what really counts?

Finished reading Alice Hoffman's "The Ice Queen" this week. The main character observes about her co-worker -- a librarian, "What people read revealed so much about them that she considered our card catalog a treasure house of privileged secrets; each card contained the map of an individual's soul."

At last count I've managed to divest myself of around 130 books so far in the Great Purge of 2005. If you recall, however, that was the first pass; the second cuts deeper and as expected it's been so much harder. And then I read Sam Allis's column (The Observer) in last Sunday's Boston Globe. "Letting go" detailed his seemingly spontaneous housecleaning of his own library. I wondered just what motivated and, more importantly, what sustained his momentum to finish the job.

"What made me commit this literary bloodletting? Acid reflux? A spasm of humility? Why the sudden and intemperate purging of possessions that have, over the years, become part of my landscape, indeed my identity?

Because it's time. I no longer want to be defined by my books. (Just how I want to define myself remains unclear.)"


He, like Hoffman's librarian, sees the "great mysteries" of people's lives reflected in the books they read or keep. Yet one day he was able to act decisively on his own collection. I'm great at starting things but less enamored of the plodding long haul with no end in sight, so Allis's example came at just the right time. He's emboldened...no, challenged me to see this through and ask yet again, (How) do my books define me?

I'm still holding onto many of the "I wish" variety or "I'd like to" sort. At the same time, I suspect that my mother's death has played some part in my impulse to begin clearing out. At the very least the suddenness of that loss has been a wake-up call: we're not guaranteed more time. What on earth (interesting choice of words) do I think I'm going to do with the remaining stacks? Even with all of the time in the world I won't read or use them all. That's a fact. Time to "get real" as my mom used to say.

Maybe three categories this round: Instead of topics/subjects, I'll choose with an eye to who I used to be, who I am now, and who I want to be. I've parted with so many of the used to be's, but still more need to go the way of the decades-old prom dress. As Hoffman says, there are stories I carry inside me that don't require physical reminders. Who I am now is a grey area because I'm sensing that my story might be taking a different direction. Who I want to be requires fewer props.

Re-reading this gives me pause. Endless thinking and analyzing is a "prop" and can paralyze me, forgetting Sam Allis's example. The just do it approach has been working for me in other areas lately and life's too short to be bogged down by things that really don't matter. Okay, so every remaining book is fair game because in the words of my late great mother, "What's the worst that can happen?!"