A personal library for some may be a declaration of lifelong reading and scholarly pursuits. Certainly, it was for my father who when he left New England for Ohio in the early ’60s already owned thousands of titles. Only in his 90s, did he retreat from a large book collection as his living arrangements offered limited physical space and macular degeneration made reading difficult. I never knew him to willing give up books, and from tine-to-time I would find him wandering along the long shelves studying the titles – revisiting content and place where the book had been read, I always supposed.
He was not one to use a public library and in this we differ greatly as I take delight in the vast resources a metropolitan system offers. A library is a habit like buying books but Dad chose to live in rural New England and Ohio where libraries had few books. I live in Columbus, Ohio and pick up a half dozen books on hold each week. Some I read; others go back unread or closed somewhere in the reading.
My parents actively encouraged reading and buying books. Believe me, over a lifetime of serious reading, I bought many books. But I weed what I own routinely as an interest wanes. Having done so, I sometimes have to buy the same book again having misjudged my own interests. Well, buying a book again brings its own pleasure.
Not too long ago, I retired and weeded out a large number of books used as a teacher of filmmaking, history and digital media and design. I felt lightened and a little richer after selling these books at Half Price – gaining just enough money for two new books and dinner with Eleanor. My personal library is what I need for my work and interests as well as writings I read then read once more or which I plan to read.
east of the fog 