My babies!

I’ve been through it before. The dreaded cull. A move from Toronto to London. Yes, one of the two trunks shipped did contain books, but a lot of others were given away. Nine years later, London back to Toronto. Yes, one of the trunks contained (mostly the same) books, but at least half as many again were left behind. Four years later, Toronto to Vancouver. Hurrah, a moving company! Pretty much all books to with me. Nine years later, Vancouver to London – many books in boxes, many left behind here on the island. Nine years later (apparently, I have a nine, rather than a seven-year itch), London back to the island – many boxes of books shipped, just as many boxes taken to charity shops.

It was never supposed to happen again. My next move was supposed to be in a box (or a shroud). Surprise! My next move is going to be into a house that is already full of books. Some culling needed by both parties.

The weekend after we got back from France was the weekend of the annual Friends of the Library book sale. Not a lot of time for a very big job. I started with the nonfiction books in the diningroom. Quite a few of those were Mike’s – some held onto for sentimental reasons, some because I planned (I really did) to read them. Time to be honest about which of these books would actually be read (and how much sentiment remained). Managed to get three four-five shelf Billy bookcases down to two. Pretty good.

Time (although not much left) to look at the fiction in the front room.

Four six-shelf Billy bookcases with most of an extra row on top of each.

It wasn’t hard to make the first decision about what should go in a box.

As much as I have enjoyed the Reacher books, I kind of went off Lee Child when he agreed to sell the film rights for the first novel to Tom Thumb Cruise. That should have been the end, but it wasn’t. The end was in 2020 when he abrogated responsibility for actually writing the novels.

So, Lee Child in a box and one shelf cleared. I managed to get the fiction down to three and a half Billy bookcases, which doesn’t sound like much – until you remember the “most of an extra row on top”, which made it nearly the equivalent of clearing out one six-shelf bookcase. Not bad.

Time to look at the wooden bookcase.

Most of the bottom two shelves were filled with books I’d bought whilst working on my Birkbeck Media Studies degree in the 2000s – books which, for some unknown reason, I decided to ship from London back here during the last move. Turned out a friend who’s worked in the film industry was interested in the screenplay writing texts and the actual screenplays, along with a few others, so they’ve gone to a good home.

Then there were the Folio books Mike and I had collected in the 1990s. Some were definitely keepers. Some I’d read, but would never read again. Some were Mike’s and I would never read them. Somehow it seemed wrong to just give them away to a charity shop. So I took a picture and put it up on the local buy/sell/trade Facebook page.

I made $125, which went to my share of that big little piece of art.

Earlier this week I looked at those three and a half six-shelf bookcases and thought: I’m sure I could do better.

Obviously all the Rankins had to stay – even the Malcolm Fox ones. Obviously all the Mick Herrons – even the Zoe Boehms. What about Michael Connelly? Did I care about any of the novels that weren’t Bosch ones? Well, yes, the Jake McEvoys, but the Lincoln Lawyers (even with Bosch in them) and the standalones could go. Non-Harry Hole Nesbos? Gone. I enjoyed them at the time, but, honestly, am I ever going to read the Number One Ladies Detective Agency books again? No. Gone. In the S section the Salingers. How many trunks had they been packed in, how many tens of thousands of miles had they clocked? They are going nowhere except with me. On to the T section and there they were: the paperback editions of The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings trilogy, purchased and read in my teens, travelling in those trunks and boxes with the Salingers, clocking those same miles. Was I ever going to read any of them again? No. Into a box.

This, the second pass at the fiction, is a serious cull.

As I said, I’ve done it before (for a while there, every nine years, it seems). I don’t want to ever have to do it again. This better be the last time.