Letting Go...of Books

I have too many books.

This isn’t an admission; it’s a rainbow-of-printed-spines fact. No one who knows me would expect anything else: I love reading; I love writing; I have a diverse range of interests; I work in a book store (I love to overuse and misuse a semi-colon.)

So you can imagine my big fat bulging bookcases can’t you.

But this time I have too many books, literally. They simply will not fit in our new Little House.

With space a premium, I simply cannot justify using it all for my books. Some books are going to have to go.

 I know, I know; move house some might say.

I say this is an excellent exercise in jettisoning ballast. Books are for me an excellent example of something I have an emotional attachment to. It’s time to drop some sandbags...

Culling books is an interesting psychological experience. I know first hand from working in a bookshop that people have vastly different levels of attachment to books- from indifference and even distaste (no I can’t believe it either but its true) to ‘will not part from one book ever’.

I’d say I am two thirds along the scale toward bibliohorder.

I love books but I admit that in a fire I probably wouldn’t even think of them. There’s an admission! (Well, after I knew my family were safe I may shed a few tears over the loss of my personally signed Markus Zusak book;)

I have books dating all the way back to childhood. Even with many moves and garage sales, charity store donations and second-hand give-aways in between, I still have A LOT OF BOOKS.

Our new living room, sized approximately 4 1/2 by 4 1/2 metres has 4 Ikea bookcases standing round the edges and I decide that I can only justify half holding books. We need room for paperwork, art gear and loads of other bits and bobs that need a tidy home.

From the top of the first shelf I pick up the first book to consider rehousing. At this stage our books have been thrown on the shelf in a hodge-podge of 'do it later' mess so it doesn't matter where I begin.

As I hold this first slim volume, considering it's fate I am very aware of a pang in my solar plexus. I am fascinated with this reaction - the last I noticed it in a conscious way was when I was living in England, musing over my impending departure from a place that I loved very much.

At the time I realised my pain was attachment -a strong fear of separation. I wanted to hold on that place that held so many good feelings and memories for me.

At that time I decided to try changing my feeling consciously to one of enjoyment in my surrounds without clutching madly to it. I kinda breathed it in, then breathed, like I was a conduit, rather than a receptacle. It seemed to work. From that I was able to accept my leaving without too much pain and still enjoy my remaining time there.

I realised too that the good feelings were not outside, etched in the stones of England; they were in me. I could take them with me if I wanted.

 

So right now, what was I fearful of, in letting go of this book? I realised the book (Island of the Blue Dolphins by the way in case you are dying to know, ha ha) had a whole little box of memories attached to the reading of it: a wonderful evocative story, a great academic year of English in High School, the pleasure of seeing my son enjoy the same book. This slim paperback was a little time-capsule of memories and feelings. Would removing the book from my shelf take away any good feelings attached to it by me?

I thought about it for a while, all too conscious that there were hundred of other books each waiting their ‘trial’ of stay or go.

In the end I concluded ‘no’, I wouldn’t loose anything. Like living in England,  I HAD enjoyed the book, the story HAD subtly changed the younger me and short of travelling back in time and removing it from my life then, those things are now intrinsically a part of me- I had downloaded the essence of the book- I no longer needed the physical item. I could recall the beauty of the story whenever I wanted because it is now a part of me. Holding onto the book was surely as pointless as keeping the wrapper of a delicious chocolate because I wanted to retain the pleasure of eating it.

And if I did this holding on with every item I/we own, I will be dragging a chain of things behind me so heavy that I simply won't be unable to move forward with any ease. I will be forced to stay put and be content to only re-examine those things I am already carrying with me. I will stunt my ability to fully experience new joys and ideas.

Urgghh- what a terrible stagnant way to live! And it has to be the opposite to the freedom I am seeking. 

Of course not all the books I hold onto are from prior enjoyment. I discover firsthand what we already suspect- a bookshelf (or a CD shelf, movie shelf etc) is a physical catalogue of emotions, many of which boil down to the base element of fear.

Guilt is a big one. (“God, Nanna would never have thrown this out- she would have had a fit if she’d seen me do this.” {In some religious beliefs you may think Nanna CAN actually see you do this!}) Or Aunty Hilda who you loved and gave you a book though you didn't actually like the story. It's a bit of Aunty Hilda on your shelf.

Guilt could also be ‘could-haves”, “should-haves’ and ‘must-do’s’. This is certainly the feeling I experienced with other books on my shelves, particularly classics I feel I should read and non-fiction I think would better educate me. They are sitting there like waggling fingers admonishing me. “Na-talie…stop reading tra-ash.”

The funny thing is the ‘guilty’ books emit the same pang in my chest as the ‘emotional attachment books’. As I said, it confirms that it all boils down to fear of some sort and is perfect practice for the difficult-at-first art of letting go.

There will surely be books I chose to keep- references and signed books, books I get great pleasure from rereading, and a small selection made by my kids for them to keep to read to their kids. Oh, and plenty of books I haven’t yet read…(another admission!)

All in all I have quite a job ahead of me, going through 4 shelves, double packed, book by book and saying either ‘you can stay a time’ or ‘thank you… and goodbye’, putting those ones into boxes and sending them to the charity store to find a (temporary ideally!) connection with other people.

 I guess this is the power of a library- the shared pleasure- one found to be enjoyed, and then let go of in exchange for a new experience. That will be the motto above my cleaned out bookshelves- “Take a good deep draught and pass it on.”

 After all, there are a wealth of wonderful new stories out there for me to experience….