Habent Sua Fata Libelli , or The Many Ways in Which Feemus is a Big Jerk

What does the Delphic oracle say? Know Thyself? Well, Feemus must have missed that day in Inscription 101.

I decided to "work" from home today. Which means that I slept in, opened my laptop, got ready to go to the gym but didn't go, turned my laptop on, watched a little television, sat down at my laptop.
Read blogs. Checked box scores. Posted a blog entry (about the fresh, new issue of gay marriage). Checked how my fantasy baseball team was doing (about as well as the Mariners--some fantasy!). Read some more blogs.

Sigh.

But then I decided that since I was home, I would take care of the book situation. They breed, as anyone who owns a lot of books knows. They are taking over my living room. And dining room. And bedroom.

Today I am being ruthless. I will show those books no ruth.

There are some easy cuts: if you own four copies of Measure for Measure, probably at least two of them can go. Maybe three. But then there are the ones that just stymie me: how did I get them? Why have I kept them? What should I do with them? These fall into a few different categories:

1. "Classics" that I think I should own
These are usually books from classes that I have taken or classes I have taught that have historical (or even literary) value, but which I don't ever intend to read again. Uncle Tom's Cabin is the sort of Platonic form for this category. I will never read this book again, I don't like it, but I haven't been able to part with it. Because, you know, it's important.

Today, I am parting with it. With them all. At least, that's the plan.

2. The Totems
These are the books I know I may never read. But somehow owning them gives me the sense that I participate in their power. I may read a paragraph now and then (if there's ever a pop quiz on the opening paragraphs of Truth and Method, I'm all set), but mostly my relationship to them is one of magical thinking: If I own the complete works of Heidegger, I will somehow--without exerting any effort--know more about German philosophy.

For all I know, this may actually be working--who know how little I might understand German philosophy if I didn't keep these books collecting dust on my shelves? It's theoretically possible (but only just) that I could know less about the subject. But only just.

These I am keeping, vowing to read them.

3. The Pretenders
This is a somewhat, but not entirely, overlapping category with the totems. But with these books, the power comes not from the object, but from the visibility of the object. I couldn't, for instance, have people come over for supper and see that I don't own a copy of the latest Coetzee. It just wouldn't do.

This category is, perhaps, the "taboo" to the aforementioned "totem." Not owning these books represents a kind of transgression that I am not willing to make.

I'm exaggerating a little. Still, I'm not going to (re)read about 60% of them. They're outta here.

4. The "What the Hell?"
This is a broad category that encompasses all the books whose relationship with my shelves seems entirely inexplicable. Books of Portuguese poetry (I don't know Portuguese). The odd romance novel (no one in the house reads these). 5 copies of Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell. Five?? I don't even really like Blake.

Blake's gone. I'm probably never going to learn Portuguese well enough to read poetry, so they're gone, too. Although...I am getting to be able to read the signs on the buses that are in Portuguese. Mostly they are telling me to get tested for HIV. The Portuguese word for "narcotics" is "estupeficantes." Ok, ok I can't actually read the signs, I just pick out the cognates and fill in the rest from the English sign. I will never read that damn poetry. It seems like a nice language, though. Sorry, Portuguese poetry, but you're gone.

Oh, and the bosom-heavers are gone, too. All but one--it has a pretty sexy cover.

So, I have been sorting books and making some unpleasant self-discoveries. And I haven't gotten any work done. Maybe I should just throw in the towel and see if I can catch a rerun of Celebrity Fit Club on VH1. The wonderful thing about t.v. is how little it asks from you. You can watch all you want and it doesn't take up any more space in your living room.