For the Love of Books
My shelves are groaning under the weight of the books they’re carrying and my conscience is groaning under the weight of the guilt it’s carrying because all these books are not being read. It’s not that I don’t want to read them, it’s just that when I take in the sheer volume of books and the range of topics that they cover I am simply overwhelmed and at loss for where to begin.
I have had a bit of a clear out – there were books sitting on my shelves that I knew come hell or high water I just would never read. But even then it doesn’t seem to have made much of a dent to what still sits there.
I rarely buy novels (non-fiction?) these days. My heart doesn’t leap wildly as it scans down the list of books recommended by leading magazines/booker prize/Oprah’s book club etc. It may do a little dance at the sight of a novel by a (but not all) Nigerian writer but that’s about it.
No, the sort of books that make my heart soar and that I splurge on – and I blush as I admit this – are self improvement/ self development books. God, I’m a sucker for them and the prettier the cover/the print/the paper the more of a sucker I am. I don’t know what it is about books of this genre that excite me so – perhaps I am secretly trying to ‘find myself’ and just don’t know it? Or want to admit it? Or perhaps I think ‘someday I’m going to need that’, the latter has often turned out to be right.
Note to self: A strategy
I think what I need to do is make a list of all the books – unread – that I own and then tackle them one after the other as opposed to my current strategy of tackling three or four of them at the same time and ending up reading about five pages before putting them down.