Trask Avenue

For a while now books have pushed hard against the boundaries of the house, threatening to burst through the walls in search of more space. It’s not the first time I’ve been through this. Most of my life has been crowded with books, although for a brief period I enthusiastically ran in the other direction.

About ten years ago I was possessed with a newfound desire to adopt a minimalistic lifestyle and living space. I craved air and light. I required clean lines and plenty of room for movement. I wanted to promote positive energy. What I didn’t need was to be tethered by bulky possessions, possessions like books. As a result I purged a lot of books, an action I have since alternately applauded and lamented. During the Great Purge hundreds of volumes were thrown away. I didn’t even donate them. (In retrospect that is what I most regret.) Included were a truckload of hard covers and more paperbacks than I could count. Books I immensely enjoyed and one-off reads were jettisoned. I cast aside the old and the new. I was frightfully determined and in my determination I became ruthless. Steinbeck and Fitzgerald ended up in the trash. The classic 11 volume The Story of Civilization by Will and Ariel Durant elicited no mercy. By the time the paper dust cleared about 90% of my collection was eliminated. Restraint and order were the fashion of the day.

Eventually I moved to a larger home. For a book junkie trying to reform his ways suddenly having more space to fill is about as red as a red flag can get. Several months after the move I stumbled upon a nice set of large bookcases on sale, solid wood suckers designed to last a lifetime. My furniture didn’t fill the house and I knew these would look fantastic. I envisioned populating the shelves with framed family photos, assorted decorative knick-knacks and a modest sampling of the best hard covers which survived the Great Purge. It would look refined and classy. And it did. Then while visiting the local public library to pick up new reading material I noticed a flier for an upcoming library book sale.

Alarms should have sounded in my head. A key to changing any behavior is to stay constantly aware of triggers which lead to that behavior and then avoid them. Remain vigilant. Once your level of focus wanes – and it can be for the briefest of moments – old habits will surely come crashing back. I had the fleeting thought it was probably foolish to browse this book sale, but my louder, reformed self argued otherwise. What’s the harm in looking? I was holding firm to the reins of the wagon; a few used books couldn’t shake me loose. Oh, the foolishness of misplaced pride! Looking back it’s like I was taunted by the old enticement of “The first one is free.” Although nothing was actually free, it’s remarkable how cheaply a few shopping bags can be filled with 50 cent paperbacks and one dollar hard covers. It’s doubly amazing how much stuff a few library book sales can yield.

I didn’t worry. Everything was under control. Until it wasn’t. Seemingly overnight it appeared as if every shelf was abruptly (and once again) overloaded with books of all stripes. It wasn’t a violent coup. Actually, it was impressively stealth and bloodless. Without a shout they simply multiplied in the dark passion of the night to restake their claim on my life. Now for every new book which passes through the front door the Army Corps of Engineers must be engaged to figure out a strategy which will allow it to be absorbed into the house without eliciting an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia.

The lovely Ms. Trask suffers from the same malady as me, although she’s never had the moments of doubt and change which led to the Great Purge. She understands her addiction with a graceful acceptance. When we moved in together she brought years of reading material with her. While this contributed to the overload, it by no means was the reason for it. I had already fallen hard off the wagon. If anything she made me more accepting of my dependence. Still, I have moments when I dream of restraint and order.

I mention this because today I’m looking at some of the presents we received yesterday. Between us another dozen or so books entered the house. From Patti Smith’s Just Kids to a quality edition of Steinbeck’s East of Eden (welcome back) to Jed Rubenfeld’s The Death Instinct to the latest Stephanie Plum adventure, the house has bold new tenants and space must be secured for them. Although I can’t envision another Great Purge anytime in the near future I think I finally can appreciate the allure of a Kindle, even with my reservations about the cloud.