ENJOY books (1)
Today I moved house. It hasn’t been fun. Moving house rarely is. But one thing I do enjoy about the process is unpacking my books. It’s the first thing that gets done. Everything else can to wait. I try and work quickly, but books deserve time. They can’t just be shoved in any old order. Fuck no. That will not do. Novels have a shelf. Travel writing has its own little section, as does poetry and short story collections, you get the idea. I find the ordering of them quite therapeutic and they’re such a fucking joy to behold when they’re all there, neat and lined up.
But there’s an issue. Where I’ve moved to (the family home) doesn’t have enough space to have them all shelved. There is an unfortunate lack of bookshelves. In my opinion, there should be bookshelves where the numerous TV’s are…and the TV’s should be put out for the bin men or used as sledges when the snow comes. They’re definitely big enough. But none of that stuff is likely to happen, unfortunately.
Some of my books will more than likely have to migrate to the loft and the garage, and that fills me with dread. I’m a writer. I like to be surrounded by literature in my living space. It’s inspirational and beneficial not only to my work ethic but to my mood too. I feel happier when I’m surrounded by my paper and ink babies. They can lift me up. The thought of some stashed away in a cardboard box for months on end makes me feel slightly nauseous. Their spines could potentially be damaged, the corners of covers could be pulled back slightly, so the white of ‘what lies behind’ the coloured coat peeks out, and pages could become crimped and warped, yes, yes…I’ve seen it happen. Sounds terrible doesn’t it. I like my books where I can see them and touch them and smell them. But I haven’t lost hope. I’ll have them all close some way or another.