Throughout packing to move to a new house on Friday, my recurring thought was: when and why did I acquire so much stuff? I’m not alluding to the two thousand books that were carefully, lovingly boxed up for the relocation. I can rationalise the books, satisfactorily at least to my wife and daughter, who more than share my passion for reading. It was the other stuff that made me feel bilious: casual (mostly minor) purchases, gifts, evidence of complacent consumption. In theory, I am revolted by the seduction of consumerism, shopping turned into a pastime rather than the acquisition of needed goods. In practise, I have been seduced into a near-bovine acquisition of needless baubles.
Resolved, I partly alleviated my biliousness by making several expeditions to charity shops and the local dump. Unpacking items, in the same disposition, has lead to further similar journeys, and a sincere intention to continue to unencumber myself of under-used possessions. I am resolved to build a stronger resistance to the allure of the market-place
Last night I began to unbox my books, and shelve them in what I have pompously termed ‘the library’. Is it conceivable to unpack a library without recalling Walter Benjamin’s admirable essay? Although the boxes of books are meticulously labelled, alphabetically by writer’s surname, I am shelving them unsystematically, with no attempt of sorting the books by name, genre, colour or any other classification; they are being shelved as randomly as is humanly possible. Am I nuts? How will I ever find the book I am seeking?
I want fortuitous discovery; to enter the library seeking a particular book and be waylaid, hijacked by an author I haven’t read for ages or perhaps at all (such examples are all too abundant in my collection of books). The randomness may drive me nuts and find me within a month staying up into the small hours to impose order. Already I am enjoying the juxtapositions thrown up by a lack of order: would Edward Said enjoy being nestled up to Hannah Arendt? Perhaps not, but it brings a smile to my lips.