It has been a long time since I have read so few books in one year. In addition to the measly 28 books I finished in 2024 I did not finish maybe an additional 10 or so. Even pushing that number up to 38 would have been one of the slowest years on record since my 20s.
The following things may have been part of the problem:
I spent longer on books that I eventually abandoned than I would have in past.
I decided on June 3rd to sell my house in DC and move to Minneapolis. This diverted both mental and physical focus from reading.
Once I moved to Minneapolis in August I found myself with a social life. (Mission accomplished.)
I’m not beating myself up for my poor performance, but it’s not something I would like to repeat in 2025. It’s already feeling like a more readerly year.
2024 sent me even further back into the wayback machine than previous years. I’ve always been prone to read older fiction. Then Tr*mp came along in 2016 and I wanted to read stuff that existed before anyone knew who he was. Then Covid happened and the perpetual snowday feeling of almost a year and half of lockdown had me craving old fashioned cozy even more than ever. Then John died and that had me searching for more comfort. And now fuckface is back in power. Will I ever read a new book ever again? Hard to know.
There were also a lot of rereads in 2024. Out of the 28 books I read, 17 of them were rereads. That is a little bananas.
As I think most regular readers will know, I sold my house in DC and moved my butt back to Minneapolis, a place I haven’t lived in for 24 years. At some point I will do a post about that, but suffice it to say for now, I love pretty much everything about my new life.
I was lucky enough to find a condo to rent that has a den that actually has some built-in shelves. But, as the pictures you are about to see will show, I don’t have near enough room for my collection of books. I hear some of you saying “Time to weed your collection.” But I have cut as far to the bone as I am willing to go. I have about 800 unread novels. No way I’m getting rid of any of those. About 10 years ago, I greatly pared back the novels that I have read–I limit myself to keeping only those I think I may read again. No matter how much I may have liked something, if I don’t think I will read it again, it goes.
Where everything used to go.
49 boxes ready to move half way across the country.
The reality of not having near enough room starting to set in.
I gave up trying to be methodical. I just wanted to get the boxes out of the house, so I was just shoving books wherever there was room.
Stacking them on the shelves with short edges out was necessary to get as many off the floor as possible.
Nothing in any kind of order.
I decided to get as many of the novels that I have already read out of the way by shoving them way up here. Accessible only by ladder, disheveled at best, and not in any order.
I increased capacity by adding one additional shelf to each stack. You can see that one of the rows is just plain old MDF. What you see on the main part of the shelves are all the novels I have yet to read. There are additional novels that I’ve already read tucked away in those somewhat useless cabinets.
Most of my non-fiction unceremoniously stacked in a corner of my coat closet.
Now my non-fiction collection is a bunch of books that I don’t necessarily plan to read. Rather, I tend to use them more as reference books when I want to dip into a topic. My non-fiction consists largely of books about the UK, literary stuff, books on books, some on musicians and composers, and other odd bits. And when it comes to those books I feel without them I don’t have a library, I just have books. These are the volumes that you might peruse when you go to a real library, but are unlikely to check out. Volumes that provide some serendipitous delights or interesting tidbits. Books to open when you want to be bookish but don’t have the presence of mind to sit down and read. I imagine these books in a big old room with a large table, a big dictionary or atlas on a stand, and maybe a globe nearby. You know, a library.
That’s what makes it so hard to see them stacked up like this. Not very easy to gaze at them and randomly pick up one that catches my eye. And don’t even ask me where my Trollope Gazetteer went to. Still, it could be a lot worse. It’s also clarified for me how much book room I want and need when I buy a house or condo eventually.
hogglestock 