In Defense of Unused Entertainment: An Ode to Bookshelves

Recently, I started cleaning my domicile. But this isn't regular cleaning: the goal is to reduce the number of objects I have in my everyday life so that when I eventually move again, I have fewer things to bring. Getting rid of old clothes, old computer parts, and so forth. But one thing I cannot reconcile is getting rid of my books. I have two bookshelves filled to the brim, and that's not counting ones lined along the floor or piled up in corners. I could probably start a small library with the number of books I've collected.

Some of these books haven't been read all the way through, and some I haven't even read at all. So naturally, when I mention that I'm cleaning, I draw fire from several angles (mother, significant other, significant-other-in-law) all of whom immediately -- not unlike HITLER -- target my book collection for exile to the attic or, worse, the trash. And I can't bring myself to do it. My brother is also facing criticism regarding his own book collection, and from this exceedingly small sample size and my own mild sexism, I have formed the following statement: Women do not understand the importance of a large collection.

Sure, the bookshelf may look like it's taking up a lot of unnecessary room, and it's stocked with things you've either already read or will never read, both of which indicate that the book does not belong in your possession. But that's missing the larger point: The bookshelf is a much-needed avenue for self-expression and evaluation. It takes a lot of time to build up a good bookshelf, and the reason is that each book you add to the shelves constitutes an individual act in your life. At one point or another, you made a conscious decision to buy or accept the book, and add it to your shelf. Thus, a bookcase represents a compilation of all the passing interests of your life. My own bookshelf has a number of topics, from psychology to politics to engineering and robotics, and even a few about gardening and cooking, all coordinated to particular phases or interests that I've had over the years. The bookshelf is a public expression of that history. It's something to be proud of: when people see your collection, they can see what kind of things you either have been or are currently interested in. They see what you know, or what you would like to know in the future, and in so doing, they know a little bit more about you as a person. This isn't a Facebook or Myspace profile that you slapped together in an "Oh, I bet I'll seem interesting if I say I like this!" moment, this is a pillar of your life meticulously constructed over several years, financed with real money-dollars (or some crafty book-stealing).

A common complaint is, "But you've never even read this! Why keep it if you're never going to open it?" See, that's the great thing about the bookshelf: it's not just a compilation of history, it's a set of possibilities for the future. Again, the purchase of a book indicates an interest. Maybe I don't have time for it now, but it says that at some point, I would like to add this to the list of books I have read. It's a direction in which I would like to grow; maybe not now, maybe not ever, but the shelf is as much about possibilities as history.

The same argument can be adopted for a movie collection. How many of us look with pride at our collection of DVDs, movie box sets, television series, and straight-to-DVD-movies-nobody-had-ever-heard-of? The box art, the plastic, the arrangement of the obelisk of entertainment all contribute to a collection that was slowly built up over the years, each piece added by you. Just imagine if some wild-eyed harpy decided that your DVD collection was taking up precious cubic footage (or yardage, in which case, bravo) and condemned it to die a slow, dusty death compacted into a lifeless, opaque DVD wallet, to be shoved under the coffee table, never to be seen again.

Fuck that! Your DVDs, your books, and your CDs should all be on prominent display. When people come over your home and see your collection, their attention should be drawn to it. They should feel compelled to peruse your selections, to make a connection through an obscure book or movie or CD. They should feel the bitter pangs of envy that they have spent so little time creating their own bookshelf. But even if nobody has ever seen it, even if you never have company over, the fact remains: Your collection is yours.

Be proud of your bookshelf, and in so doing, be proud of yourself.