Saturday, September 24, 2016
Trying To Get Rid Of Books
I’ve been sorting books for the last few weeks. I’ve finally decided to do something about them so someone else doesn’t have to handle a thousand pounds of books when I die. First, I’d get rid of all those books I knew I’d never read again and replace them with those I might re-read. (I hardly ever do read books twice but...).
The 10 bookcases in this house range from old to new and so do the books within them. Looking at them is like taking a journey through the looking glass of my life. I still have all the Little Colonel books, beloved of the pre-teen me. I remember moving to California and telling people I was from Kentucky rather than Indiana and trying to talk with a southern accent, like the Little Colonel announcing – “lettah foah you, fathah deah.” And the Saga of Billy the Kid in which Billy was romanticized into a dashing hero on horseback. I read several more realistic books about Billy’s sad, short life later but it was this incarnation that captured my heart. Animals were always a big part of my reading world, including the Collies of Sunnybrook Farm and The Black Stallion series.
I went through a stage of idealizing farm life and there are many volumes that reflect that. I still have my autographed copies of Rachel Peden’s books about her farm in southern Indiana and the wonderful narrations about life at Stillmeadow Farm by Gladys Taber. I think I must have been way more optimistic then about obtaining such a life for myself and those authors were more optimistic too as nothing ever seemed to go wrong in their books. The roses were always blooming and the air always smelled of new-mown hay.
There are an abundance of books about religion, all kinds of religion, from my period of searching for something to believe in. They range from denominations of Christianity to Buddhism to spiritualism and beyond. I could get rid of all of them. None of them convinced me.
I have oodles of books about writing and marketing what you write. I’ll probably pass them on. I learned some helpful things from all of them but in my older age, I’m convinced that the path that took one person directly to success won’t necessarily work for another and we all have to blaze our own trail. I will keep the books of columns by authors I most admired – among them, Molly Ivins and Ellen Goodman and Lewis Grizzard. If my writing has a “style”, there are dribs and drabs of all of theirs in it.
I have practically every book ever written about Vietnam, both fiction and non-fiction, many of them signed by the men who wrote them. I’ll hold on to them even though I don’t think I could bear the heart-hurt of ever reading them again.
You could track the trail of American politics in the last 50 years by my bookshelves. There are books about Kennedy and Johnson, Carter and Reagan, Clinton and Bush and Obama. I’m not into politics so much anymore. Maybe we see the past through rose-colored glasses as we age but politics seems a lot meaner than it used to be. I disagreed with practically everything Ronald Reagan ever did but I never doubted his sincerity, his patriotism or his love for America. I even thought Iran-Contra merited the title “high crimes and misdemeanors but I still wasn’t up for impeaching him.
I mostly read fiction now but I’ve lost my taste for Pollyanna stories. That poor girl would never make it in today’s world of gritty realism. I like my stories harsh and graphic and my heroes flawed and perverse. Maybe I like my fiction black because in comparison, it makes reality seem a little lighter although living humans seem to be able to top the worst that writers can even imagine.
Actually, bookcases are beginning to seem anachronistic now that e-readers have been invented. Most of the most recent “books” I’ve bought are sent instantly to my Kindle, which can hold, I think, something like 3,500 volumes. I used to stress about what I would do to keep myself in reading material if ever I had to go to a nursing home but thank heavens, that’s one worry off my mind. Now I’m more concerned about whether I’ll live long enough to read all my Kindle purchases.
Getting rid of my books isn’t really that difficult. It’s saying good-bye to the memories that go along with them that is the hard part.