We recently read a quote from the scholar and author Umberto Eco that stood in contrast with a comment a gnarly customer made in our shop. The good author Eco was commenting on his huge personal library. His library apparently contains thirty thousand books. While we stand in deep jealousy of this curated marvel, we also had this in mind when some asshat came into the shop and exclaimed, with the unconscious confidence that only dunces exhibit, “How could you possibly read all of these books in a lifetime?!?” Puff, puff. At this point in our retail life, we just smile darkly and plan revenge. He left soon after.
We recalled Eco’s comment that his epic library was not meant to be a mirror of his knowledge, but (to paraphrase) a project of hope and curiosity revealing all he does NOT know. It is meant to be read, but moreover, it is meant to claim the territory of the UNREAD. This is an important distinction to us, one completely lost to that very dumb man in the shop.
Now, of course, it could be argued by meager brains that putting this opinion forward benefits two booksellers like us, as we could retire on the purchases of Eco alone. We could retire, after an extraordinary life creating such a jewel. Yes, encouraging people to buy more than they read in a life does help pay the bills. If you’re so lonely in spirit that this is all you see, then we leave you at that monied alter and will be on our way. If you DON’T just see a scheme on our part, and know that you, like us, follow an unquenchable curiosity to discover, create, and appreciate, the marvelous and mysterious things in this world, then you’ve heard the same call as we have and perhaps the good Eco himself, in that your library, much like ours, is FULL of books you have not read. It is all the better for it.
Why would someone take the extraordinary and fascinating possibilities of a pile of books and reduce them to a sad autobiographical utility? Why put a metre on pleasure?
Isn’t there a narcissism in a purely autobiographical library? We love that Rob Gordon in High Fidelity organizes his record collection autobiographically, but isn’t that also a sign of his arrested manhood? Isn’t it kinda pointless to only keeping books you’ve read? Aren’t we just being self-absorbed when shouldering the guilt created by our many “to-read” piles?
Sure, we relate to the narcissism. We’ve spent afternoons reclining languidly by forest ponds, admiring our reflection. Who hasn’t? But utility? What nefarious Protestant Work Ethic is at play here? Do we not like books with pictures in them too? Is it a hangover of some ghastly puritan ethos that shames us into ignoring the possibilities of a wildly unread library? Can we not go beyond the simply aspirational self and become true explorers of ideas and stories? We think so.
We must.
This is why we should collect with inhibition, restrained only by means. When we go to other towns, we go to their bookshops. When we go to bookshops, we look for the loved, the new and the unfamiliar. When we enter our library at home, dog-hair covered as it may be, we are faced with reckless choice, not a just mirror. These books are seeds of the future. They are promises made, by ourselves, that the future will be awesome. It doesn’t need to be today. It doesn’t have to desperately cling to the present. No, that to-read pile is a dream we haven’t yet enjoyed. We love it’s gigantic, colourful pile of spines. We love FORGETTING what we’ve meant to read. Then one night when we’re bored, or melancholic, or hopeful, or WHATEVER, we can go into that pile and by like, “Yeah, A HISTORY OF CASTLES!” We forgot we bought that one. We remember the shop. That day. The taco we ate. Then we are happy again.
Here’s a few for your pile, if you’re feeling adventurous this aft’.
All the best,
Jason and Vanessa
