So I'm preparing to move into my first home. And with moving comes packing and with packing comes obligatory review of all objects in one's possession and after 6 years of canadiana, history-themed university studies I was shocked (okay, reminded) to rediscover books on Modern Latin America and Modern China among my collection.
No need to fear, Tim Cook, Arthur Lower and the symbols of Canada and its Canadian publishing houses dominate the shelf - and that's the way it will most likely always be, but what about these outliers? What to do? Admittedly the books on Modern China and Modern Latin America are quite heavy (especially the former) and I know I've barely cracked the spine of either. If, after almost three years on this same bookshelf I have not cracked the spine of books that are very much outside my realm of study and interest, what should become of them?
Should they be offered to one's friends via Facebook or Twitter? Should they be forgotten and sent to the dumpster? Although the answer I'm leaning toward is none of the above - I still don't quite know why I feel like the books need to accompany me on this next step of my journey called life. I continue to acquire books like the sort by Tim Cook and Arthur Lower and all those maple leaf loving volumes - and at a rate that I cannot keep up with. I have yet to read books received for birthdays and Christmases of old and I continue to ask for new additions to my bookshelf.
My relationship with reading has been a long one. The first chapter book I remember reading on my own was one in the long series of Bobsey Twin books that my father bought for me from second hand book stores across Nova Scotia. One night, as usual, Dad and I were reading on my parent's bed - one chapter a night (or two), and then he couldn't go on - it was the end of his day and so the book lay beside him - forgotten. I was wide awake and keen to keep reading. So instead of waiting for Dad to read out loud to me I took the book back to my bed and began what would be years of reading into the night. When I told him the next morning he was, in my memory, quite upset and insisted on finishing the book himself as well to know what happened. Until I was assigned an abridged version of Les Mis (en francais) in the 10th grade that's the last time I lay on my parent's bed reading a book out loud with my Dad.
I read so much - from mysteries (Bobsey Twins and Nancy Drew), to childish stories (the Sweet Valley High/Twins saga) and built up an impressive library of my own. Today the fiction is in short supply and the non-fiction seems to rage and make an impression. Packing up that last box of books this morning I realized how little of it I'd actually read. Why do we collect books? Why not just go to our local library? There's something comforting about a bound book. Not that this is the point but I really despise the idea of reading an entire book on a tablet. I love being that person on the bus who whips out their paperback book and removes the tasselled book mark to the chagrin of those around her.
Once I've moved into my new place I have a few changes to make aside from some paint colour. One of them is getting back into the habit of reading. My bus ride will be a bit longer than it is now, giving me the perfect opportunity to always have a good book in my bag - no matter how heavy it is. That said, I might leave the massive copy of Loyal She Remains - A History of Ontario at home for rainy days. I hope I'll be able to start enjoying reading again after 6 years of trying to enjoy the articles and texts assigned at school. I've tried so hard to always love reading but one shouldn't. One should enjoy it and try not to force one's self to read, simply to complete the task. Some days it's just too tempting to watch an episode of Sex and the City instead and if that's the case - that's what I'll do.
I know this has been a bit all over the place but so am I. My books are divided amongst numerous boxes, my mugs are all either dirty or wrapped in newspaper and I don't even have a pen left on my desk. In a few weeks I hope to be a bit more settled and ready to get back into the reading scheme of things - and I hope that will also influence the writing side of things - as my mother always told me - to become a better writer one must read. In this day and age that doesn't necessary mean paper-bound books, but for me that's where I'm going to start again and see where it takes me.
Next week I'm taking my boxes to the east end, and my bookshelf will be re-organized. Not by theme, not by topic and not by author. It will be organized by read and unread. And I will work through that unread section no matter how many new additions it receives over the next months and years. And that, will never end.
