Books in the Garden

Cultivating a literary life, and thoughts about why building a personal library is a very serious business indeed

Photo by Liana Mikah on Unsplash

The Collection

A library is a collection.

This might seem a little obvious, so let me explain what I mean.

Collections always involve care and intention. Even a Cool Stick collection has some kind of criteria (is it cool because of the color? Length? Smoothness??). When art and creativity and intelligence are involved, this becomes even more important. Many collections are formed through years of study and effort, grown and cultivated with as much care as a master gardener puts into his garden.

Libraries are like this.

Even if you only casually collect books, there’s usually a reason why you choose the books you do; anyone who scoops up armloads of books just to decorate a space is rightly mocked—or even suspected of nefarious doings (I’ve read a mystery about someone who decorated a library with random titles just to pass as intellectual). Books are chosen, whether for the genre, author, the hope that the contents might improve your life somehow, the promise of a few hours well-spent, or nothing besides an intriguing cover. It has been said that the mere act of collecting books is a hobby all in itself, almost completely unrelated to the hobby of reading. This may be true, and I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing (unless you find books physically intimidating, which I do sometimes (see my previous post)). After all, a well-stocked library is a place of infinite promise, filled with worlds to escape to and new thoughts to discover, and there is something beautiful and almost transcendent about that.

We truly live in amazing times, don’t we? To have such easy access to vast amounts of books, undreamed of by our ancestors…

Anyway.

The cultivation of a library is something that ought to be approached with equal care and creativity, because it is such an intimate and magnificent part of life.

I’m not saying that there’s a right or wrong way to collect books—though there might be ways that aren’t as thoughtful and beneficial or ways that are better. There are obvious considerations: Space to store books, money to buy books, and the challenges of moving books (if you move frequently) are some of the most commonly mentioned. But there are other practical considerations too, such as if you might have time to read in the future, or if there’s a book you love and want to access again.

Bump it up a notch, and there’s the purely aesthetic way to collect books. These days, you can often choose different editions with varying covers, sizes, hardback vs. softback, even paper quality, or (if you like classics as much as I do!) antiques.

Ebooks and audiobooks are another version of this; they take up no physical space though choosing based on your time and taste and ambitions is still a factor.

One fun thing that should not be neglected in any library are books that we have not read. Not just books on the TBR pile (that’s To Be Read, in case you aren’t conversant with bookstagramese)—the kinds of books we really want to get to when we have a minute, after reading the next four or five on our list. But also books that are interesting and might draw in other kinds of readers. An excellent article on that subject can be found here.

“[T]he array of books in our home is intended for ongoing, well-rounded usefulness. They’re there to show us what’s possible, not venerate what’s already been.” — Scott James, “The Virtue of Unread Books”

And one final thing we should mention in this simple, top layer of discussing library cultivation is, of course, how books are stored, displayed, and interacted with on a daily basis. The very design of books is interesting and often pleasing, which makes a library a visually pleasing thing, whether arranged in tall dark-wood, simple white, or metal shelves, stacked on tables or the floor, lining the walls, tucked into corners, and on and on. They can be a celebration of the beauty of the collection, a way of highlighting certain authors or books, or even add to the ambiance of a room by the way they’re arranged (though I’m still very skeptical of bookshelves arranged by color!). There are more practical methods of organization too—by subject, fiction vs. nonfiction, author, or what might be of interest to particular readers such as children or visitors.

Content is another important consideration. The kinds of books we consume shape us, which extends from the actions and concepts portrayed down to the nitty-gritty level of the kind of language used. Swearing or foul language is absolutely off-limits for some readers, gritty violence or situations for others, while other readers may not allow “spicy” sexual content, etc., all for reasons personal taste or sensitivity. There are even limitations on what kinds of thinking, teaching, or relationships are portrayed, explored, or advanced in a book collection.

And all of this, I would argue, is good if approached in a thoughtful and considerate way.

Limitations—what we don’t allow, the lines we will not cross—are as important to forming a good collection as what we do allow, what we acquire for any other reason. There is a coherence found in keeping some things out. (After all, a shelf of British mysteries ought to include Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie, but certainly not Dashiel Hammett or Raymond Chandler.)

But as I say, this is all the surface level. The what we as book lovers collect, not the why or how or anything deeper. And interesting as it is to ramble on about the fun to be had at this level (and it’s definitely making me want to reorganize my library simply to revel in it!), let’s go on to something more substantial.

What is it that makes a really good library?

How do we cultivate a more beautiful and rounded literary life?

What if collecting books can be more than just a compulsion or hobby or artistic expression, but could become an intentional part of shaping your life into something full and grand?

Let me know what you think by joining the chat!

The Cultivation

Now, if you’ll allow me, I think I’ll get a little more personal for a moment, because… Well, for one thing, I confess I started writing this post a few weeks ago and I knew what I wanted to say then (if not exactly how I wanted to say it), and I’ve kind of lost track of that. Kind of. I still know what I want to get at here, though I might have to meander to get there.

I grew up around books, allowed to read and discover as I wanted (though some books required parental approval), with anything from classics and mysteries to biographies and science available on every shelf. Still, it took me a while to discover what I wanted to read, and still longer to know what I wanted to own. Now, I know: fantasy that’s epic and beautiful, mysteries that are fairly clean but dark, adventure that’s exciting and excellent, science fiction that’s wondrous and thought-provoking. And above all, books that are beautiful.

Along the way to defining my personal taste like this, I followed some strange little paths, from one literary landmark to another. The way C.S. Lewis talked about the many books he read and how “Le Morte D’Arthur” is a recent and unserious Arthurian work, but very nice on a rainy afternoon for its atmospheric spooky vibes. Or how Lord Peter Wimsey, in Dorothy L. Sayers’ mystery books, collects and quotes from ancient texts and from now-forgotten authors. Or G.A. Henty’s references to historical periods rarely mentioned, or Agatha Christie’s archeological mysteries, or funny Dickensian references in the Harry Potter series. And of course George MacDonald, that influential-yet-neglected author of fairy tales and rich novels!

These were all starting places, in their way, for how I’ve explored and built my library. Not just the physical library on my (extremely untidy) shelves or the collection on my Kindle app. But the books I always reference, those which form the foundation for my thinking and, in a very real way, my living.

And that’s what I really want to talk about.

Because following these paths has led me to a truer appreciation for history—where we’ve come from, the way our predecessors thought and what shaped their lives, hopes, dreams, behavior, spirit. Knowing that allows me to think bigger than myself and my own limitations: I’m as much a product of my age as they were, I laugh at the memes of our culture just as a reader of Jane Austen might laugh at hers, I struggle with problems in our society just as writers of the past had their own painful conundrums. We all try in our limited way to do what we can, and reading these old books (and new ones) has helped me be more humble in my outlook, and more hopeful in the ultimate craziness and beauty and sorrow and enchantment of the world.

Pursuing and defining my taste has allowed me to find the kinds of stories that thrill and enchant me, the books that have the look and feel of the shape I want my mind to have, my life to look like, my ideals to grow into. Smart mysteries inspire critical thinking and deep analysis. Whimsical fantasies invite a lighter look at life. Dark and gothic near-horror provokes a contemplation of momento mori. Science fiction gaze into a wondrous future and questions the consequences of our actions. Various nonfictions fill out thought and knowledge.

All coming together to form an unfinished collection, that I haven’t completed or even put together as carefully as I ought. But it’s a beginning. Enough, anyway, to make me realize what it is that I think a library ought to be.

The books we read, and even the ones we don’t and just know about, form a structure for our thoughts and then our actions. Should we not be careful and deliberate in how we select and interact with them?

There are millions of books out there. Millions of paths we might take as we explore and expand into the world of writing and thought that has come before us and grows around us. Infinite ways we might cultivate our libraries according to our taste and how we can understand our world better and make books an integral, important part of the soil of our lives.

Why not be as deliberate, thoughtful, and artistic as a gardener in the way we grow our libraries?

They ought to reflect our taste, what we (individually!) want to know about, what we aspire to be, the life we wish to form, the future we want to build. Books, words, stories can be the shape of our mind! So, let’s be as boldly purposeful as master gardeners in how we use books to form the structure of our lives.

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Those are my deep thoughts for now, and I would love to know what you think!

Have you pursued any particular kind of book collection? Do you agree with me that the building of a library is a serious business? Let me know.

Meanwhile, I have ideas for future rambles like:

• How to have a more literary life, aka incorporating more books and reading into your everyday.

• How to do actual research (I actually have no idea, which might amuse you).

• What kinds of books not to collect. (Some books are dangerous, but they’ll publish anything these days. Tsk tsk!)

• How to have a more literary life… As in, how to view your life and that of those around you as if you were in a book! (aka, main character energy, but make it not toxic)

• Why I really don’t like book clubs (but it’s okay—I’m just weird)

• And more!

Which of these interests you most?