Getting rid of books? Impossible!

Maybe a little creepy without meaning to be, I sometimes think about this philosophy grad student who sold me a few of his books. The circumstances were: I was finishing up my second year in the college and it being finals week, I procrastinated by going online and checking out what the other students were selling online. That's when I found this guy's posting. He was selling A LOT of his books. I went through the spreadsheet listing the books being sold and was amazed at the similarities in our taste in books. I already owned a lot of the books on his list but I also took down a list of books I wanted. I called him up and went over right away to purchase the books because after all, I had nothing better to do than to prepare for my finals.

I was on a high with my new books; I got the books I had always wanted really cheap. I found the grad student dude really cool, but couldn't stop wondering why he was parting ways with his books. Who does that? Isn't everyone's life goal to have a personal library filled with all the books they love? Isn't the library a visual collage of one's personal history? and therefore, aren't you really ridding yourself of your past, the essence of who you are, and all that if you are selling your books? And even if you are willing to sell your history, how can you put a price on that?

So I did ask him. I could've been very polite, of course, but me being me, I said something like: "Are you nuts? Why are you selling your books?" He explained that he was graduating that quarter, planned on traveling the world, and couldn't bring his books along with him... I let it go at that, but all these years, when I look at my bookshelf and think about that cool grad student who helped me add to it, I still wonder why he did something I can't ever fathom doing. The answer he gave was surely not enough. He could've stored them at a friend's house, a parent's house, a paid for storage place, etc etc. He would want them back eventually, and maybe this very day, he's regretting selling his "Being and Nothingness." Yes, I know he can buy another copy... but will he really replace every book he sold? Well, maybe he will... and maybe that's why he kept such a meticulous inventory with a spreadsheet and all... but even if you repurchase every single book, they are not the ones he went to grad school with and thus less valuable.

Admittedly it's been awhile since I obsessed over why someone who obviously loves books would sell them. But a few months ago, I thought of him again. I was moving and I had to pack my books. And it was hard. The books are insanely hard to pack. There is no not standard size... and because they are rectangular prism-y and rigid, you can only fit so many into a box while having all this left over space. And and and, they are HEAVY! I guess not carrying more than a few books at a time, I didn't realize that they have a formidable combined strength. I ran out of boxes, then I ran out of my bags, then then... I just wanted to throw them away. I reasoned with myself, 'forget personal history. It's not that great anyway. Start anew moo, start anew.'

Yes, that was it! I was going to buy myself brand new books, get rid of the books I secretly hate (such as 'the elementary forms of religious life'), and this time, I'll be smart about committing to a book. I'll buy only the books I'll truly love and will love me back. No math or marx books ever. no lame books...

But I couldn't do it. Just couldn't. Even the books from way back that I don't particularly feel sad about saying good bye to. I don't know why. Some books I truly love too much, some books too pricey, and I couldn't bear the thought of going down in the number of books I own. So somehow (I don't know how) I dragged them all to my new place. The first thing I unpacked, of course, were my books. I put them into the shelves and felt complete. Since then I have reorganized my shelves and now I feel complete and organized.

Wow, what a close call! Now I understand the grad student dude and his impulse to unburden himself, but I also know that he regrets selling me his books. If he finds me, I'll give his books back... no wait, I can't. It's already mine. My personal history I can't part with.

knitting books

My summer knitting is sweater knitting. I would start a cardigan, discard the project for awhile, and return to it. There would be a hat or a scarf here and there but I eased myself into unhurried and meditative knitting.

Now that it's fall, my knitting is beginning to reflect the anxiety I feel about my life and adulthood. It's time for neurotic knitting of the gloves, scarves, and hats so that I can wear it right away and feel like a productive human being. Well, I am not really complaining. I do love the fall despite the anxieties. One of the permanent remnants of my schoolgirl days is that fall feels like a beginning with so many possibilities.

So I never find myself missing the summer (except for the beach). I am neurotic at heart and prefer the cold to the heat. As for knitting, I am definitely not a sweater knitter and glad to be done with that for now.

My favorites are gloves and mittens. Since I know very little about yarns, and cannot buy skeins of cashmere yarn, I like to just buy myself a craft store quality skein of wool and be able to finish a project with it. Gloves let me do that and they are pretty and complex without being too difficult.

I envision my life being filled with hundreds of knitted gloves... some funky, some practical. And since I now consider myself an intermediate knitter, I want a bit of a challenge too. And after a bit of fretting and searching, I found the perfect book:

Knitting New Mittens and Gloves: Warm and Adorn your Hand in 28 Innovative Ways

The patterns there seem fun, the pictures are gorgeous, and the finished products actually seem wearable. And and and.... the paper is shiny, the cover is pretty, the font nice, and the book smells really good.

I didn't know when I started to knit, that this craft would open up a whole new section of the bookstore to me. I guess I should have known when I went searching for a knitting instruction book and saw an overwhelming selection of pretty books. I honestly thought then that I would teach myself to knit from one book and then get all my patterns elsewhere. But how to resist knitting books esp when they are pretty art books for people who can't afford 100 dollar Matisse books?

So before I know it, I realized, in my last reconfiguration of the bookshelves, that I have a tiny but a growing selection of knitting book. So along with a virginia woolf section and an ethnography section, I have a knitting section. And for me, one way to define education is: opening up new sections in the bookstore, and creating more distinct sections in one's own library.

Arrrgh! I was so close to purchasing this book:

SO CLOSE. Was about to walk to the cashier at b and n.... then I reasoned with myself. I have enough knitting patterns for now to keep myself inspired. And I am not a sweater knitter. Besides, I should not be buying stuff right now as I need to pack.

So didn't buy it and now regrets it. The patterns are really beautiful; they are sweaters worth knitting. And they require very little of sewing up the seam. I hate to sew so it would've been perfect.

This book is definitely on my must-get list.

the cheapest teachers

In an effort to make this blog less whiny and more useful, I have decided to share how I taught myself some things with books. I am completely credulous when it comes to print material. I think I got this from my mom who will believe anything if it's in a bound book. And that has served us both well given that the print media is one of the more reliable forms of information these days. It is still important to have a discerning eye for a good book vs. trash, but that comes with practice and dictated very much by personal taste.

Anyway, when there is something I want to teach myself, a skill I want to acquire, I naturally turn to books. As mentioned, I believe in the power of books, but there were practical aspects too. Books are really the cheapest teachers.

So I've never went to cram school. And now own way too many test prep books. And I've taught myself how to knit from a book or two and still prefer my patterns from a book than an internet source. I started off with some frustrating books, but now have found the books just right for me (and I think for many others) in teaching myself how to play the guitar. I don't sound so horrible anymore (woohoo!).

I have also failed with books. I tried to teach myself how to cook from books, but alas, I just have absolutely no interest or talent in the kitchen. Of course if I were to invest more time in this endeavor, I may succeed. I've also had partial success teaching myself to draw and paint from books. I've learned a lot from the books and instructional art books are wonderful to look at (and to smell--oh the paper is so good)... but I find that for fine arts, I like to learn in a classroom setting.

Other odds and ends: I've taught myself the little bit of logic I need for the LSAT, as well as the LSAT, from a books (and thus can go on forever expounding my opinions on that matter). I have taught myself the English grammar never taught in my secondary school from a workbook. And one of my hobbies is to do workbooks (because I like to fill out forms)... so I have a physiology coloring book (with really good content) and a couple of Spanish grammar books I am chugging through for fun. Because I like getting and doing the workbooks so much, I like to sign up for standardized tests. Okay, this is where I stop leaking the crazy info.

But well, I think I am ready to share now more specifically how some of those skills were acquired through books--an idea that hit me while I was writing an email to Laura about knitting. So wait for it... I will give out completely unsolicited opinions and advice on how to learn skills from books. It will have to be personal in nature--I can only write about the books I have encountered and not ones I've never seen or read no matter how wonderful they may be.

i heart ny

Reference: The World in a City: Traveling the Globe Through the Neighborhoods of New New York. By Joseph Berger

I started reading the above book and I am really excited. The book reads like a NY Times feature article (maybe it's a placebo effect--the author writes for the Times). And I am enjoying comparing how many of my observations match his.

The first chapter makes me want to get Kebabs and hummus and lentil soup. yummy. I don't think I had any Mediterranean food in NYC! So I started thinking about Hyde Park food. Ceders and The Nile for Mediterranean food.... but my sensory nostalgia also drifted to the Edwardo's wings, and the Pocket's bread. I miss my comfort food (Soupy Meal... hold the green onions please + Thai iced tea) from Noodles, etc.

Well anyway, I am really excited about the book... I was worried it'd be a very corny one dimensional cheer for multi-cultural-ism. But so far, it's quite sophisticated and lovely. Now is it accurate? I think so... but I don't think I will know for sure until I read about Flushing. If his white person observation comes close for northern queens, I will trust him about the other neighborhoods.

_________________

Reading too much was much warned against in the 18th century... which we today find so silly since reading too little is the epidemic of the day. However, I do wonder if I read too much at times. It's a way to escape and I do often vow to read my sorrows away. Well, to be completely honest, I don't read too much... it's that I spend too much time with books. I just love books. The binding, the paper, the font, the weight, the possibilities.

I was absolutely ecstatic today when I saw, waiting for me on the library shelf, Predictably Irrational. I have been wanting to read that book ever since I read that NYTimes article about keeping too many options open. But I was just waiting for the paperback to come out so that I wouldn't have to pay 20-25 dollars. I do much rather prefer (trade) paperback books. And now I won't buy the book at all. I mean it's probably a fun book, but not something I'd buy to read again. Aww...

Still, I am looking forward to reading the book... but should I read it now or should I wait to finish one of the four books I am currently reading? What do I do when I'd rather read that book more than the four I am currently reading? No no, I'll be disciplined and wait since I know too well that I feel uneasy when I have five actively reading books.

I. am. so. neurotic. Will I always be? Or will I grow old, dull, and, well, stable?

really long books

I have an ongoing list of books I want to read. Some books have been on the list for years, some dating back to high school. The reason why those lovely books can't get off the waitlist? They are too long. I want to read, for example:

Gone with the Wind
Middlemarch
War and Peace

Korea's place in the sun
A people's history of the United States

The interpretation of dreams
Being and nothingness

and

The Einstein and Virginia Woolf biographies.


Well, when I think of a book, I think 300 pages +/- 50 pages. So I am just not sure if I can get involved with a 500+ pg book. That is a huge commitment, and I know it won't be a monogamous relationship. If I want to finally get to the longer tomes, I need to either learn to read faster or work on my commitment issues. Both seem very challenging.

But I am dying to read some of the books listed above. So I've trying out a system where I am simultaneously reading 3-4 books at a time, making one of those 3 or 4 books a really long one. And it's sorta working for now, but I still feel some books get neglected.

Why is nothing in life easy, automatic, etc? The most basic skills, maybe especially those, need a lot of work. What to eat... when to sleep... how to talk to people... how to get things done efficiently... how to stay healthy... how to love... hard hard hard.

Reference: Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger

I read about 1/3 of this book back in the tenth grade when I was very much in love with Franny and Zooey. But for some reason, I did not remember a single detail as I read Nine Stories last week. Even I am guilty of advising students who don't like to sit still and read to try short stories, but I must say it's a pretty dumb advice. I have trouble with short fiction and I suspect I never finished this book in high school because I was just not getting it. Short stories are dense. They are usually bizarre. And I have to admit, sometimes I get to the end and feel nothing. And being as vain as I am, I don't feel a sense of accomplishment that I feel when finished with a book. No no... maybe it's not because I am vain, but because I am so neurotic. I collect and hog. So finishing a book lets me add it to my list, a collection of books read. But I currently don't have an ongoing collection of short stories. If I were to start one, I'd probably like short stories a lot more.

Well, so I liked the book. Some stories I liked more than others. The ones I especially liked were:

A Perfect Day for Bananafish
For Esme--with Love and Squalor
De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period
Teddy


Wow, that's half the book.

Well, my favorite was De Daumier-Smith's Blue Period. I guess I can relate to it the most, this taking detour, having a quarterlife crisis, coming of age story. It helped me indulge both my fantasies about getting an absolutely brand new life, and being an artist. And I absolutely loved the letter he wrote to the nun.... because it was so stupid, so immature, so inappropriate. And because I know the impulse to write a letter like that when I feel very much connected to someone I barely knew. And I am afraid, oh so embarrassed, that I probably have written and email or two like that. I have also received and email or two like that. And of course it made me feel uncomfortable and it's the kind of letter you don't reply to and feel slightly guilty about. I'd say when the guy decides to let the nun go, he became an adult. But that's just me, trying to turn everything into a coming-of-age story.

People--mostly adults, maybe only adults--told me I'd know when I become an adult with no longer a trace left over from adolescence. And well, it had happened. I don't remember the details of it anymore... but maybe it happened a couple of years ago. I distinctly felt adult one day. That childhood was no more. The very air I was breathing felt different. But now I think we never grow up because I don't feel adult anymore. I am just pretending... and reminding myself constantly that I am an adult, independent, responsible for all the mess I make, but none-the-less have to make my own decisions adult. Did people--mostly adults, only the adults--lie to me?

Today, I helped a student write the lamest essay about how a book makes you experience a world different from your own. It was so lame because it is so true. Says Virginia Woolf (to me today):

"The library's always the nicest room in the house," she quoted, and ran her eyes along the books. "the mirror of the soul" books were. ... she considered: Keats and Shelley; Yeats and Donne. Or perhaps not a poem; a life. The life of Garibaldi. The life of Lord Palmerston. Or perhaps not a person's life; a county's. The Antiquities of Durham; The Proceedings of the Archaeological Society of Nottingham. Or not a life at all, but science--Eddington, Darwin, or Jeans.

Between the Acts

Of course she notes that none of these books helps with a toothache, but books are nonetheless magical.