Book Purge
For most of my life I’ve been collecting books. Maybe collecting books isn’t the right word - it’s more like hoarding them. My collection of books isn’t too bad, not in the thousands, but definitely in the hundreds. I still have some of the books that first made me a reader: a real, ‘this is who I am’ kind of reader. A faded Matilda by Roald Dahl is patiently waiting in my three year old’s closet for when she gets to be a bit older.* If only I still had all of my old Babysitters’ Club books! (See, it’s a sickness!) Why do I need all of these books when most of them I’ll never open again. (See aforementioned Babysitter’s Club books.)
I keep them because they are old friends. Books started out as an escape. They were trusted friends and then stayed that way for the rest of my life. I can’t remember living in a room that didn’t have some books with me. Why is it, then, that I would want to part with the warmth and comfort that my books provide?
I am in a state of transition. Yes, these old books are old friends, good friends. But I must move on. First and logistically, I just have too many of them. I even have some in storage. I don’t know what books they are. I don’t know why I have them. Maybe some day I’ll look at them again. Maybe my kids will. Or neither will happen. Currently my house is filled with the kids’ toys. It’s a happy and chaotic filled; but it’s still filled. I don’t need books to add to my daily chaos. Especially that book by that author, the one that I liked a few years ago, that had a decent book about that guy, that I’ll never read again. I don’t need it. Therefore, I don’t want it. Second, my style of reading has changed. There was a time when I read what I was supposed to read (i.e. in school or books that were undoubtedly good, probably recommended and blogged and hyped about) and did or didn’t read. I can’t (won’t) count how many books I have that I haven’t read. Therefore, I’m starting to choose books that I want to read. Meaning, if it sounds good, I’ll read it. If I get 50-70 pages into it and I don’t like it, it goes.
At first my inclination to purge my books felt like a bit of a betrayal. Who am I to make such decisions about literature? I’m a failed (so far) writer, ex-English teacher, and lover of words and art who just wants to enjoy reading again. I find I get so much more out of reading and writing when it’s for myself right now. The immediate connection or drive to write or read certain books makes my literary journey of sorts much more enjoyable and worthwhile. My old books are not where I’m at right now. In a sense, I’m starting my reading journey over. Who knows, I may even write again.
*Will my kids treasure books as much as I do? I hope but that is a question that I’m not sure I want the answer to. However, I have three full bookshelves in our living room (also their play space, which is quite limited in our Seattle apartment), and Claire’s new hobby is taking down books and ‘reading’ me stories from them. Her favorites: my old Granta copies with the white and color blocked spines. I am starting to believe that just having books in the house is a good influence for a love of reading.
