I have a dream. A vision, if you will.
There have been times in my life when that dream came close to being manifested… and then it slipped from my grasp.
The dream? Ah yes. A very simple one, really.
I dream of a room lined with bookshelves, filled with all manner of books. I dream of a comfy chair, a conveniently placed lamp, and a side table for my tea and my reading glasses (getting older). My dream looks kind of like this picture but… bigger.
At one point in my life, I almost had it.
I had four tall, dark-brown particleboard bookshelves. I had the comfy chair. I was nearly there—sort of. And then the minimalism bug bit me.
Over the years, I let go of a LOT of books. Mostly paperback novels, but also textbooks, non-fiction, cookbooks, all of it. This was largely because, from my 20s through my 50s, I moved. A lot. Sometimes across town, sometimes to a new city, sometimes to a new province.
Books are heavy.
Heavy boxes cost money.
So every time I moved, I decluttered. I let things go.
Books also take up space—valuable real estate. Yes, I would have loved to keep every single book I ever owned, but that would require at least two library rooms. And that’s just not financially viable.
Somewhere along the way, I also discovered the joy of the local public library. You can borrow books, read them, and then give them back. A small miracle, really. And then, of course, there is the mixed joy of the e-reader. So many books at my fingertips… but it’s never quite the same. Scrolling through a list of black-and-white book covers isn’t the same as running your finger along a shelf, looking for something to read.
All of this leads to the idea that recently rocked my bibliophile world: the anti-library.
What the heck is an anti-library?
Simply this: rather than a personal library being a collection of books you have read, an anti-library is mostly made up of books you have not read. Instead of being a monument to how smart or well-read you are, it becomes a reminder of how much knowledge lies beyond our grasp.
Umberto Eco popularized the idea. His private library contained around 30,000 books—most of which he had not read. He suggested that we think of books less as trophies and more as medicine. When you’re not feeling well, you go to the shelves and choose a book that might help. In that case, more options are better than fewer.
Which, frankly, doesn’t take much to convince a bibliophile.
At this point in my life, I’m limited to one bookshelf. Many of the books are research volumes for my espionage-related blog. The rest are a mishmash: wild plant books, hiking guides, and old favourites I refuse to let go of. Some of those favourites now live on my e-reader, but a few aren’t available in that format, so they stay.
But if I want a true anti-library—or even an anti-library bookshelf—I’m going to need either a bigger shelf or fewer already-read books. Because the truth is, I rarely re-read most of what’s on there.
It may be time to reconsider the purpose of my bookshelf.
I’m forever taking photos of interesting books I come across in bookshops—on the ferry, at the airport—with the intention of getting them from the library. But there’s usually a 55-person waitlist, and that just takes the wind out of my sails. Sometimes I look for them online, through used-book sites, and sometimes I don’t.
Perhaps it’s time to embrace the anti-library.
Or at least… the anti-bookshelf.
