(See previous post.)
A month after moving to Philadelphia, I can devote sufficient mental bandwidth to the matter of unpacking my books. Physically moving a library, or any extensive set of books, not only offers new juxtapositions, new combinations, new shelving arrangements, even when the bookcases themselves have been moved —but also a chance for reflection upon what this particular collection of books can mean.
In September 2021 Mary Beard posted a short essay about weeding her books (paywall) in preparation for retirement from Cambridge University after many years. She asked: does anyone have any advice? and I responded. I indicated what kind of criteria we employed in my library when we undertook a massive weeding project in 2015 (in which we shed tens of thousands of redundant volumes).
Then I wrote to Mary more personally: a personal library is a personal expression of loyalties, history, hopes, even disappointments. I asked her:
- Does this particular book remind me of a significant individual? (colleague, mentor, friend, family)
- Is this a book that I've always had (since childhood or adolescence)?—and I just can't bear to send it away because it reminds me of where I came from;
- Is this a book that I have a realistic chance of reading in the coming years? --both in my professional field, and in other subjects that I find interesting;
- Is this a book I wish to retain because of a future project I seriously intend to undertake? (not just "someday" but a time more specific).
Using these criterion I weeded my book form approximately 1,000 to just under 500. I packed them well, in smaller boxes to avoid back-breaking lifts—and the movers looked at me with some dismay anyway.
When I unpacked and shelved these books in Philadelphia, I was reminded, of course, "Oh, I really want to read that" even if it's several years old and by now thoroughly reviewed. I could also resolve quirks: why were volumes of fiction shelved in different bookcases? I could now put the fiction together, as well as biographical books, and books by a few particularly beloved authors, whether famous (Tolkien) or less well-known (the late Frederick Buechner, RIP).
I can't report finding any particular surprises, or sudden amazing insights. I affirm several long-standing interests (Old English language and literature; classical writers; Karl Barth; seafaring and sea travelers)—and that feels good. Since I'm in a new community where I know a few people, but not many, these authors, living and dead, provide partners for imagined dialogue.
Beyond all that, I can affirm the power of learning well-grounded in life, an integration and differentiation of points of view. What might Kierkegaard have to say to Colson Whitehead? Virginia Woolf to P.D. James? This is the inherited power of formative education in the liberal arts —an idea or ideal (or set of ideals) now passing out of practice or respect. These voices (living and dead) do not sort themselves neatly according to contemporary ideological commitments or political tribes—and thank God for that!