Earlier this year I had a serious book cull and got rid of loads of books that I knew I wouldn’t read again but had hung onto just because they were in sets… or because I thought I might want to look at them again (knowing, actually that I wouldn’t)… or because they had been expensive when I bought them. I took them to a charity bookshop where I knew they would be fairly priced and bring more money into the charity.
So now, I’m looking at my books again, and the books I have pulled out to take to the charity shop were ones which had belonged to my uncle; he had been awarded them as prizes when he was at school in 1929; I will never read them, they have no actual value to me or really in themselves, but maybe someone might want to read them or own them, so in my spirit of casting off things I’m only hanging onto for sentimental reasons, I am putting these books in the charity shop bag, and some time in the next couple of weeks we’ll go to the shop and I’ll donate them. I still treasure the memory of my uncle, and often think about him… having or not having books he was given when he was fourteen won’t make any difference to my affection for him.
Having done this… I might look at the rest of the books I have… maybe their days are numbered too!