The Leaning Tower of Pisa

I’ve got a thing for books. Some might describe it as an obsession; I prefer to call it a lifelong passion. There’s something comforting and reassuring about books. A simple stroll along an aisle of books in any decent library is enough to evoke feelings of wonderment and awe.

Bibliophiles generally fall into two categories: those who love books for what they contain; others who love books for what they are (as objects). I flit between both.

Books as objects are admirable treasures. Traditionally made books, with elaborate bindings, are relished as products of skilled craftsmen; they are pleasing to the eye, to the touch, and to the nose (have you ever noticed how every book smells differently, or that their smell changes over time?) They are good to have around, to look at, or to hold.

Then there is the content. The ‘mind-dump’ from inspired and inspirational people, the ‘literary-offspring’ of millions of people. An astounding 206,000 books were published in the UK in 2005 alone; to get through them all would require a reading rate of almost 4,000 books per week. There would never be any time to read previously published works.

Books contain so many thoughts; so many ideas; so many paragraphs; so many words. There is so little time.

Still, I am all for giving a lot of reading a go. Over the past few months the pile next
to my bed has been stealthily, quietly growing. It has gained sufficient height, sufficient wobbliness and is positioned at such a precarious angle to now warrant the prestigious title of ‘The Leaning Tower of Pisa’.

All in all, over 50 tomes are part of this architectural feat. They are a randomly positioned, hierarchical-free lot (there’s not a hint of the traditional literary canon, no rhyme nor reason; in fact, Marcus Clarkes’ His Natural Life is sandwiched between Hilary McPhee’s Other People’s Words and Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, all three are stacked on Marion Halligan’s Cockles of the Heart and Deborah Dean’s The Madonnas of Leningrad. I am hoping that there will be no holidays to Nepal in the near future as I have no idea I am going to extract that particular Lonely Planet from its current position). And I am determined to get through them all – eventually!

I think I’ll start now. If you hear a crash, and a few choice words, you’ll know I’ve just extracted Edmund Burke’s A Philosophical Enquiry!