We have a lot of books. We also have a bad habit of accumulating more books.
That’s not a bad habit, you argue?
It’s certainly not a vice, but bad habit, I think, is an entirely appropriate descriptor. Bookshelves are most inviting when they occupy the sweet spot between sparse and overwhelming, and ours generally err towards the latter. Rather than a casual event, picking a book off our crowded shelves is an intimidating decision with so many right answers that they all feel like the wrong one.
We are working on it. Slowly. In the meantime, we have two huge wooden bookshelves that facilitate our book hoarding ways. We got them for free online the day after we moved into our tiny North End apartment, where they improbably fit like a glove and served not only as bookshelves but as a pantry. In our new place, with our pantry items stored elsewhere and with two separate book purges behind us, somehow the shelves are still overflowing with unread pages.
They are getting there, though. In our living room the giant shelves now actually accommodate framed prints and postcards, board games, magazines, and a small dish of peanuts, the ratio of books to shelf space gradually reaching a balanced equilibrium. One more purge, perhaps, and they’ll be there.
And then we can start buying books again.
September 29, 2015.
