Luc Sante, in the Wall Street Journal, on “The Book Collection That Devoured My Life” (coming soon to a theatre near you… well, with a title like that, it should be):
Having books crowd every inch of wall space in the room in which I entertained imposed a certain burden on the conversation, as if dead authors were leaning in, contributing dry, derisive chuckles.
My life is still in complete transition. We’re out of our last place, staying with relatives while we fix up our new place. Which means, every book I own, save a handful I put aside, are sitting in boxes, waiting to be unpacked, sorted, shelved, glanced through, touched, absorbed… the only part of moving I’ve ever really liked, and in fact I love that part of it — the tactile version of a hard reboot.