Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow – Old Books

My bookcases reached acute overflow a few months ago and I finally decided to do something about it this weekend. Getting rid of books has never been easy for me. Each represents something – a memory, an idea that seemed important, a project, a phase of my life. Still, when you live in New York City in a one-bedroom apartment in a building with no storage – well, you get the idea.

I’ve been as creative as I can be in my use of space. All of Christmas is boxed up on a small shelf in my main closet. Off-season clothes are in storage bins high in the coat closet. Cooking magazines and professional journals that I have not yet been able to part with are stored in cute-but-efficient metal bins in an otherwise unusable corner. 

But the books! They keep coming! By this weekend, every shelf had books horizontally stacked across the top of the vertical books. Two DVD racks had been commandeered for overflow. As had one window sill and the radiator in front of it. Clearly, it was time for a change.

So, the sorting and weeding process began. Have I read this more than once? Does it give me pleasure? Will I read it again? Is it still useful as a professional resource? Is the same information a mere Google away? A 1982 cutting edge book on the relationship between men and women in the workplace didn’t survive even minimal scrutiny. Nor did a stack of New Directions volumes. What was a New Direction in 1995 is Ancient History today.

Why would I ever read this again? The Tin Drum, Pincher Martin, Adventures in the Skin Trade, Oblamov and Buddenbrooks don’t figure into my beach or subway reading this summer. Out. Similarly, all the Shopaholic books – great frivolous reading last year – are not going to stand the test of time.

Who was I trying to impress? Did I read this for an undergraduate course? The Confessions of Zeno, Elements of Style and several early feminist books joint the discard pile.

It was fun revisiting some of these old friends, acquaintances, trips into fantasies about who I was – maybe am – as a reader. A very few useless items were re-shelved. No, I’m not parting with my Norton’s Anthologies or the Complete Works of Shakespeare, even though they’re falling apart. And I’m keeping that unintelligible (it’s in German) copy of a book by a revered mentor because of the wonderful inscription he added.

Two shopping carts-full later there are no cross-hatched books. I’m smiling as I look around my living room. The shelves look lighter and I feel lighter.

Goodbye, old friends. Thanks for the memories.