My Books Do Spark Joy, Marie

Okay, a disclaimer: I haven’t actually watched the hit Netflix show. But I have seen the memes and someone on Facebook relayed Marie’s advice to only keep three print books. And that hurt my heart.

I have loved books since I was tiny. They were my first friends, the things that brought me comfort and joy. In a family that was no longer exactly struggling but certainly not wealthy, books were the one thing I could always convince my parents to buy me at the store. The first place I was allowed to walk by myself was the public library, just around the corner from my dad’s barber. After elementary school I would find myself in the high school library, waiting for my dad to finish grading papers. And I learned to read as soon as I could.

Car rides, family reunions, overlong church sermons were all perfect moments to dip into a book. I always have one with me to this day. Just the other day, I was seeing a doctor for the first time. I had arrived a little early to make sure all the paperwork was filled out. Settled into a chair in the waiting room, I pulled out a book I was excited to dive back into, figuring I had at least 10 minutes. I had no sooner removed the bookmark than the nurse called my name. I was peeved, to say the least. I had counted on that time to read and it was being deprived of me.

All of this to say that I have a very intense relationship with my books. At last count, I had over 300 printed books in my collection. I’ve even started the process of moving my personal library to a lower floor of my house because my dad is worried the floor will collapse under my bookshelves.

Now, I do occasionally go through and pare down. I get rid of books that I’ve read and that didn’t impress me. I’ll reevaluate whether I’m ever going to actually read that 400-page tome on the Russian Revolution that I bought at a used book sale three years earlier. But, for the most part, all the books are in my collection for a reason.

There are books that I re-read with some frequency: a teen romance set during the American Revolution that I first read in 8th grade and which still makes my heart flutter; several books from a series of children’s “true ghost stories” that still send a shiver down my spine; the signed copy of “The Fault in our Stars” that I read in one sitting and nearly threw out a window.

And there are books I haven’t read yet, a lot of those to be honest. It’s entirely possible that I will carry these books from house to house and go to the grave without ever having read them. But they represent the things I want to know more about. They are touchstones for the pieces of history, science, art, or literature that I am curious about.

Why do I have 300+ books in this age of digital editions and public libraries? Because I have a dream. Someday, hopefully, before I’m old and gray, I will have a house with a room that is all mine. It will be lined with floor to ceiling built-in bookshelves. There will be a large fireplace and a big, comfy old chair. I will sit in this room, surrounded by the books I have been collecting since the day I was born. And to fill these shelves, it will require a large number of books, which I plan to have on hand.

Will I ever actually make it to this goal? Who knows. But everyone has to have something to work towards, right? And there are much worse things that I could be obsessed with. So, don’t tell me I need to get down to only three books, because it won’t happen. And if you ever need to borrow a book, you know where to find me!