The selfish book hoarder
One Thursday night a few weeks back after playing squash, we went to the corner bar down the street from his house.
Over beer, we talked books with his friend, Bill. I had just finished my second Paul Auster novel, "The Book of Illusions," and I was gushing Auster.
I transitioned to "Timbuktu," my first Auster book, brilliant and written entirely from the point of view of a dog named Mr. Bones. Both books made me laugh out loud in some place, weep and beg for forgiveness from my dog in others.
I lost track of the conversation for a few minutes, the way you can when more than two people are involved.
"So, I'll have Heidi bring you 'Timbuktu,'" I heard him say to Bill.
I glared at him. He smiled at me.
Didn't he know me better than this? I don't share books, especially ones I like. I try to avoid it whenever possible. I take them from others, sure, but rare is the occasion when I lend them out. When I do, it's only because I've been equally assured of getting as many, if not more books in return.
Some people collect clothes, I collect book spines. It's not just that I'm a poser. I also like books, the way they feel in my hands, the way they look stacked on a shelf. They comfort me.
I've even made empty promises.
"Oh sure, I'll bring you (insert book title here). I just have to find it," I say.
A few days later, I was talking on the phone to my oldest friend Michelle, who lives in southern France. Michelle hadn't read the latest Harry Potter book yet and this frustrated me because I couldn't tell her my theory about what really happened to Dumbledore.
With four kids, finances are often nonexistent and I knew it would be a while before she got her hands on the book. I looked at my bookshelf. There it was, Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince, lined up along all the other Harry Potters. What did it do all day but sit there, collecting dust balls.
I pulled the book down and went to find a box.
Over beer, we talked books with his friend, Bill. I had just finished my second Paul Auster novel, "The Book of Illusions," and I was gushing Auster.
I transitioned to "Timbuktu," my first Auster book, brilliant and written entirely from the point of view of a dog named Mr. Bones. Both books made me laugh out loud in some place, weep and beg for forgiveness from my dog in others.
I lost track of the conversation for a few minutes, the way you can when more than two people are involved.
"So, I'll have Heidi bring you 'Timbuktu,'" I heard him say to Bill.
I glared at him. He smiled at me.
Didn't he know me better than this? I don't share books, especially ones I like. I try to avoid it whenever possible. I take them from others, sure, but rare is the occasion when I lend them out. When I do, it's only because I've been equally assured of getting as many, if not more books in return.
Some people collect clothes, I collect book spines. It's not just that I'm a poser. I also like books, the way they feel in my hands, the way they look stacked on a shelf. They comfort me.
I've even made empty promises.
"Oh sure, I'll bring you (insert book title here). I just have to find it," I say.
A few days later, I was talking on the phone to my oldest friend Michelle, who lives in southern France. Michelle hadn't read the latest Harry Potter book yet and this frustrated me because I couldn't tell her my theory about what really happened to Dumbledore.
With four kids, finances are often nonexistent and I knew it would be a while before she got her hands on the book. I looked at my bookshelf. There it was, Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince, lined up along all the other Harry Potters. What did it do all day but sit there, collecting dust balls.
I pulled the book down and went to find a box.
3 Comments:
Does this mean you will start to give your co-workers books, too? I used to be selfish and hold on to all my books, like as if they might impress people into thinking that I am well-read. Then I realized that they could be put better use in someone else's hands rather than gathering protective coatings of dust on my bookshelves. I still keep many but enjoy giving them to people like you to enjoy, even though I doubt you ever got to the last book I set on your desk. No more for you until I get some feedback on "Mountains Beyond Mountains."
I was a book hoarder too, Heidi. Then came time to clean out Dad's house. Those books were heavy! No more, I read them and then - with few exceptions - they go.
The only time I seem to get rid of a book is if I find mold growing on it. (Unfortunately, that really has happened.) As far as lending books, I find that's usually the same as giving them away. They're rarely returned.
I once borrowed a co-worker's copy of Bob Dylan's biography by Anthony Scaduto and had it for six years, finally giving it back when we crossed paths again down the road. She'd remembered that I still had it.
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