Electra and I once again began discussing how we should organize our bookshelves. This discussion comes up every few months, especially when we go looking for a book and can not find it. I have been reluctant to start this task, and not just because it is a big job, but for some other reason that I just have not been able to put my finger in until just the other day.
Electra and I were out with some friends who are also avid readers and we were describing our need to organize our shelves. Their response really struck me as to exactly why I do not want to perfectly organize our library...They said that their bookshelves tell a story. A history if you will on what they have been struggling through, what they are thinking about, and what their interests have been.
Of course! That is brilliant! And it explains perfectly why we have The Art of War next to The Pity of War, Umberto Eco next to Tom Wolfe, C.S. Lewis next to Kant, Modern Art next to Schaeffer's Addicted to Mediocrity. And the list goes on. Once again, this proves to me that just when some things seem to be the most disordered, we find them to make perfect sense.
2 comments:
Geez, I'm convicted. My summer "reading" has consisted of exactly one book--by Roald Dahl.
Good luck with the bookshelving--that sounds like a very autumn-ish and delightful activity.
I have never been one for organizing my shelves according to author, genre, or what have you. And yet I always know exactly where every book I own is. As I write, I have have on my shelf Chaim Potok next to Tom Wolfe next to Chesterton next to Marguerite Henry next to Tim Powers next to Beowulf next to Tolkien. I always thought that this was because I am a rather, not intentionally, but knowingly haphazard person internally who can only make sense out of such disorderliness. I am glad to have a much more eloquent sounding excuse.
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