Rethinking the home library
Books come alive only in the act of reading them. That’s the overlooked everyday magic of what reading is, which is that [books] are inert, in some ways they literally don’t exist on the shelf when their pages are closed. It’s only when a mind is applied to the act of reading that the story comes to life.
(Ideally I’d have no books on top.)
Like every other nerd on social media, I used to drool over photos of sprawling home libraries. A library is (usually) a safe space in which to learn about pretty much anything you want, in your own time and on your own terms, and when it’s your very own collection—infused with all the complexities of identity and curiosity and ambition and belonging, curated and arranged according to your own intellectual priorities and aesthetic principles—it becomes rather difficult to look at your collection with any measure of objectivity. Yet in this post I shall attempt it!
Here is the squirmy truth, which applies to my yarn and fabric stashes almost as much as my books: the rate at which I acquire is substantially faster than the rate at which I consume. This is probably true for most of us, eh? Our shopping patterns result in a compounding accumulation of objects we are not using for their intended purpose. When I lived at home my mother used to joke about the ceiling caving in, but this is not as funny as it used to be. My overflow—often-teetering piles on the top surface of all but one of the four bookshelves in my apartment—is a source of anxiety. I don’t want to live out my last years entombed amid dusty piles of books, 97% of which I never got around to reading. I never ask myself, “Will I actually get around to reading this new book before I die?” as I stand at the counter of one of DC’s many wonderful indie bookshops. But maybe I should.
Lately I’ve been thinking of my collection in a new way. I am telling myself that my books do not truly belong to me, I’m just keeping them neat and dry until it’s time for them to move on to their next reader. Reconceptualizing my home library as an evolving organism has made it much easier to let go of books I got for free when I worked at HarperCollins (that was TWENTY YEARS AGO, people!), useful books (reference, cookbooks, knitting pattern collections, etc.) I have never actually used, and books I’d been holding onto only because I have warm feelings for the people who gave them to me.
The solution is (and always has been) obvious: to avoid cluttered bookshelves, I need to read-and-release at a faster rate and/or winnow my collection before instituting a one-in-one-out policy. (Reading faster means reading more efficiently—turning the phone on silent before I chuck it onto another soft piece of furniture across the room. Side note: the other day a new friend told me about the Silent Book Club and I feel extra motivated to participate.)
How am I deciding which books to give away? Here are some questions I’ve been asking myself:
Have I already read this book? Do I (realistically) think I will read or refer to it again?
Do I feel obligated to go on intending to read this book? If so, why? Can I release myself from that “obligation”?
If I give this book away and change my mind about it later, will it be difficult or expensive to replace?
Does this book represent who I am (hopefully) growing into, or who I am growing out of?
If I’m feeling resistance to parting ways with this book, can I put a generous time limit on it? Say, five or ten years from date of purchase?
Can I listen to the audiobook instead? (More knitting/sewing time!)
It is also helping to consider what good a book might do if I release it. Take a book like The Hate U Give. Given the subject matter it feels wrong to write that I enjoyed it, so instead let’s say this novel deserves the recognition it has received. I am probably not going to read it a second time, however, and if I leave it on my shelf at home, there is zero chance of the ideal reader finding this particular copy in a Little Free Library at the absolute perfect time in their emotional and intellectual development. How miraculous that would be!, and even more wonderful for my never knowing that it happened.
So yes, that copy you see in the photo above—it used to be “mine.” If I change my mind about rereading it, I can always purchase another copy or make use of the public library. The White Goddess used to be “mine” too; it was a gift from a man I dated for three weeks almost ten years ago. If I ever want to, y’know, actually read this book, I can check it out of the library.
Here are more books that belonged to people I used to be:
Anne of Green Gables was my favorite novel as a teen. Now I feel melancholy when I think of those books because Anne gave up writing.
A gift from the parents of a boyfriend I had in my 20s. I was holding onto this partly for sentimental reasons and partly for Moon Ireland research, except I’m not writing for Moon Ireland anymore. I’ve had almost 16 years to dip into this book, but I never have.
A book I purchased at an Irish imports shop in Baltimore on an 8th-grade field trip and forgot on the charter bus. My dad followed the bus for a couple miles down the highway before we hit a red light and I could run to the front passenger door and get the driver’s attention. Again, haven’t ever done more than briefly dip into it.
The Camille who thought she’d read and review Bill Schutt’s history of cannibalism for a film promo post. Did she? Ha!
A book taking up space on my shelf for years and years, the spine never cracked? That’s a sunk-cost relationship. I may have moved house with it many times, even across the Atlantic. Carry it all this way, through breakups and so many other big life changes, only to leave it in a Little Free Library without ever having read it?! But when I started asking myself question #4, it was a lot easier to see a long-neglected book as an object deserving of a more enthusiastic caretaker.
A few more notes to self that are helping me let go:
If I never got around to reading this one for Petty Magic research, what makes me think I am EVER going to read it?
I have the space that I have, here and now, no more and no less. Once there are too many books to fit on my shelves, I don’t need another bookshelf, I need fewer books. (See the “container concept.”) I am not allowing myself to keep books in cardboard boxes in my closet to fill the shelves of a future Macksey-esque library.
Choosing to keep a book is often an instant yes or no, but it’s always worth gently re-examining an assumption that a book ought to stay “mine” to the very end.
I won’t let myself feel guilty for paying full price for a new book and later giving it away unread because I’ve realized I’m not going to read it in the next few years. If nothing else, I am supporting my own industry.
Fictionwise, two books out of three I’ll release after reading, even if the novel was written by a friend. If it stays on the shelf, it inspires and entertains no one else, only past-me. If I release it, I could introduce my friend’s work to a reader who will go on to purchase new copies of their other books.
I’m much more likely to hold onto nonfiction for future reference, be it for novel research or personal growth. Though once I’ve finished revising the manuscript in question, I will reassess.
With this new mindset, I’m much more likely to choose not to finish a book I’m not enjoying.
And how am I giving my books away? This is the fun part! I downloaded the Little Free Library app so I can make a game of locating LFLs, wondering if the next one on the map will have space for at least one deposit, and hopefully unloading all the books I’ve packed on the one-hour walk to my therapist’s office. It feels like a reverse scavenger hunt.
I must admit that there are two bins of books still in “purgatory”:
1. books I want to take notes out of before donating (like cookbooks, self help, etc.)
2. Books that have been sitting on my shelves for years that I do still have a desire to read but am rather sure I’ll be ready to release afterward. Whatever I don’t make time to read before my next move, I will donate.
How do you manage your home library? Has your attitude about book collecting evolved over time? 📚
