How I see my books has always been a view through rose-coloured glasses. The imaginative lens that overlooks the rising tide of books and frequently underestimates the depth relative to my reading strength. That conceives of beginning a secret bookshop—think Brazenhead Books with better amenities—Front Room Books, a deliciously acceptable front for further acquisitions. So, buoyant and bespectacled, I remind Ali, “You can never have too many books”.
Looking back it was inevitable really. Loss of buoyancy and glasses, a direct consequence of lugging twenty-two boxes of books single-handedly from the basement. And it was, as I reached for a towel to halt the twenty-two rivulets of sweat coursing down my face that I began to wonder if I might indeed be sinking in this sea of books.
Which brings me to what I’ve been doing lately. Counting and cataloguing the sea of books; reminiscing with those into which I’ve dipped and dived, while shamefacedly confessing to others that I’m still dithering at their pages edge.
I have unwittingly, it would seem held an audit of my reading. And so, faced with the evidence that unbridled book acquisition does in fact interfere with actual reading, I have resolved that 2017 will be a year of determined reading and book-buying abstinence.
I’ll let you know how I get on.