BooksPosted on 2003/08/29 22:29:39 (August 2003) by john. What do your shelves say about you?
Recently, in one of my increasingly half hearted attempts to "have a good thorough tidy up", I decided I ought to finally try and sort my books out. They'd been distributed randomly between a number of still un-emptied boxes from when I last moved (and in fact the move before that) and it was frustrating not being able to put my hand on one when I wanted to.
Having recovered as many as I could find in the boxes, I then organised them a bit. With all my books in neat little piles on the floor, I sat down and wondered what they said about me. I imagined being an obscure minor celebrity on Through the Keyhole and tried to figure out what hints they would give away about me to the other obscure minor celebrities on the panel.
The first conclusion was that I don't own many books. There are about thirty. I might have a few more hidden away in dark recesses, are being "borrowed" by friends, but basically thirty is about the strength of it. At twenty six years of age, that means I've acquired just over one a year, which is pretty poor. In reality this picture isn't quite accurate. At various times in my life I can remember having sold, given away or even thrown away a large number of books, so this paltry figure doesn't really account for every book I've ever owned, just how many I own now.
Anyway, to let you what I've got (although why you've even read this far without giving up baffles me), I have grouped these books into five rough categories.
First up is straightforward fiction. I would have thought I owned a fair few of these, but actually, this category seems to amount to a rather meagre four. One of those is a bit border line as well.
First off, the border line case, is the scripts from all four series of Blackadder. I guess it's in the fiction category, but it's not a novel of course, so it sits a bit uneasily with the rest. This, I think, was a rather inspired present from my Mum, which I have thoroughly enjoyed reading through (at least the second and third series, I was never that hot on the first or fourth) several times over the last couple of years. Obviously it's not quite the same experience as watching the actual episodes on TV, but at least I can quote the well worn lines with some degree of authority.
Second is Hackers, a compilation of cyberpunky short stories. I borrowed this for a weekend from Tim about seven years ago, and haven't yet got around to giving it him back. In a similar vein, number three in the fiction pile is All Tomorrow's Parties by William Gibson, which I remember being a very enjoyable read, despite not really having any discernable plot (I often get this feeling with William Gibson books). I had read Idoru before this, which I'm convinced I bought, but don't seem to own any more.
The fourth and final book in the very modestly sized fiction pile is It's What He Would Have Wanted by Sean Hughes. I read this while I was living in London, and as a lot of it is set in London, I found it all the more enjoyable.
The next pile I made is a set of books which all loosely fit into the category of humour (but non-fiction). Three of these are in a similar vein, sort of anecdotal in style, and all incidentally were presents. These are On Second Thoughts..., Stupid Movie Lines and The Mammoth Book of Oddballs and Eccentrics. From these I have gleaned some superbly useless information. For example, the immortal line "If you don't eat people, they will eat you", one of the many bizarre quotations from Stupid Movie Lines, not to mention the apparent fact that Alexander Graham Bell tried to teach his dog to talk, a nugget of purest uselessness gleaned from the veritable gold mine that is Oddballs and Eccentrics.
Next in the humour section is the immeasurably fantastic The Meaning of Liff by the late great Douglas Adams along with a chap called John Lloyd. For anyone that hasn't already had experience of this book, I really can't emphasise enough how utterly fantastic it is, in fact I would even go so far as to say it is more of a work of genius than Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy. You see Hitchiker's is a wonderful journey, a genre defining masterpiece, but once you've finished it, well, you've finished it. The Meaning of Liff, on the other hand, can be with you every single day of your life, a kind of companion to help you deal with your existence, which is, after all, as Mr Adams would have put it himself, quite staggeringly pointless. Every time I turn my pillow over at night I think of Abilene, every time I'm at the end of a meal out with friends I dread the inevitable Bodmin, every time a ticket conductor checks my ticket I watch joyously as the Didcot falls to the ground, and every time I eat messily I know there'll be Glossops. I really can't think of a single book that has ever become as ingrained in my conciousness as this one.
The remaining three books in my humour pile are all almost identical in concept. I seemed to have got stuck in a rut for a while of reading books where the author has taken on a "zany" drunken bet, which had spiralled out of control with hilarious consequences. As lame as this concept sounds, I have really enjoyed these books, enough to read what effectively amounts to the same thing three times over. First is the famous "Are You Dave Gorman?", by none other than Dave Gorman (of course) along with his pal Danny Wallace. I'm not going to go on and on about it, it was just fantastic, and really has to sit alongside The Meaning of Liff as one of the greatest bundles of paper ever produced. The Independent on Sunday called it "...a life affirming, heart warming chapter in the history of English eccentricity", and this to me sums it up rather perfectly. Everything about it felt like it was a book written with the sole intention of me liking it. I genuinely felt happier about being alive after reading it, and made a promise to myself to try and return to the days when I was a bit more spontaneous and random. Similarly pleasing was Tony Hawks' excellent Round Ireland With a Fridge. I then followed this one with Tony Hawks' next book, One Hit Wonderland, which, to be honest, I didn't like quite as much, but still, a nice way to pass the time while I was reading it.
I have a small pile of Science/Philosophy type books. Fuzzy Thinking by Bart Kosko, borrowed from my brother ages ago, which was actually very good, but I never got around to finishing. Next E=mc2: A biography of the World's Most Famous Equation. I bought this primarily (in fact almost entirely) because at the time I was living in London, and the guy who wrote it lived in the flat below mine. It was one of those strange things - I saw the poster, and thought the name, David Bodanis, sounded familiar. I was sure I had seen it before. I realised I had, in fact, on letters in the lobby of the building our flats were in. This was actually a great read, very accessible, and it did give me a real understanding of what the equation means in real terms, as well as being filled with lots of human stories that were very interesting in themselves. It was nice as I was able to have a chat with him about the book one day, funnily enough as we were both picking up our post. I guess I should have asked him to sign it, but it would have felt a bit weird what with him being my neighbour and everything. He asked me if I thought he should write more about one of the women that had featured in the book - Emilie du Chatelet I think, as he said he had enough about her for a whole book by herself. I wish I'd had a more intelligent opinion on the issue - I just nodded and agreed basically.
The other book (only just) in this pile is Kafka for Beginners. I've had a vague interest in Franz Kafka for a few years, having been intrigued by passing references to him in films and the like. I like this series of books, very easy to read, so much so I feel like I'm reading a child's book some time. Still though, much better that than something that is so heavy going I end up not bothering to read it at all. After all, I'm supposed to be reading for entertainment.
The next (and biggest) pile is my collection of cookery and food related books. Ten in total, and I have a feeling I have a couple more hidden away somewhere. We have The George Bernard Shaw Vegetarian Cook Book, Pocket Encyclopedia of Herbs, At Home with the Roux Brothers, The Book of Tapas and Spanish Cooking, World Food Cafe, The Return of the Naked Chef, New Vegetarian, The Japanese Kitchen, The Encyclopedia of Fungi of Britain and Europe and Viva Italia!.
I really love cookery books. I don't actually tend to follow the recipes very often, but just use them to get ideas which I then adapt to my own ends. I'm secretly rather proud of the fact my copy of The Return of the Naked Chef is signed by young Mr. Oliver - I went to a book signing in some London book shop one day after hearing about it on the radio that morning. I was more or less the only man in the queue, and therefore not unlikely the only person that went there because they liked Jamie's actual style of cooking. I'm also very fond of The George Bernard Shaw Vegetarian Cook Book - it is somehow reassuring to know there were still vegetarians over a hundred years ago. Obviously, what with Buddhism and everything, vegetarianism has been around for thousands of years, but what I liked is the idea that a single individual came up with the notion that eating meat is wrong all by himself basically, even in that age.
The finally category is sort of Miscellaneous - there are two foreign language books, Japanese for Busy People, and and Italian phrase book. Also in a similar vein, an old book my grandmother found in a charity shop Japan, It's History and Culture by W. Scott Morton. I found this very interesting, although was a bit frustrated my my apparent lack of ability to remember non-essential facts. So, despite having recently started to read it for a second time, and can only really remember odd bits and pieces from it. Still, on my most recent visit to Japan, I found the odd familiar name cropping up when in museums, castles and so on.
The final three books kick off with PhotoMosaics, which more or less speaks for itself - I bought this as I was trying to write software to do this at the time, and never really managed it satisfactorily. Next, Hugh McManner's Backpacker's Handbook, which I've had for absolutely ages and somehow seem to have avoided losing when all the other books went. Finally the Good Beer Guide 1999, a bit out of date now, but still handy now and again when trying to find that elusive "nice little pub".
There you have it then. I'm not really sure if it does say a lot about me. I suppose in a broad sense it reflects my interests - humour, cooking, travel (particularly Japan), and the odd bit of vaguely intellectual material. It is surprising to me how little fiction I read - I'm pretty sure I haven't read any ficition in the last year at all, maybe not in the last two years in fact. I sometimes wonder if I ought to read a few classics - maybe some Dickens, just so I can interject a bit of enlightened conversation at dinner parties and the like.
Another observation is that there's not many female authors amongst that lot, and in fact, if I think back over the years, I can't ever remember reading a book (other than maybe cookery books) by a female author. I don't know if this is a telltale sign some kind of subconcious prejudice, or if it just reflects which authors target which readers. I certainly can't ever imagine me reading anything of the Bridget Jones' Diary ilk, and Harry Potter has never particularly taken my fancy either.
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