We switched the office with the bedroom today and I'm beat. We took a huge bookcase and put it downstairs in the 'new' office but first I emptied it out, mostly on my bedroom floor. Even though I've been up and down the stairs with armloads of books all day, there are still a massive amount, artfully arranged in my room. I look like a hoarder. And I recycled. I am giving books away, even though I love them. Many books. Because I won't read them again.
And then there are the books I must have. The shelves of poetry, of course. The outdoor books, trails and skiing and hiking. Ramdom beautiful fiction and nonfiction. Books I need. To reread. To reference.
Of Human Bondage- W. Somerset Maugham
The Red Pony-Steinbeck
The Bluest Eye-Toni Morrison
Black Tickets-Jayne Phillips
Art Objects-Jeanette Winterson
Cloister Walk-Kathleen Norris
Stones From the River-Olga Hegi
All of Arundhati Roy
Presumed Innocent-Scott Turow
Wind in the Willows-Kenneth Grahame
All of Raymond Chandler
There is a lot more. This is what I can see from my bed.
I have wealth. In books I have tremendous wealth. Right now my bed floats on a sea of books.
Books are wealth. You are completely correct about that.
ReplyDeleteSome clothes and a huge wooden crate filled with books was about all we, husband, baby and I, had to declare when we arrived in Canada 57 years ago.
ReplyDeleteI am rich with books too. I haven't read Of Human Bondage yet, but it's near the top of one of my many piles. I suppose I should move it to the very top?
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