of which my real, physical book collection is only the tip (to use that famous iceberg metaphor). Underneath my shelves lie all the books I want, all the books I should have (dictated by the canon, or recommendations from friends and famous people), all the books I need, like Borges’ fabulous Library of Babel, extending out into book-lined room after book-lined room, infinitely.
Now, you will have to excuse me, but I have to stop this business — I have some reading to do.
[Image source: Stewart Butterfield]
I also felt strongly that our books revealed to visitors our values and our identities; the fact that we were swimming in them emphasized their importance in our lives. The first thing I look at when I walk into someone’s home is their bookshelf. That is, if they’ve got any–lord help me. On his goodreads profile, my friend Brian writes, “If you go home with someone, and they don’t have any books, don’t fuck ’em!” This has always struck me as wise advice for the literary bachelor or bachelorette, and I’d like to extend it further, away from the romantic and sexual: if you don’t read, I don’t want to be your friend…I don’t even want you to serve me a drink at a bar. If a stranger came over to our apartment, and there weren’t books, or–oh no!–not enough books, what would that say about me and Patrick? If my copy of Handmaid’s Tale or his copy of The Power Broker weren’t on display, how would anyone understand us? Some people have a cross in their home, or a mezuzah on their doorjamb. I’ve got nine books by Vladimir Nabokov.
So, one Sunday, we began. My first idea was that we would do each other’s dirty work. I would purge the books that belonged to Patrick, and he would purge mine. Nothing would leave the apartment without the other’s consent, but it was a good way to be objective about the matter. Patrick had no idea how much I’d enjoyed A Girl Becomes a Comma Like That, so it clearly couldn’t mean all that much to me. That stung–but he was right, and into the exit line it went.
Our best change is “The Unread” (either a book section or the latest horror flick, coming to a theatre near you). I am happy to say, it’s only a short pile, and it’s in no danger of blocking that movie poster. This pile is easy to access, and usefully recriminating; it’s difficult to defend a new book purchase when we have all of these waiting for us. Since the purge, I have already read one of these books (Arlington Park by Rachel Cusk) , and I’m halfway through another (The Unnamed by Joshua Ferris).
I understand the reluctance to get rid of books combined with the desire to keep them (and keep adding to the collection!). Here’s how I deal with it. I occasionally make a pile of all the books I 1) know I’ll never reread and 2) feel like I probably won’t need to refer to for any other purpose, and 3) don’t have some other kind of attachment to besides a generalized attachment to them because they’re my books.
Then, to ease the pain, I take them down to my favortie used book store (shout out to Kaboom here in Houston). I sell them to Kaboom for store credit. Then I buy more books!
The reason this works is that Kaboom (like all used bookstores, buys cheap and sells dear). So for me, the net quantity of books is negative–which was my goal, after all, but I still get the excitement of having some new books to read.
But I have found that there is an additional psychological benefit. If I am paying for a book with cash, I always feel like it needs to be a book that I have intended to read, that seems important to read, either because I read a great review, or its on a subject that particularly interests me, or because it’s a classic.
But when I am buying books with store credit, I feel weirdly freed to buy any book for whatever whimsical reason. Like–I like the cover. Like–Chinese history, I bet that’s interesting! Etc.
I can’t say I have drastically reduced my library by this method, but at least each trade at kaboom results in fewer total books, and often leads my reading down unexpected routes.
I have been purging my books as well. Two years ago our movers were stunned that a two bedroom house could hold as many boxes (and the resulting filled truck weigh) as much as it did. Most of those boxes were filled with books.
Last year I started weeding out books when our bookshelves would hold no more. Everyone who visits our house is offered books, and I often contribute them to local yard sales, thrift stores, and the library, but I love to pass on books by hand to those who will enjoy them.
I live in a dorm room that’s quite small, and although I’ve managed to wedge a full sized bookcase in there, I’ve had to weed out books I was absolutely sure that I wouldn’t read or read again out occasionally. Even though I know it’s not practical to keep every book I buy, it’s still a little painful. I get rid of a lot of books by giving them to people as gifts, and also on book trading sites like bookmooch.
Next time you do a purge, please get in touch with ReadThis. Our organization locates schools, daycare centers, hospitals, etc., that are in dire need of books and helps them build a library. We are currently on Facebook at ReadThis; you can see a list of the locations we have helped to date. You can also join and receive announcements when we hold book drives.
Another way to join is to email at [email protected] and ask to be put on the mailing list.
You would be amazed how many public high schools, for example, have no library of any kind and how happy they would be to receive your books.
Firstly, I am neither an asshole nor terribly witty. Secondly, I must report that Edan’s separation anxiety came to a boil the night of the purge as we were lying in bed. “I feel sad,” she told me, “like I did a bad thing.” I’m happy to say that she’s come around to my perspective, and that the purge was rejuvenating, like a colonic.
Sorry babe, could only get about two paragraphs in due to your pretentious bitchiness. I would hope that any reader OR non-reader wouldn’t be willing to be friends with such a judgmental, neurotic, materialistic snob as you. Here’s a quick wit: One can have books climbing the walls and have never opened a one, while another could have a room devoid of books and have read more than even you…how so? It’s called a LIBRARY; you’re also apparently in LA, which has one of the best and most extensive library systems in the US. Now get your head out of your ass and quit basing your identity on material things like a typical LA hipster-wannabe. Thank you and have a nice day.
the quote is john waters: http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/17366.John_Waters
We just moved recently and I have been entertaining the idea of purging as well. I have the same misgivings about getting rid of books and too, like to be surrounded by as many as my living space will hold.
However, after lifting all the boxes of books several times I am more amenable to a purge but have not done anything at this point.
I too feel the same way about bookless people. Books are the first thing I look for when entering someone’s home but most people that I know have few or no books that are visible and they can’t understand why someone would keep all those books after reading them.
I love hearing about how people manage their personal libraries. Keep ’em coming!
Thank you, Biz, for the information about ReadThis. I will keep that in mind next time around, and pass it onto my friends.
Patrick, you’re a liar.
And The Quote: thanks for correctly attributing that phrase! My mistake. My friend Brian is so funny and clever I just assumed he had written it.
SK, it’s very easy to be mean on the interwebs, as you have shown us. Thanks. For the record, I love the LA Public Library; I have a book on hold for me at my local branch right now, actually, waiting for me to pick it up (the stories of Breece D’J Pancake. Anyone read him?). Thankfully, all of my closest friends are either neurotic, judgmental, or materialistic, and can accept my human ways.
Firstly, Patrick clearly represents himself as an asshole on Tumblr. Clearly witty, though.
Unless you live above a library, the ill-natured comments above do not apply at 3 A.M. when you absolutely need to find that White Noise quote. The internet, you answer? The internet doesn’t have my underlining for ease of finding it OR my gem-like marginalia to remind me of what a silly ass I was. Then.
That said, I regret recycling/selling/giving away/throwing-away-in-anger almost every bound volume I’ve shed. My wife, son and I moved to an actual house this summer and we have room for all of our books and more.
Rent a storage unit and pile them up in wait for that beautiful day! Book owners are not like the Collyer brothers!
” ‘You’re not a librarian’ “.
Why ever can’t you be? You can be the librarian of your own personal library. My mini library is currently awaiting it’s home in my future (possibly never to be physically attained) den/office with wooden built-ins on every wall. Oh yeeeeessss, it will be wonderful!
Materialistic, sk? Oh well, books are one thing I’ve never felt guilty buying and collecting! Funny thing is, your snarky post says more about you than it actually says about this article. I don’t care how many books a person has read, if they don’t at least own a handful of their very favorites, I’d be suspicious indeed!
I moved last April and donated half of my collection, and I’m still drowning in books. What a wonderful problem to have!
I read as much as anyone I know, but I’m also a librarian…and have access to hundreds of thousands of book every day when I go to work. And because I tend to move a lot, and am not by nature sentimental…I don’t actually OWN more than 50 books (though there’s often at least 20 check-out items laying around). I have a bookcase with more Trivial Pursuits on it than books. Does that mean I don’t deserve to get laid!?
“A room without books is like a body without a soul.” Cicero.
I do book purges from time to time as well — I always keep my trusty old favorites (and new favorites too), though. And I, too, feel that my books say something important about me — for instance, if you know that I love Tennyson, E.M. Forster and PG Wodehouse, that I read literary fiction but also have a semi-secret shelf of Harry Potter books and trashy chick lit — well then, you already know quite a bit about who I am.
SK, your comments were both rude and way off-base. Maybe if she’d written an article about her giant collection of designer purses, you would have a point. But the girl is talking about books. Books! And let me also point out — while I’m a frequent visitor to the library, I also make a point of purchasing books when I can afford it. Because if no one actually buys books, there will no longer be any books to read. So, no, buying a book is not necessarily a materialistic act, because it’s partly about supporting art that you believe in and want made.
Besides, I have a feeling your comments were based more on your own insecurities than on anything Edan said in her post.
My Intro to Fiction teacher thought Breece D’J Pancake was amazing, but I don’t think anyone in the class got around to reading him during the semester. I still haven’t, probably should.
I totally agree on the Nabokov love. There are a few books I have to take with me wherever I move, no matter how tiny the room is going to be.
Thanks for writing about this Edan. I am constantly struggling with which books to keep and to not keep. I just love books! Recently though, I was the judge for a book award and I had 300 books shipped to my house and while part of me was over the moon excited, it really showed what a book “problem” I have.
I, too, have started purging. And maybe having someone help me would be the way to go because I am so slow in the getting rid of them. Because books are a painful thing to part with. Especially the ones that I want to read and still haven’t. (I’m looking at you White Noise by Delillo) (still on my bookshelf)
So I’m going through it slowly ad I have been purging in many different ways. 1) I donate age appropriate books to my neighbors, both elementary school teachers. 2) I donate to my two local LAPL branches (they’ve had their budgets cut last year) 3) I went to a book swap. Where people traded books. Delightful!
The thing that is great about book purging is that if I really find that I gave away a book that I still miss or want to re-read. I just go and buy a new copy!
And you know what they say: “clear out the old (books) to make room for the new (books).”
I have the opposite problem – I recently moved to Los Angeles and left most of my books behind in Chicago at my parent’s house. To decorate my living room I bought one of those giant IKEA bookcases – cubes, 5X5, and it is woefully unfilled that I’m actually having about half of my books sent from Chicago.
it’s a very nice feeling to have empty bookshelves, actually, waiting for them to be filled up…
I swear you guys could be me and my husband. After years of drowning in books and being sort of vaguely aesthetically pleased by the idea, we just last weekend FINALLY did the purge. We also created shelves for the unread–which are still overflowing. We’ve decided if we stop buying books and take a year off of work to read full-time, we might eventually catch up.
My True Story
I once had a library of about 1500 books. I knew this library well, had read about 2/3 of its books. Plus there was a reference section which included, for example, dictionaries in Irish and Swahili–just in case I needed to look up a word.
For many years I was an apartment manager so people were always coming into my apartment to be vetted by me and to fill out paperwork. I loved to see the look on people’s faces when they saw my walls–and this was only the 10 x 12 dining room which I used as my office. Some people walked to the bookcases and twisted their heads to start reading titles. I would mention this was the fiction room, the code that other rooms contained bookcases filled with nonfiction–which was true. Other people felt a bit intimidated and lesser-than and asked “Have you read all of these books?”
It hit me one day that I was showing off. I’m not saying other people are showing off, but I was. Definitely. It was pure ego–separate from the fact that I read a lot and have a lot of reading interests. My books on display was my bookish alpha male display. I was really upset, really really upset, when this truth hit home. All the purity of my beautiful library vanished. I had used my books in an unseemly way.
When, about 2 years later, I decided to take a leave of absence and go overseas to teach English, it made no sense to hold onto my library. I had minimal storage space in the basement of the building and needed to use it for furniture and kitchen stuff. To lighten my book load was a necessary psychological purge. I needed to get over myself. I sold about 900 and got about $1 per book–bastard bookstore guy! When I came back two years later and after six months realized I liked my life better over there, I sold everything, absolutely everything including my books.
Now it is ten years later. I’ve been back 18 months and I have started replacing some of the books I let go. The essential 200 or so. I keep book buying in check because I am poor and after all my bills are paid every month I have less than $50 in Spending Money. Seattle has a great library, as does the UW where I use someone else’s library card. Literate Seatleites have fabulous sidewalk and alley sales where one can find a Swahili dictionary for maybe $1.50. And my ego sleeps well at night.
Great read – The love for books and literature written with great humor! Reminded me of many of Anne Fadiman’s essays in Ex Libris.
Sk,
Your comment above feels logically jumbled and needlessly vituperative. Here’s a few more quick wits: Public libraries and private booksellers (and the readers who buy books from them) can and need to coexist. The work of both benefits the culture and the writers who create the books in the first place. The author doesn’t claim that the size of her private collection makes her well-read, but rather that the books she and her husband have purchased–a choice which directly contributes to the financial well-being of many writers–are simply taking up too much room in their living space. And I think the writer would gladly say that the books she reads affect her sense of identity–any curious, enthusiastic, and open reader would probably agree. Finally, it’s possible to consider books “material things,” but the values expressed in this post, and even those in your response, speak to the “special” nature of books. They are material objects whose contents can offer wonderful reading experiences. I think your anger may have led you to misread or misunderstand the intention of this post.
my family believes that a book should be shared. after we read a book we never see it again, we move it forward whether to friends, family, book club, used book store. only book that stays is the bible.
Thanks for the feedback on my comment! Perhaps it was a bit needlessly bitchy, but I stand by the sentiment. The writer wraps her identity in books as materialistic possessions; it is a materialistic pursuit, a numbers game, akin to collecting shoes or, yes, designer purses (“If a stranger came over to our apartment, and there weren’t books, or–oh no!–not enough books, what would that say about me and Patrick?). Her collection of books is not for reference, to be reread and re-enjoyed, to lend out, nor as keepsakes, as many of you seem to wrap your books; I firmly believe there is a difference here. She is literally (and literally) *hateful* to people she does not view as readers (“…if you don’t read, I don’t want to be your friend…I don’t even want you to serve me a drink at a bar.”); that is the bitchiness that I alluded to in my first post. To be hateful, elitist and possess a false sense of entitlement/superiority because you have a BOOK is ridiculous. I see the importance of the book as a collection of ideas and cultural statements intended to inform, entertain and unify; ideally, it’s not a status symbol intended to divide people or allow one person to denigrate another. And, in the interest of full disclosure, I have a fair-sized collection in my personal library (appx 1000 books, spread between two bedrooms, a garage and storage), as well as an MLIS in Reader’s Advisory (though I don’t work as a librarian yet, thanks to the lack of employment opportunities in So CA public libraries); I also sell used books online as a hobby. And, yes, I’ve been described as a voracious reader, devouring approximately 200-300 books a year, who keeps only those books in which my physical, emotional and psychological memories are wrapped. Thank you and have a wonderful day!
ReadThis! is a great program and should be your first stop for donating books that might be suitable for up to age 17. But if you’ve got lots of other books you might want to donate, The Center for Fiction will even come pick them up! Just give us a call at 212-755-6710. Or if you’d like to sell books, stop by. We price them individually, but almost always do better than $1 a book for hardcovers. And all the money we make reselling your books goes to help support our programs for emerging writers!
Oh my god, I’m on my way to Goodwill right now.
On the idea of books being a way of people seeing into your identity: perhaps having fewer books makes the significance of those you do have greater. To have Joyce but not Fielding, or Fielding but not Joyce, represents some kind of choice of emphasis, rather than just a complete spread of classics.
The overflow of books (and – whisper it! – ego!) is something I’ve tried to moderate too: letting go of them does shift some senses of obligation, and/or burden, and keeps life in perspective (at, say, two of these books a week, only a about five hundred will get read in the next five years: so which are definitely not in that 500?). Despite being a voracious reader, I’ve bought very few books over the last year, gradually trying to work away at the pile of good intentions and previous enthusiasms.
The thing I do slightly regret is telling my sister about my desire to de-clutter myself from so many books between her buying and giving me the most amazing present: a book for every year of my life so far. But I feel confident that she knows I’m grateful!
always fun seeing how others manage to remove some of the wonderful tomes! Would suggest, though, that the next time you do so, try sending some of your “moved along books” to http://www.betterworldbooks.com/ who sell ’em online for the benefit of literacy causes around the world.
I’m with you, fifi. When I finish it I share it. Why should book’s life end in my apartment? And I hear you SK, it is a pet peeve of mine to hear people judging others by what sits on their shelves. It’s kind of antithetical to the idea of enlightenment.
Thanks for the tip, Abbess. I will definitely will look into Better World Books (as well as the aforementioned Read This! that others have mentioned) when I have this problem again–and, trust me, I will have this problem again.
Thanks again to everyone for sharing their book stories with me and with The Millions.
And, for the record, I do re-read some of my books, and I often lend them out, either to students or friends. In fact, a few years ago, a friend gave me a personal library system, which comes with check-out cards, a date stamp, and even “reference” stickers. It’s great!
Personally, at the conclusion of any such book purges, I like to hand over my precious books to somebody I know will appreciate them. So the beloved school stories from my childhood went to the kid next door, while my collection of whodunits when to my tweeny cousin.
But that said, I must admit that I’m still quite a book hoarder and unfortunately, my pile of Unreads is larger than my pile of Reads.
I have a very strict, “one in, one out” policy, which especially applies to books, magazines, and clothing. If the book is in good shape, and fairly recent, I give it to my local LA public library; if it is in bad shape, old, or scandalous, I take it to the laundromat down the street, along with magazines (which I purge every six months). Many people in Los Angeles have English as a second language, and they like to practice but can’t afford to buy books or magazines.
I joined PaperbackSwap.com and it’s been great. I can post books I am willing to give up my “Bookshelf” and create a “Wish List” of books I’m interested in reading. The folks at PBS match folks — You get a credit for every book you send to another member and pay media rate postage when you ship your unwanted book to another member. You can request one book for every credit you have or you can purchase credits and request books from other members. The system works well and includes not just paperbacks, but also hardback, audio books, large print, etc. It costs nothing to join and you are given two free credits when you sign up. They also have a program that enables you to donate credits to schools in need so they can build their libraries. Try it, you might like it and you know your books are going to folks who really want them. I currently have a library of about 2500 books, but have also become a fan of Kindle (it requires no additional bookshelves).
In most cases, I give away my books as soon as I finish reading them to friends or colleagues. Why waste them on a shelf? They are no good to dust bunnies. You write beautifully.
SK- your comment still doesn’t apply. Edan’s hardly being hateful to non-book-owners. She simply says that they aren’t the sort of person she wants to spend time with.
Just as some people, for instance, might not want to spend time with people who aren’t sports fans. Or people who don’t have children. Or people who do have children. Or people who buy too many shoes. She likes to be with people who enjoy owning and reading books. She’s not saying she wants to gun down non-readers. *That* would be hateful.
And I really don’t think she’s flaunting her books. After all, she said many of her books are in her bedroom, and who goes in her bedroom besides her and Patrick?
And didn’t she purge all these books? If they were a result of her bitchy little ego, would she have done that? Unlikely.
Am starting the Great Purge myself. While it seems counter-intuitive to give away the classics, I have decided to purge first those books which are public domain (up through 1923) as they can be instantly downloaded for free on a Kindle if I ever want to re-read, check for a quote, etc.