A New Library for My Books...

I moved my books to the new house this past weekend. It was, as it always is, an adventure. I am reminded of the story I told in one of my essays, the story of “my box of books.” But at any rate, it was delightful to arrange my books in a new order (or I should say, disorder). That’s one thing about my library—I don’t have any specific order save for some authors that I jumble together. Like, for example, I put all my Hemingways and Fitzgeralds together. Likewise, I put the Paul Austers and the Haruki Murakamis together. I can already envision people visiting asking me what order my books are in. The truth is that I like to (dis)order them because it tests my memory of recalling where they are when the time comes to pull a volume off the shelve again. I adore my books. I am totally in love with the motley bunch of them. My new studio is a place where I can envision spending the hours, reading (of course after doing my chores). I really can’t wait to have my desk and computer there now. That’s the next step.