No Mere Bibliophile

The madness – or is it illness? – returns.

The truly observant visitor to these humble blog pages will undoubtedly notice the list of books that I’m currently reading grows. Last August the list stood at a manageable four. It’s grown to nine. New titles flow in without a concomitant flow out of completely read tomes. The stack of books I’m currently reading (or intend to read “real soon now”) lengthens whereas my list of completed books enjoys no corresponding growth spurt.

I’ve always enjoyed reading. I can’t imagine how many books I’ve read in my life. Tens of thousands probably. I can't imagine life without books. But there’s a darker, more sinister aspect to my love of reading.

I must own books.

The madness began in fifth grade. Once a quarter, Miss Roberts - a battle-ax if ever there were one - would distribute to my class a Scholastic Books order form. Most of my classmates would simply toss the form aside. Not me. I read the description of each book carefully. I’d read each blurb a second time and a third. Had I overlooked one? During recess the order form exegesis continued. Then the book-buying urge would descend upon me. I would beg, cajole, harass, inveigle, nay, demand, my mother buy me books. She always did… four, five, six, seven books at a clip. Far more than I could ever read before the next Scholastic Books order form was distributed. She was my enabler. She let me read at the dinner table! No junkie was ever more strung-out than I was the day before the Scholastic Books order was due to arrive.

I still remember that hot August day at my grandparent’s house. On the back cover of one of their ubiquitous Reader’s Digests I discovered an ad for the Book of the Month Club. Whooooaaa… Get 10 Books For Just One Dollar! The ad beckoned like nothing I’d ever seen before. A box of Playboys could not have been more captivating, more enticing, more mesmerizing. Ten books… one dollar. A brand new book for just 10 cents. One thin dime. Never mind that I had to buy four additional books at the “regular club price” during the next year. For a dollar I’d get ten wonderful new books. Books to hold; books to caress; books to smell; books, maybe, even to read. Ten books for only a dollar! An eternity passed before the mailman brought me that first club fix. Only after many years did my peculiar tastes diverge from club offerings sufficiently to warrant a separation.

Over the years, I've joined other book clubs - the Quality Paperback Book Club, the Science Book Club, the First Editions Book Club, the Scientific American Book Club – all in a desperate attempt to quell the craving to buy and own books. It's never any use. It's always the same siren song: Ten Books For Only A Dollar…

Amazon.com completed my life as an addict. A job, a card, a site, a click- books arrive. Occasionally I whittle my stack of books to be read down to one or two. But it never lasts. I’ll continue to buy until I’m lying horizontal in that telephone booth. My legacy to my children: disposition of my library.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I think my wish list needs some maintenance.
K-