I have just spent the past few minutes wondering how to start this post. What I would like to say is that I have collected books for many years (more than a decade!), but I keep finding myself stumbling over the word “collect.” Not too long ago I picked up a book on collecting books, which ultimately was about how to Ziplock and properly store books you never intend to read, but rather one day hope will have a great resale value. I do not collect books. However, what other word could I use? Saying I gather books certainly does not sound right. What I do is find a loving and caring home for books, and it just so happens that few homes seem more appropriate than one of my bookshelves.
Today I lightened my book load by roughly 30 books, but then of course spent roughly twice of my profit on ten new books. Five of these books include: Brendan O’Carroll’s The Mammy, Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Compass Rose, David Bezmozgis’ Natasha, Franz Kafka’s The Complete Stories, and Nick Hornby’s A Long Way Down. Despite this new financial investment I am quite pleased to watch my library’s growth as it shrinks from unwanted books and grows with new pieces of literature. I can also say that I am quite proud of my well-used and well-loved collection, which reminds me that at some point I really ought to start cataloging it.
Today’s picture was taken approximately two years ago (if not more) and during a time when I only had two shelves rather than the four I currently own (not to mention those stacks propping doors open).