Amy Loves Books

I have been given the assignment to write a description of My Bookshelf. The only problem is, I do not have a simple “bookshelf” to write about. I have bookcases. Seven of them. I realize that this may not be completely healthy. Just in case you think I am exaggerating the extent of my madness, I am including a few pictures. If you look closely, you will notice that on many of the shelves, books are stacked up on top of other books. On some shelves, books are actually two rows deep.

THREE OF MY SEVEN BOOKCASES:



This all started innocently. I began collecting picture books as a teenager. I bought a few books here and there. I always had a nice bookshelf of all the adult books I was reading (or planning to read in the near future). It was a manageable habit. I would buy books, read them, and in most cases I would return them for credit towards another book. I had a few favorite authors that merited “hardcover” status. These were the books I intended to keep.

Then I began working at Barnes and Noble doing children’s storytimes. For almost two years, I only worked six hours a week and I used my entire fifty dollar paycheck to buy myself (and my children) picture books. I had to purchase a few more bookcases. For the most part, I limited my collecting to children’s books. I had a plan to one day donate my collection to a school or university; I felt that my habit was justified.

It is time for me to make a confession. When I was eighteen, I worked at the public library as a book shelver in the fiction section. I got fired for “unauthorized reading”. I actually have an official letter of termination with “unauthorized reading” listed formally as the reason for my dismissal. I suppose this letter was meant to haunt me as some sort of scar on my permanent record. I did not ever intend to start reading on the job. I tried to stop when I was given warnings. I just could not help myself. I would be there, sorting the books alphabetically and I would come across a book that looked interesting. I would (of course), have to read the inside flap out of curiosity. Then I might decide to read the first page, just to get a feel for the book. Pretty soon, I would be hiding behind the shelving cart or sneaking off to the bathroom with a book tucked under my shirt. I just could not resist handling all those books and not being compelled to read them.

After two years of working at Barnes and Noble, I took on the responsibility of being the early morning fiction shelver. As a thirty-one year old adult, I felt that I would be able to resist the temptation to read as I shelved. I found that being constantly aware of all the phenomenal titles and new releases that were available gave me a voracious hunger to read all of these books. There are very few books that do not look interesting to me. Because I was so aware of the titles that I wanted, I began noticing them at thrift stores and garage sales. I found that I was able to pick up the titles that I wanted for a dollar or two. This is when I got truly out of control. I buy books constantly. I really want to read every single book I have bought; but realistically, even if I started now and never bought another book, it would take me the next twenty or thirty years just to finish everything that I already own. Ironically, when an occasion arises that gives me an ample opportunity to read for pleasure (such as a vacation) - instead of just reading something I already own (and really do want to read) - I inevitably celebrate by buying a newly released book at a bookstore.

I tell my husband that I will take all of these books and put them in my classroom when I start teaching again next year. I tell him that if he sees more than one copy of a book - that I know that I am buying multiple copies so he should not worry. In some cases, such as Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones(I own five so far), this is correct. I intentionally buy as many copies as I can because I want to be able to lend them out as much as possible. In other cases, I simply forget what I have already bought. But don’t tell him that.

I asked my husband (who is a minister) if he thought that God would give me a few hundred years in heaven just to catch up on all the reading that I am intending to do. My husband (who has only read two or three fiction books in his life) replied by telling me that, in heaven, I would not want to read anymore because I would be "beyond all that". Maybe he is right - but I sure hope not.

What is in my CD player?

Dear Catastrophe Waitress by Belle and Sebastian

"If I could do just one little perfect thing I'd be happy/ They'd write it on my grave or when they scattered my ashes."

What am I currently reading?

"What Was She Thinking: Notes on a Scandal" by Zoe Heller