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52 Card Project 2021: Week 11: Books
Mar. 20th, 2021 02:29 pmOne of the most difficult issues I've had to deal with in culling things down after Rob's death is What On Earth Do I Do With The Books?
Soooooo many books.
Like, thousands upon thousands of them. Rob LOVED to collect books and to get them autographed. I have already cleared at least a thousand books out of the house, and I still have nine floor-to-ceiling bookcases in the living room and dining room absolutely crammed with books. I have thinned out the stacks that were piled up on the floor because there wasn't enough bookcase room. There were still yet more boxes in the basement and garage.
Rob's attitude was that once a book came into the house, it could never leave again. PARTICULARLY if he had it autographed. And he had hundreds of autographed books--perhaps thousands. He loved going to conventions and meeting the authors and chatting them up, and he was so proud to get their books autographed. It was like a dopamine hit for him. And he especially loved to tell the authors he met, "My wife is an author, too; you should read her books!"
I mean, I got it, to a large extent. We met in a writing class, for heaven's sake, and yes, we bonded over books. I LOVE reading books. I went on to write novels, and I got a master's degree in English.
But still: sooooooo many books.
They were piled everywhere. In the corners of the living room and dining room and bedroom, with yet more boxes stuffed with books stacked against the wall. He would go to author signings at Dreamhaven and Uncle Hugo's and Once Upon a Crime. When I'd mildly protest about the money spent, he'd say "But honey! I got a first edition, AND I got it autographed! It's gonna be valuable someday!" He'd check out the remainder shelves at Barnes & Noble, and he'd go to the Friends of the Library Booksale and buy yet more books. "If you go at the end of the day they'll give you a whole grocery bag for just a dollar! And look--this one's a first edition! How could I pass it by?"
I actually started to worry about the structural integrity of the house due to the weight of all the books and bookcases. I couldn't get at stuff in the basement, I couldn't access my possessions in the living spaces, because of all the books in the way. Yes, I love books, honey. I adore them, yes, I do. But So. Many. Books. Including many I would never read.
I read aloud to him while he was getting chemotherapy, as he was dying.
And then he was gone.
It is hard. SO hard. It almost feels like I hear a scream of betrayal from Rob in the back of my mind whenever I try to get rid of a book. That's one of the reasons I created the memorial Little Free Library--it was one way to honor him and yet get rid of books.
But I couldn't possibly move enough books out of his collection through the library. It would take years. Decades. Centuries.
Eric and I have been thinking about the future. I am not sure what I'll do about the house, but he's made it clear he doesn't want to move in here, and I certainly understand that. Living in the house feels like living in a museum to the happiness of a family's life--but that family is now gone. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say it's a family that has changed and moved on.
I have been trying to cull and downsize my possessions, and so I've been trying to figure out what to do with all the books.
The girls won't take many. Fiona has decided to limit the number of bookcases she will put into her new house (undoubtedly taking notes from her parents' example), and Delia doesn't have space to put any. Uncle Hugo's is gone, and Dreamhaven certainly isn't going to take more than a few--Greg Ketter, Dreamhaven's owner, has told me that the generation that collected books is dying and/or downsizing their collections, and the secondary markets that catered to buying and selling used books for them are contracting and disappearing, too. Booktrader is gone, and Cheapo will only look at fifty books at a time and offers barely anything. The pandemic has reduced options even more: Hennepin County Library and the Minnesota Women's Book Project have stopped taking donations.
But I've found out that the Ramsey County Library is still taking books in three locations. Fine; Rob certainly was a supporter of the Friends of the Library projects; heaven knows he BOUGHT enough books from them. The only drawback is you're limited in dropping off no more than two boxes or bags at a time.
So I've been doing that. In the last week, I've made the forty-minute round trip three times, dropping off two boxes each time, each time grimly trying to turn a deaf ear to the protests of the agitated, ghostly Rob in my mind. I told my Friday coffee group that it would be easier if I were the sort of person who just read a book once and then never cracked the cover again. I have re-read some of these books, my mind traitorously whispers; shouldn't I keep them?
But no. For the ones I might want to re-read someday, sure, that's a risk, but if I haven't opened them in a decade, better to lighten the load and my life. I can always borrow them from the library or put them on my digital reader if I want to read them again. And there are some I've never read at all and I think I never will. A well-loved book is a map to the mind's thoughts at a moment in time. But I can still take those thoughts with me into the future, and release the book for someone else to read and enjoy.
Rob, I'm so sorry. I know you treasured these books. I have, too, but that doesn't mean that I have to keep them forever. I will always love you, but you are gone now, and I'm trying to create a new life for myself and space for a new future--with fewer things.
Books
Click here to read about the 52 card project and see the year's gallery.
Soooooo many books.
Like, thousands upon thousands of them. Rob LOVED to collect books and to get them autographed. I have already cleared at least a thousand books out of the house, and I still have nine floor-to-ceiling bookcases in the living room and dining room absolutely crammed with books. I have thinned out the stacks that were piled up on the floor because there wasn't enough bookcase room. There were still yet more boxes in the basement and garage.
Rob's attitude was that once a book came into the house, it could never leave again. PARTICULARLY if he had it autographed. And he had hundreds of autographed books--perhaps thousands. He loved going to conventions and meeting the authors and chatting them up, and he was so proud to get their books autographed. It was like a dopamine hit for him. And he especially loved to tell the authors he met, "My wife is an author, too; you should read her books!"
I mean, I got it, to a large extent. We met in a writing class, for heaven's sake, and yes, we bonded over books. I LOVE reading books. I went on to write novels, and I got a master's degree in English.
But still: sooooooo many books.
They were piled everywhere. In the corners of the living room and dining room and bedroom, with yet more boxes stuffed with books stacked against the wall. He would go to author signings at Dreamhaven and Uncle Hugo's and Once Upon a Crime. When I'd mildly protest about the money spent, he'd say "But honey! I got a first edition, AND I got it autographed! It's gonna be valuable someday!" He'd check out the remainder shelves at Barnes & Noble, and he'd go to the Friends of the Library Booksale and buy yet more books. "If you go at the end of the day they'll give you a whole grocery bag for just a dollar! And look--this one's a first edition! How could I pass it by?"
I actually started to worry about the structural integrity of the house due to the weight of all the books and bookcases. I couldn't get at stuff in the basement, I couldn't access my possessions in the living spaces, because of all the books in the way. Yes, I love books, honey. I adore them, yes, I do. But So. Many. Books. Including many I would never read.
I read aloud to him while he was getting chemotherapy, as he was dying.
And then he was gone.
It is hard. SO hard. It almost feels like I hear a scream of betrayal from Rob in the back of my mind whenever I try to get rid of a book. That's one of the reasons I created the memorial Little Free Library--it was one way to honor him and yet get rid of books.
But I couldn't possibly move enough books out of his collection through the library. It would take years. Decades. Centuries.
Eric and I have been thinking about the future. I am not sure what I'll do about the house, but he's made it clear he doesn't want to move in here, and I certainly understand that. Living in the house feels like living in a museum to the happiness of a family's life--but that family is now gone. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say it's a family that has changed and moved on.
I have been trying to cull and downsize my possessions, and so I've been trying to figure out what to do with all the books.
The girls won't take many. Fiona has decided to limit the number of bookcases she will put into her new house (undoubtedly taking notes from her parents' example), and Delia doesn't have space to put any. Uncle Hugo's is gone, and Dreamhaven certainly isn't going to take more than a few--Greg Ketter, Dreamhaven's owner, has told me that the generation that collected books is dying and/or downsizing their collections, and the secondary markets that catered to buying and selling used books for them are contracting and disappearing, too. Booktrader is gone, and Cheapo will only look at fifty books at a time and offers barely anything. The pandemic has reduced options even more: Hennepin County Library and the Minnesota Women's Book Project have stopped taking donations.
But I've found out that the Ramsey County Library is still taking books in three locations. Fine; Rob certainly was a supporter of the Friends of the Library projects; heaven knows he BOUGHT enough books from them. The only drawback is you're limited in dropping off no more than two boxes or bags at a time.
So I've been doing that. In the last week, I've made the forty-minute round trip three times, dropping off two boxes each time, each time grimly trying to turn a deaf ear to the protests of the agitated, ghostly Rob in my mind. I told my Friday coffee group that it would be easier if I were the sort of person who just read a book once and then never cracked the cover again. I have re-read some of these books, my mind traitorously whispers; shouldn't I keep them?
But no. For the ones I might want to re-read someday, sure, that's a risk, but if I haven't opened them in a decade, better to lighten the load and my life. I can always borrow them from the library or put them on my digital reader if I want to read them again. And there are some I've never read at all and I think I never will. A well-loved book is a map to the mind's thoughts at a moment in time. But I can still take those thoughts with me into the future, and release the book for someone else to read and enjoy.
Rob, I'm so sorry. I know you treasured these books. I have, too, but that doesn't mean that I have to keep them forever. I will always love you, but you are gone now, and I'm trying to create a new life for myself and space for a new future--with fewer things.
Click here to read about the 52 card project and see the year's gallery.