A lot of students come to my office. A lot of them all say the same thing the first time they step in: "Whoa. You have a lot of books. Have you read all of them?" I smile and say that I've at least cracked the spine on them and written my name in most of them. I never knew just exactly how many volumes are stacked cross-ways and sometimes two-deep on the 4 units in my office, the 2 units in my spare bedroom, and the countless stacks scattered all over my living room. Thanks to my friend Robert and a nifty bar-code scanner, I have spent time this summer counting and cataloging books on this fantastic website called LibraryThing. I'm almost finished, and I hit the 1,000-mark today. (File it under #firstworldproblem, I know.)
You can learn a lot about someone from what's on their bookshelf. My collection is quite varied, ranging from radical feminists to Winnie-the-Pooh, from Austen to my sophomore accounting text, from Les Miserables to Lord of the Rings, from gifts received to gifts that I plan to give, someday, when I'm done reading them. (Is that bad?) The collection includes well-worn favorites, some "what was I thinking?" clearance-shelf impulse purchases, some that I doubt I'll need again, and some that have been written by people I know personally. I'm not nearly as scattered and schizophrenic as my library suggests, but I do have lots of interests.
The cataloging would go quickly, except I easily get lost (again) flipping through pages, wondering why I marked that particular page, wondering why I have three copies of the same book, wondering why I didn't know I already had a copy of that book when I added it to my Barnes & Noble wish list last week, wondering if I really ever will read them all... (There's the answer to the original question above.)
Upon closer examination, my bookshelves are a lot like a photo album. Reading the titles on the spines stirs up all sorts of memories. The scratch-n-sniff book that was a family favorite at Christmas. The coffee table book full of stunning photographs. That textbook that my students hated. That textbook that was mine (and I hated). The novel that waits for me, just because it's one of those that "everybody" should read. The novel that I have read countless times (because it's much better than the movie). The latest on social justice and policy on issues that concern me. WAY too many statistics books. Not nearly enough classics.
Nestled on the bottom shelf are some real treasures. An autographed copy of the Christmas Chicken Soup for the Soul with my brother's story bookmarked. One of my mother's college textbooks, with familiar handwriting in the margins, written by family scientists whom I would study 35 years later. A few of my grandfather's high school textbooks, including a volume of British poems and an American history book which ends with the election of President Teddy Roosevelt.
Wikipedia, PhotoShop, and the like have made it possible to change text and image instantly. Sure, books are revised, updated, available in an instant on your iPad, Nook, or Kindle. I've been sucked into the digital universe, but I will always prefer being surrounded by paper, leather, and glue.
The books on my shelves reveal who I am and where I want to go. They also reveal the issues and authors who have influenced me. I read to be educated, to be entertained, to be persuaded, to be swept off my feet. I read to connect with an idea, with a movement, with a story, with an author. I guess C. S. Lewis was right: I read to know I'm not alone.
I'm a much better reader than writer. I'm thankful to be surrounded by friends who are writers. I may not know much about psalms or superheroes or epiphany or American architects or theology or literacy or making churches more environmentally friendly or more gender-inclusive, but I know people who do. And they are my friends. They occupy sacred space in my life as their works occupy space on my shelf. I do love my books. I love my friends more.
Thanks to a few days' work, I have some shelf space and some summer time that needs filling. Suggestions?
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