Books. Ahh books. Ironically, I find it hard to put into words exactly how I feel about books. Well, succinctly, at least…
When I was 7 I finally got through my first chapter book all by myself. The book was called The Secret Valley. It was set in the American prairies and my Nana had bought it for me at an op shop. I can still visualise scenes from that book today, though I’ve never read it again. From then on I spent many afternoons and weekends lying in bed reading story after story. I read any Enid Blyton adventure I could get my hands on. I kept Selby’s Secret a secret. I picked a path in Choose My Own Adventure books. I was grossed out by Paul Jennings. If you put it in my hands, I read it. If you left it anywhere in my vicinity, I read it.
Even as a young child I remember hoping I’d have a reading daughter one day that I could share all these tales and adventures with. And this is where the problem began. I’ve always found it very difficult to get rid of a book I’ve enjoyed. Sometimes even books I haven’t enjoyed. Just in case someone wants to borrow it one day, or just in case I decide I need to read it again, or just in case my imagined reading daughter wants to read it one day. You might have worked out from reading this blog that I’m a real ‘just in case’ person. I have a lot of things just in case.
This year, already, I’ve managed to part with a small pile of books, but I don’t like my chances of making a significant dent. A book is also one of my favourite op shop scores. Especially if it’s a book from one of my self-imposed reading lists.
Books are easy to get second hand and they’re often very cheap, too. Even fairly recent books can often be found dotting the shelves of op shops. I’ve never been overly concerned about the possibility of not being able to find that book that I want right now during our BNN adventure.
I am making an agreement with you from right now. I am not going to buy any more books for the rest of the year. It actually hurt me typing that. And hopefully in that time I will make a dent in my three shelves of unread books. (I secretly have a lot of other unread books on the other bookshelves, too.) I’m sure I’ll find this harder than the idea of not buying anything else this year, but it’s really time I got a handle on my book buying.
With nerves a chattering,