They Say You Can Never Have Too Many Books Beside Your Bed…

Wednesday is about books. And reading. And writing. Today, the bedside book piles…

Who says that by the way? What is their name? I want it!

Here is a small collection of books that sit by my bed. Waiting. There is a bookmark in one or two of them already. They are placed with aspiration, as much anything. Some of these books are on loan from the library, they are not overdue, nor will they be. But it remains to be seen if they’ll be read. Others have been here for a year or more already. I bought that Bob Dylan book the day it was released. I was excited. His Chronicles Vol. 1 was so good. And the news of a new Dylan book — finally — after all those years was almost too much. I fit the profile of a total Dylan bore, so why not grab it and just devour it right? Well, I was able to achieve the first part, no real issues there. But the second bit has me stumped. The book just doesn’t feel very good. It looks good. But I can’t get into it.

No worries. One day I’ll find my groove with it. I’m currently reading a book about the making of Black Mirror. It was written so long ago there was only a couple of seasons, three at most. No silly pick-a-path movies and lacklustre later seasons. It took me ages to get into the Black Mirror oral history book. But now I’m there I’m really enjoying it.

Books will wait for you. I’ve said that before. Many others have said it, and in far better ways, and long before I ever thought about saying something along those lines.

But, look, that’s just the spillover of the books that sit by my bed.

The real pile(s) is like this:

And it’s also like this:

That’s the book shelf that hangs right next to my bed, mood-lit, and ready for aspirational bookmarks.

Again, some of these books are very new. Some are getting close to a couple of years on that shelf. Some were sent to me, others were bought brand new, close to the day of release. There’s some pre-loved/pre-owned ones in there, and a few that have been plucked from the main shelves in other rooms of the house.

Katy and I will often recommend books for one another. We’ll go find them and present them. The way a cat might offer the remnants of a mouse. These are gifts. They are meant with love. They sometimes start to hang around like bad smells.

I am a big fan of the spiritual cleanse, or maybe it’s a philosophical cleanse, or just why not both? Anyway, from time to time, I have to ditch some of the books in the house, or some of my records, or DVDs, or CDs. Then I buy back certain copies, and all sorts of new and old things I never had, or once thought about owning.

I’m in the middle of sorting out a few books to biff.

People love to tell you that they can never get rid of books. They keep them all. And you’ll regret it if you do move some of them on. They say all this. These being the same people of course that tell you that you can never have too many by the side of your bed. They are sure you can never have too many all through the house. But that’s their (usually fictional) house. Or it’s their very small idea of what a large collection constitutes.

You lot know we are mental for books in his house. Mental.

The kinds of lunatics that go on holiday to America and return with close to 70 new books. No joke.

We buy books all around New Zealand too.

But as I said earlier in the year, buying books and reading books can be two different things:

And, look, my problem isn’t that I no longer read as much. I’m still getting through 100-200 books a year. My problem is thinking I need to hang on to certain books for the ‘eureka’ moment of finally sitting down with the chosen title; the one that finds me in the right moment. The one that whisks me away for a day.

Especially as I’m a fan of the Kindle. And an avid visitor of the library. I just also happen to really fucking love books, and maybe nearly as much as I love buying books, and being in bookstores, and thinking about books, and remembering recommendations, and, and…

Problem being, my mind is like a browser clogged by having too many tabs open. My brain jumps from all the books I feel I have to read to all the movies I want to still see, and then there’s the music that I want to return to, and the writing I like to get done.

Some of these things go together. But not all.

And the bedside reading shelf has been sadly neglected for most of this year. A few new titles added. A couple I’ve managed to read and relocate. But now, I’m studying it mostly for the books I could add to the boxes for the next wee spring clean, or mid-winter sale…

Which is possibly sad. But also, it actually isn’t.

It’s this, actually:

So, tell me, what’s your bedside table look like when it comes to reading material? We have a couple of hundred books in the bedroom. Only the bathroom and kitchen have smaller book collections in them than our bedroom. It’s not even the place where all the “To Read” piles live, or where the newest books to arrive in the home go for a first stop. That’s in other piles in other rooms, of course.

We know we have a bit of a book problem. But we also have many solutions. And if, and when, we’re in need of looking to find the next solution…well, there’ll be plenty of books for us to still consult, won’t there?