I'm culling the collection. It's making me a little nuts. Carol
and I are moving from a house with 4600 livable square feet (plus
an oversized garage) to 3100 square feet plus a garage that will
fit two biggish cars if you smear Vaseline all over them. (There
will be another 350 square feet of livable space once our
contractor installs an air conditioner in the small garage.) We're
in our sixties now. We're trying to simplify and streamline, which
sounds easier than it is, simply because a good deal of it is
learning how to let go of Stuff.
The 21st Century may well be remembered as the beginning of the
Age of Stuff. We've always had a certain amount of Stuff, and one
of the legacies of the Industrial Revolution is, of course,
allowing poorer and poorer people to have more and more Stuff. When
I was a young teen, I thought I was as rich as Croesus (quick,
without googling him: Who was Croesus?) simply because I had a
typewriter, a telescope, a pair of walkie talkies, and a VOM. Now I
look around the house, and I ask myself how many standard Croesuses
the collection represents.
China has a lot to do with the Age of Stuff, as does eBay. Stuff
that used to go out on the curb can now be bought by people who
really really want just that precise model of waffle iron.
(What used to be considered trash I often think of as "parts
units.") I found a NOS hair curler on eBay precisely like one that
Carol had owned and loved in the 80s. Better engineering means that
the Stuff we have is often better Stuff, and careful people like
Carol and myself have an instinct for being careful with things,
making them last longer and longer. We still have the blender we
got as a wedding present in 1976, and we still use it several times
a week. 70s cars may have been crappy. 70s blenders
So we're keeping the blender. But what about all the rest of it?
That is pretty much the current challenge. The Big Truck will be
loading up some time late November or early December. We've already
taken several carloads of Stuff to Goodwill, and given the best of
it to our friend Diedre for her indoor flea market table. And damn
if the house doesn't look the least bit emptier.
The worst of it is about books. The last time I cataloged our
library, we had about 2500 books. We did an initial purge last year
and got it down to about 2200. I let go of Charles Platt's
Garbage World, and had the fleeting insight that it was
symbolic. I gave away Lupoff's Sacred Locomotive Flies
even though it's my favorite SF book to make fun of. I got rid of
stuff that was badly written or simply a bummer, like Malzberg's
wretched Beyond Apollo. If I ever discover an aching
desire for bad SF, well, there's always eBay.
But really, it's getting tough. The "why the hell do I still
have this?"purge is over. Now I find myself on my rolling library
ladder, staring at the spines of books that, if not excellent,
actually have some value, or at least served me well at one
One time, sure. Often a very long time ago. I realize that I've
kept a lot of them for sentimental reasons, like my father's 1940
drafting textbook. My college career was a very mixed bag, haunted
by a lot of third-shelf thinkers who didn't know how to teach and
didn't like being challenged. Still, there were some gems in all
that dirt: I've kept some books because they were given to my by
Dr. Rachel Romano, who took a special interest in my talents as a
writer at a time when most of my knucklehead profs were telling me
deadpan that I should apply to law school. I look at some and ask
myself, "Did I ever actually read this?" Dr. Romano died in 1985. I
don't think I will do her any disrespect by putting her books in
someone else's hands. She was a wonderful influence in my life, and
the influence is what matters. The books are simply mementos. I
don't know who originally said this, but I've been saying it a lot
to myself recently:
Not all of your past belongs in your future.
It's true. Very true.
I've got about 75 books in the purge pile right now. A few were
easy pitches, being slim and having somehow escaped my notice for
40+ years, like Philip Slater's silly-ass tantrum The Pursuit
of Loneliness. Many were good books on science and tech that
are now simply obsolete, irrespective of their excellence, like
Pickering's 1001 Questions Answered about Astronomy, and
the 1990 first edition of Microsoft Computer Dictionary. I
had several books on film photography that clearly won't be helpful
anymore. Some are now sad, like Enterprise by Jerry Gray,
which is all about how the Space Shuttle was going to make space
travel easy and cheap and open up the road to the rest of the Solar
System. A mere handful are books that I literally don't remember
either buying or reading, nor, in truth, how they came to me at
Some purges reflect my changing interests. I used to read a lot
about ghosts and the paranormal, but I suspect I've long since read
everything useful on the subject, and many of those books are now
on the pile. (I made good use of some of that weirdness while
writing Ten Gentle Opportunities.) I'm culling my theology
shelves, which is harder. I got rid of my books on theodicy, and
all but one of Peter Kreeft's books, he being a crypto-Calvinist
pretending to be Catholic and saying stupid and damaging things
like "There are no good (that is, innocent) people." Sorry, Peter.
"Good" does not mean "innocent," and you disqualify
yourself as a thinker for saying so. I've finally come to a good
place in my (often agonized) quest for sane religion, so many of
the inspirational books I used as steppingstones are now
unnecessary or redundant.
The toughest calls of all are those books that contain some but
not always a lot of useful material. How much usefulness is enough?
I have a lot of books about the brain and personality, many of them
now pushing a quarter century old. Some of those books are
timeless. Many aren't. But in quite a few cases, the clarity of the
writing in the intro portions makes me want to keep them as quick
brushups, should I need one. Hard call. Intros matter.
I've made my career writing them.
And so on. We've done this before, and in fact, we've done it
every time we've moved. This is our seventh house. You'd think it
would get to be second nature after awhile. However, this
particular purge is especially difficult, since it's the first time
we've gone from a larger house to a smaller one. We designed this
house to have a lot of storage, because we knew damned well how
Stuff multiples over the years. The new house, well, it doesn't
have all the crannies and under-the-stairs places (no stairs!) and
this means we're going to have to be extra careful deciding what
survives and what goes to Goodwill. The hardest part of packing the
house has nothing to do with boxes, but in fact is all about how
much of the past will still have a role in our future. And if you
think that's easy, just try it sometime.