Over the years, my ‘books to read’ stack has grown from a pile to a stack to an entire bookshelf, and continued to grow until it has consumed several bookcases. And if pressed, I would admit to double-row stacking of said ‘to read’ books within the aforementioned bookcases.
Every time I finish reading a new book, I am brutal about deciding whether to donate it elsewhere or add it to my (bulging at the seams) ‘special keepers’ bookshelf. The ‘special keepers’ bookshelf is oak with glass-fronted locking doors. It’s where I keep autographed copies from favorite authors, books (and series) so good I want to reread them over and over, and books that are so well-written I want to steal the language or other writing techniques from them.
But books I haven’t read yet? There is no filter. They have no expiration date in my house. I can’t bring myself to throw them out; that would be like tossing out a plant that wasn’t completely dead yet. Whether they’re best sellers, or have a cool cover or are written by a friend or a friend of a friend, I simply must add them to to the ‘to read’ library. I call it a library now because a-dozen-overflowing-bookshelves-and-two-dozen-unpacked-boxes-full-of-books sounds odd when I say it out loud.
Read faster, I tell myself. Stop buying more books until you’ve read the ones you already have. I justify my stash by saying that many of these books were gifts. Well, maybe not many, but definitely some. I’m a writer, after all Some day I will have my own ‘writing room’ again and I’ll line the walls with bookshelves and I’ll be able to spend my writing days surrounded by books. Words. Ideas. Inspiration.
You can go to the library. Write there. You’ll be surrounded by thousands and thousands of books. Yeah, but they won’t be mine, I whisper, selfishly. There is more than little guilt behind that thought.
And then along comes COVID-19. And stay at home orders. And looky here–I’ve got my very own private library of books I want to read, all in one place! I don’t even have to leave the house. Not only that, all the libraries are closed anyway, so who’s the smarty-pants now?
The first book I grabbed by by a new-to-me author, China Mieville, Kraken. It was good–the perfect magical escape. This morning I spotted a weighty Robert McCammon tome I’ve been wanting to read forever, Queen of Bedlam. McCammon is one of my auto-buy favorite authors. But as I started it, I realized it was a second novel of a character introduced in Speaks the Nightbird. And wouldn’t you know it, I had that one in my ‘to read’ bookcase too! Now I’m ankle-deep in a good story about bad people and feeling pretty darn clever about the depth and breadth of my ‘to read’ pile.
It’s not hoarding; it’s a library.