What’s the first thing you do when left alone in an unfamiliar sitting room? In my case I look at the bookshelves – those vital clues to someone's tastes, interests, and sometimes their pretensions too. In ‘Stalker’ I touch on this when describing how the character Viola assiduously curates her bookshelves to reflect the persona she is constructing.
But most of our bookshelves are different, because we are not all Violas. My bookshelves, for instance, are a mish-mash of books that were gifts, or hardbacks, with the paperbacks tucked away on the shelves at the top that are not so deep. I have always thought that hardbacks signal the serious reader who actively supports authors by buying books as well, but I don't think that's an identity issue. I have lots of titles on Kindle too, but the Kindle is for aeroplane reading, or breakfast when I don’t have to worry about keeping the page open while I butter my toast.
Nonetheless, I’ve decided it’s time for a cull. I'm having a Viola moment after all. ‘1001 Paintings you must see before you die’ and ‘The Travel Book’ will go to the second-tier bookshelves or the Oval tube station book exchange. And I’ve already returned my children’s university text books on philosophy and history that sat there for too long, suggesting depths of knowlege I cannot claim. 'The Shock of the New' keeps its place however because that's an authentic record of my time at art school.
Which still leaves me with a load of books I’m unlikely to read again, but which I keep because I enjoyed them once, or because they are reminders of past times in my life. Like the ceramics books, full of beautiful illustrations, and a renewed reference source now I'm making pots again down the road at Morley College. Or the many paperbacks with age-yellowed pages in the spare room, there to help visitors combat jet lag in the small hours.
Finally, back to what I want my bookshelves to say about me. And here I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s vital to retain a mix, because that’s the sum of who I am. Better to forget the artifice and keep the John Grisham that reminds me of the holiday in Greece, alongside my treasured 'Brett's Colonists' Guide', and 'Mr Lear' which shows what really good writing is. Let the books speak for themselves rather than for me.
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