100 Good Things About Growing Old, # 34 - I stop throwing out books

I've realised it doesn't matter if I don't continue to clear out my books and I don't get rid of any more of them.

 At first, I took photographs of the piles I was about to take to the charity shop, in case I missed them, or wanted to remind myself of why I was chucking them out. The pile above was one of my very early disposals, and I have never missed any of them.

 Similarly, this second pile of disposals has never been missed.

The Martin Amis dual biography, with his father Kingsley, did make me pause a little, hence it got its own picture, centre stage.  However, I have never thought of it since disposal.  I can't even remember which charity shop I took it to. There is more to say on this subject.

I had, initially, been taking them to my nearest charity shop, which I can walk to.  After a few trips, I noticed that none of my books were actually on the shelves. I enquired about this, and was told that, unless the books were in pristine condition, and particularly if paperbacks, as new. they would not be sold in this charity's network of shops.  What would happen to them, I asked, aghast.  If of vintage interest (I did not bother to find out what qualified as vintage, being so disgusted with what followed), they would go to the vintage branch shop. Everything else would be sent to poor foreign countries that need books, or be pulped.  That was my last visit to this charity, and henceforth I have favoured Oxfam, which takes anything and is grateful.  I have seen my books on their shelves, and they put their books in order properly.

This is what my downstairs bookcase looked like before operations commenced.  It's still pretty much the same.  Some books have gone upstairs  - that brown one, third from right on middle shelf, is a case in point.  It is a biography of Lord Mountbatten. I read about a third of it, lost interest, but thought I might come back to it later, so it has gone from immediately opposite my desk to upstairs in the spare bedroom.  However, others have replaced it, so the shelf is still double stacked.  I am proud to own copies of historical biographies of Edward I, Edward II, Edward III and Edward V.  These are all now in the gap shown above.  I volunteer at a historical property which was built in the reign of Edward I, and occupied by the same family through the reigns of Edward II and III.  Edward V is not part of this collection, and I intend at some point to donate this book to the Richard III visitors' centre in Leicester, but as yet I have not felt ready to let it go.

Above, this is what my upstairs bookcase in the spare bedroom looks like.  It contains four sets of shelves like these, all floor to ceiling, all double stacked.

I have given some away to charity shops. The above biography is beautifully written, and I read and enjoyed it, but knew I would never need it again because I can't be bothered to actually read any novels by Trollope.  I find them too long and boring.  I might have persevered in my youth, when how to occupy the long hours of the day seemed a problem.  Now that I am not even working, but no day seems long enough for all I want to achieve in it, life is too short for Trollope.

Here are the three novels which I gave away with the biography, all completely unread, and never regretted.

However, after several months of sorting and disposing, I realised I was becoming rather sad and unhappy.  Nothing else having changed in my life, I came to the conclusion that it was because I had chucked out enough, and should stop.  In fact, I concluded that I do not NEED to chuck out any more books.  I was scraping on a sore nerve by trying to find more books that I could do without.

I've got rid of all the ones which were completely painless, and the next tranches which I thought to get rid of were causing me pain, and making me feel regretful in anticipation.  Enough is enough.

This afternoon, I took back to the upstairs bookshelves three armfuls of books which I had brought downstairs ready to give away, but had found I couldn't get as far as doing so.  I already feel much better.  It's sort of the opposite of a purge. 

If anything, what has been purged is the guilt about owning so many books, and the accompanying thought that I should reduce my collection. I feel a calm sense of satisfaction.

Book Repositories, Old and New

A new book store for the University of Cambridge copyright library has been built at Ely.  This has 65 miles of shelving, each "the height of two giraffes" (what an unusual measuring device!).  Books here are given their due respect and saved for posterity.

The site also gives a virtual tour of the Library Tower. 

The tower, a hideous but iconic building, was, until it became totally full,  a previous repository of books not in huge demand day-to-day by readers.  The tour gives many beautiful images which satisfy and soothe my need to see books, unusual books, and books being cared for properly.

Who would have thought of retaining this pamphlet, of the sort one's great-granny had lying around in her dusty cupboards!

This little book from 1840, "Grammar Made Easy and Amusing", holds a secret compartment at the back, in which are found what we would now call "Visual Aids" to learning.

I remember fabric books like these.  I am sure we had one exactly like "dog".  We called them rag books.

This is a trick pamphlet, which opens to a skein of wool.  The website author notes the following below this image:

"Ephemeral literature of this kind is highly valued by researchers, and today the Library actively seeks such publications, particularly those with local connections, as well as illustrated children’s books."

That sentence is absolutely music to my ears.  It calms my urgent need to feel that there is order amongst chaos.  That there is rational behaviour, and planning for the future, and that public servants are still carrying out tasks that may not seem vital, but have a function for the maintenance of civilisation.

All pictures from University of Cambridge, digital resources free to public access

Book Piles

Last year nearly rocked me off my axis, for a time.  First, a health scare was successfully dealt with by wonderful medics. Two joyful weddings followed, and for a time, even books could not compete for my attention. Gradually former interests reasserted themselves.

A particularly shocking experience occurred when I visited Blickling National Trust, in Norfolk.

The exhibition was intended to focus on differing attitudes to books, and boy, did it jolt my perspective.

Inside Blickling Library (original volumes safely behind cases)

The curators had collected from pulping depots thousands of unwanted books.  People like me were visibly upset, bending down to examine individual items more closely, to give them the attention we thought was due.  Some visitors tried to rescue one or two, offering to take them home, disorientated and disgusted by the symbolism,  of books that were not valued.  Most of the books were glued or fixed in the display, which meant that rescue was impossible.

My attitude hitherto has always been that if a book exists, it should be given respect.  Copyright libraries, like the British Library and the great university libraries of Oxford and Cambridge, perpetuate and reinforce this view, since they demand of all publishers a copy of each new book to store for posterity.  In some cases this means building miles of underground tunnels, such is the pace of new book production.

The idea that not all of these books are of equal value is self-evident, but to just toss them to a pulping plant was visceral.

One book I managed to pick up had been someone's Sunday School prize for attendance and good behaviour, inscribed as such.  It contained wholesome and instructive nature watercolours. I recognized the genre from my 50's childhood.

For a time, I reviewed the contents of my bookshelves with different eyes.  I have piles and piles of unread items, acquired from book sales and charity shops because they chime with interests old and new, or complete a collection on a particular theme or by a particular author.

Suddenly I thought -"Why am I hoarding these books that I may never read, that no-one else wanted?  Will I ever get around to reading them, and what is the purpose of all this time spent ticking items off my to-read list?"

For a time, my existence seemed purposeless.

Then, a new year began, a new cycle of aims and lists.  With two daughters married, and waiting for the longed for next step, I mark time by going back to my old habits.

And More Obsessive Behaviour

Only just realised the significance of this, and the symmetry.  Had not been home 18 hours, went to shopping centre for groceries (fridge bare after hub left alone for a week) and came back with a second-hand book and a second-hand teapot from the Age Concern shop.

My excuse is that both are early Christmas purchases. Both will be presented to elder daughter.  Book is a mint hardback copy of "Things I Wish My Mother had Told Me" by Lucia van der Post, style writer for The Times.  Lots of style and manners hints.  She will love this, as last year I gave her a tiny little book on table manners for business women, and she loved that.  Her friends all wanted to borrow it and they "Found it Hilarious". The teapot is a pure white designer shape from Maxwell Williams, petite and chic.  I know she will enoy the humour, and since she has discovered the "soothing" powers of tea, she may even use it.

I Indulge My Obsessions

First, the cottage in the country.  An obsession for at least 15 years, shared with many of my friends, just to get away from everyone, the house, the kids, the husband, and live alone with a woodburning stove, roses outside the door, endless piles of books to read, and no interruptions.  Thank you, Norfolk Country Cottages for bringing my dreams to life.  Including the cups of tea outside the back door early in the morning.  (At home, our back door is in full view of the entire road, so not a place one can sit outside barely dressed catching the early morning sun.  I've asked to have  a new door built from our kitchen into the garden which would be private, but even my best friend agrees that this is not practical).

Second, my harmless delight in drinking tea.  I took four different kinds, and all were used.  Including the leaf tea, for which I took my tea-strainer.  I drew the line at taking a teapot, reasoning (correctly) that any self-respecting cottage would have a teapot.