{"id":2105,"date":"2011-07-22T17:39:00","date_gmt":"2011-07-22T21:39:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/julijasukys.com\/?p=2105"},"modified":"2011-07-22T20:30:45","modified_gmt":"2011-07-23T00:30:45","slug":"packing-up-my-library-a-love-story","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/julijasukys.com\/?p=2105","title":{"rendered":"Packing Up My Library: A Love Story"},"content":{"rendered":"

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The books that have surrounded me in this room for six years now go into boxes to make space for our tenants. The books \u2013 mine and my husband\u2019s \u2013 are all mixed together. Our collection includes books of theory from our student days, Lithuanian novels, linguistic studies of Sanskrit, Chinese literary anthologies, memoirs of Soviet politicians, Latin dictionaries, Greek histories, atlases, grammars, English poetry collections, academic journals, and entire shelves of bound photocopies whereby we reproduced the rare and out-of-print books that our respective research required.<\/p>\n

The books are heavy. They are dusty. I\u2019ve only managed to get a third of them packed, and already the hallway is full of boxes. And though I pride myself on my habit of discarding and donating things we no longer need \u2013 clothes, dishes, toys \u2013 I can\u2019t get rid of books. So far I\u2019ve only put five or six aside to discard, donate, or recycle. As I take our books from their shelves, I note with slight shame how many of them I\u2019ve never read. But even stronger is the pleasure of coming across much-loved yet forgotten books, books that have changed me, and volumes that made me want to be a writer.<\/p>\n

These books all around my desk provide a kind of record of my life, and of my husband\u2019s, whom I met in a graduate seminar on the language of poetry. We fell in love in the chaotic, sometimes grungy but wonderful Robarts Library at the University of Toronto. Even now I love that place, with its concrete walls and dim stacks, because it\u2019s where our life together began.<\/p>\n

Considering how oppressed and harassed (by bureaucratic tasks, thankless editorial work, and this heavy summer heat) I\u2019ve been feeling lately, I\u2019m surprised to find how much packing books lightens my mood. This dusty and tiring work has reminded me of how much beauty and pleasure words, writers, and quiet hours of reading have given me.<\/p>\n

It has also reminded me of love.<\/p>\n

At our wedding, my husband said to me, \u201cJulija, you are the book I read, and the light I read by.\u201d I think it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever said.<\/p>\n

I used to have a fat cat, obsessed by food, to whom I would say: \u201cFood is not love. Only love is love.\u201d Packing my library reminds me that, for us, books too are love.<\/p>\n

Happy summer reading. If the heat gets to be too much, invite your bookshelves to tell you a love story.<\/p>\n

(NB: For a really good essay on packing and unpacking books, of course, see Walter Benjamin\u2019s essay, \u201cUnpacking My Library.\u201d)<\/p>\n

[Photo: F.B. (pg 155), No 3061, page 11<\/a> Originally uploaded by Digital Sextant<\/a>]<\/p>\n

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