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The Next Project

This is the bookcase in the guest bedroom, which like all the others in the house is really packed with books I probably will never get to or won't reread. A lot of these titles are gift books that family, friends and colleagues have given me over the years, too, so it's going to be a difficult struggle. Just taking the pic I tripped over a literary novel that a very famous author signed and sent me out of the blue via my publisher (apparently said author was a big StarDoc fan.)

I love gifts of books, and I'm always honored when someone -- no matter how famous they are -- takes the time to share their work with me. That's where I've been fighting myself with this project. For example, the tripped-over book is a literary novel, and from the description sounds depressing as hell. I doubt I'll ever read it -- but it's signed, and it was a gift. So . . . yeah, probably not going in the donation box.

It's hard to put how I feel into words. All books are treasure to me. Every shelf in this house is filled with jewels. When I see books I unconsciously relax and feel better about being alive. Walking into a library is like stepping into heaven on earth for me. I remember how I felt as a kid, sneaking off to the tiny trailer that was our public library in town and sitting down and reading as much as I wanted. I think reading for me is like what drugs or liquor is for other people, maybe.

I've managed to keep my addiction under control, but I have to stop hanging on to what I don't want, I really do -- and keeping books I have no intention of reading is hoarding behavior. The one thing that makes me feel better is the hope that another reader will have a chance to enjoy these jewels. I keep telling myself that as I work on the shelves: Pass along the jewels. Give someone else a little treasure.

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Lisa Cohen said…
I get it - books will always be magical portals to me. When I was growing up, my mother didn't believe in buying books. Don't get me wrong - she was a huge reader - but something in her upbringing during the depression meant that owning books was a luxury she couldn't afford. Even when she could. So the only books I had were library books. As an adult, I filled my house with books. Because I didn't have that growing up.

And I also understand the impulse for - what's the opposite of nesting? - clearing out the decks. The older I get, the less I want things around me. I like the way you are framing this - give someone else a little treasure.
January 22, 2021 at 5:22 AM
nightsmusic said…
I kept the first book I'd ever owned for years until a lack of space coupled with a flooded basement did it in. Having, like you, only had the library as a child, books are the same to me as they are to you and oh, it's so hard to part with them, regardless of where they came from. But I get it too that you want to pare down.
January 22, 2021 at 10:29 AM
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