Adjustment necessary
We have too many books.
No, that's not right. You can never have too many books. What we have is a shortage of bookcases. I'm quite handy with a hammer and chisel, but even my ingenuity can't find much more space in this house for the ever-increasing weight of tomes.
Some people say that if you've read a book and aren't going to read it again anytime soon you should pass it on - either sell it or give it to a charity shop. There is, I suppose, a certain logic in this. Most of my books are not valuable, and I can't see myself dipping into EE Doc Smith's Lensman series anytime soon, even for reference. I don't really need a copy of Bettenson's Documents of the Christian Church, let alone two (although it does have the Ontological Proof in it, which is fun). My 1986 Tokyo city guide turned out to be completely useless in 2004, but it's full of memories.
Then there's Barbara's collection of classic children's tales; the Ladybird books; the Tintin and Asterix graphic novels. We could pass these on to any number of nephews and nieces, but somehow that seems like a cheap gift - and I know what the parents would think of us unloading our old junk on them.
Up in the loft I've got twenty years worth of comics mouldering away gently. I don't think I've ever re-read a single one. Not even Garth Ennis' wonderful Preacher, which plays much more creatively with Baigent, Leigh and Lincoln's The Holy Blood and The Holy Grail (yup, that's in there somewhere too) than Dan Brown ever managed. I do have a copy of the Da Vinci Code, leant to me by a friend, which I will soon return unread (I just can't bring myself to do it).
It's not even as if I've read all the books I own. My dad's forever giving me arcane travelogues and obscure biographies, but there's only so much time in the day and I've got other things like writing to get on with.
It would have been so much easier if the house build project hadn't collapsed (sabotaged, I'm increasingly sure, by the greed of a farmer). There was plenty of room in the design for bookshelves, including one wall of the main hall which rose two storeys. I could have gone on accumulating for decades. Now that it looks like we're going to be stuck in this cosy but small cottage for a while longer I'm going to have to think of some other solution.
Any suggestions?
No, that's not right. You can never have too many books. What we have is a shortage of bookcases. I'm quite handy with a hammer and chisel, but even my ingenuity can't find much more space in this house for the ever-increasing weight of tomes.
Some people say that if you've read a book and aren't going to read it again anytime soon you should pass it on - either sell it or give it to a charity shop. There is, I suppose, a certain logic in this. Most of my books are not valuable, and I can't see myself dipping into EE Doc Smith's Lensman series anytime soon, even for reference. I don't really need a copy of Bettenson's Documents of the Christian Church, let alone two (although it does have the Ontological Proof in it, which is fun). My 1986 Tokyo city guide turned out to be completely useless in 2004, but it's full of memories.
Then there's Barbara's collection of classic children's tales; the Ladybird books; the Tintin and Asterix graphic novels. We could pass these on to any number of nephews and nieces, but somehow that seems like a cheap gift - and I know what the parents would think of us unloading our old junk on them.
Up in the loft I've got twenty years worth of comics mouldering away gently. I don't think I've ever re-read a single one. Not even Garth Ennis' wonderful Preacher, which plays much more creatively with Baigent, Leigh and Lincoln's The Holy Blood and The Holy Grail (yup, that's in there somewhere too) than Dan Brown ever managed. I do have a copy of the Da Vinci Code, leant to me by a friend, which I will soon return unread (I just can't bring myself to do it).
It's not even as if I've read all the books I own. My dad's forever giving me arcane travelogues and obscure biographies, but there's only so much time in the day and I've got other things like writing to get on with.
It would have been so much easier if the house build project hadn't collapsed (sabotaged, I'm increasingly sure, by the greed of a farmer). There was plenty of room in the design for bookshelves, including one wall of the main hall which rose two storeys. I could have gone on accumulating for decades. Now that it looks like we're going to be stuck in this cosy but small cottage for a while longer I'm going to have to think of some other solution.
Any suggestions?
Comments
Books = Brasso for the soul. You don't want a grubby soul, do you?