Inscriptions

I spent some time packing up my books this evening. Packing in general does not phase me. I’m not easily overwhelmed by that sort of thing, but when I sort through books I always find myself feeling melancholy. It like the yearbook of your life. Its the literary equivalent of cutting a tree and counting the rings. What does my shelf say about me this year? What did I read? what did I pick up but never get around to? and what does this discrepancy say about my head space? The pile I bought but is left unread: the person want to think I am, or want to be. The read pile: the real me (?) I guess these thoughts are what give me pause and colour me a light shade of blue.

The other trigger are the inscriptions, or in this evening’s particular case, the lack thereof. I think I have come to another mini-realization: I want to be with someone who inscribes the books they give me.  A book is a powerful and bold gift. It says “I know you” and “I want to give you something of substance and longevity”. To me,  a book trumps all if it is given with thought and attention. I guess thats why I got a little sad when I realized that not one of the books (all beautiful and well picked I must say) gifted me by my ex, were inscriped. Nary a date, no inside jokes or loving thoughts. No doubt I am reading too far into this (sorry, that pun could not be helped) but I don’t think the thought is without merit…

Quote

For the man who is beautiful is beautiful to see

but the good man will at once also be beautiful

 

-Sappho

Books!

“Bookshelves are not for displaying books you’ve read…. Rather, the books on your shelves are there to convey the type of person you would like to be.” —Ezra Klein

“My experience is that some books end up accumulating out of a misguided attempt to win the approval of authors already well-entrenched on my shelves.” —McLemee

Both these quotes can be found in the blog on the NYT site

http://papercuts.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/03/21/bookshelf-etiquette/index.html?hp

 It got me thinking about my bookshelves. Having moved very much on the fly I took with me only 5 books. Two for comfort (Leonard Cohen and an inscribed book on hugs my mum gave me long ago) and three that I intended on reading (a book on the laws of power, a non-fiction titled Exuberance and The Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. I had someone over a while ago who commented on my anaemic shelves and truth be told I felt a little bit of shame. I am a reader. It is, in part how I describe myself. A large part of my identity is bound in books and so to be called out (not his intention I am sure) on having 3 books leaned sadly against the side on my bookcase was a moment that stayed with me.

When I go to a person’s house for the first time I do not look at photographs, I don’t check for healthy plants or pets and I certainly do not concern myself with how tidy the place is. I head straight to the shelves and yes, I judge. I do. I do not judge a person’s worth or intellect but I do judge how well I might get along with them. Particularly if this person has potential to be a mate, I scan those spines with as much interest as I would listen to them speak about their passions or their families. 

What one chooses to surround oneself with speaks, all puns intended, volumes, which is why I was so diminished when my naked shelf was noticed.

I want to be the girl who is known to bravely mix Kafka, Atwood and Winterson together on a shelf. Literary cocktail parties chez moiwill have Leonard and Gabriel mumbling in low moody tones on one end of the shelf while Marguerite and Jean-Paul canoodle softly at the other. And I do have these, or did when I lived at home, but moving 4 cities in 6 years I have left them all there and travel light these past years knowing that my mum is keeping my library safe. I am moving again next week. Maybe this time ‘for good’ (whatever that means). I think the move will be marked official when I send for my boxes of books. A house in never a home without them for me and if this new life I am starting on is for real you can bet my books will be following me down the 401 very very soon.