You Can't Quell the Beast

I was told in passing today the statement "I would love to see your bookshelves". Little did I know the impact that sentence would have on me. After working in the book industry for the past 12 years, I have acquired a collection to be envied. However, after organizing and sorting for 40 hours a week, I have little (if any) patience for my own shelves. I would imagine that if my shelves were actually worth looking at, they would need to be in impeccable order, so I came home tonight with the grand plan of sorting and alphabetizing my numerous bookcases. During the drive home, I imagined myself as John Cusack in the movie High Fidelity (based off a book, mind you) with his hundreds and thousands of record albums piled around him as he attempted to sort them chronologically from his life. It was a great thought. Only now, as I have two empty bookcases and hundreds of books piled on the floor, do I realize how naive I was. The sheer volume, if not the desire to subdivide the categories, is enough to drive anyone crazy. Fiction, and non-fiction. Fiction, Mystery, Sci/Fi and Fantasy? Non-fiction, memoirs and biographies? Should I separate the science and nature from the philosophy? Does poetry and essays go with fiction, or in their own category? I have also been presented with quite a few repeats already. How exactly did I purchase or acquire two copies of The Fool's Progress by Edward Abbey, as well as Lucky by Alice Sebold (which I have not even read), or Evening by Susan Minot (also not read!)? Back to the original problem though.... I have piles upon piles of books on my floor, and I am not feeling at all like John Cusack. This monster of all tasks, that I have reasonably put off for years upon years, is now at the point of no return, yet has lost all of my lofty and romantic ambitions. Who's to say how long these piles will remain. Yet, the books are mine, and they are to be loved and admired no matter where they are. Even if I need to step over them every time I want to leave the house.