Books

It all started when I was 16. I decided that I wanted to have my own copy of all of my favorite picture books...you know, the classic and sentimental ones that evoke thoughts of my childhood like candy canes do of Christmas. Innocent enough. But somewhere along the line it got out of control. I am letting you all into my sick, compulsive world and showing you all how many books I have amassed in the last seven years. What you see below is a (relatively) complete photo-documentation of my book collection:





A special shout out to Grandpa Knapp who constructed the above bookcases, and to Mom and Cindi, who are loaning them to us.



Another shout out goes to the neighbors across the hall. We thought they were reverse immigrating, but 5 months later they still live across the hall. I guess some people just furniture purge...we found the above bookcase in the hall and were not too proud to snag it.





Above: The top of the hall closet where we keep the children's books.



Above: the bottom of our bedroom closet



Above: the shelves in our kitchen where we were forced to shove all of the cookbooks

And to prove to you all that this really is an obsession, I refer you to:

Barrett, Careen. "Books." In 50 Things That Really Matter to Latter-day Saints, ed. Britney Rule, 61-63. Sandy, Utah: Leatherwood Press, 2007.

“What’s that on your face?” she asked. Her facial expression made me a bit self-conscious. She leaned in more closely and laughed.

“What is it?” I demanded.

"Book,” she replied, “You have book on your face.”

We had just come from visiting a friend who had loaned me a book he’d just bought. I must have stuck my face in too far when I stopped to smell it. Yes, that’s right, I smell books. It helps me feel close to them. I love the smell of books. People keep trying to convince me that I am just smelling paper and dust. But even paper and dust smell magical when bound with glue and thread.

My love for books began when I was in high school. My grandmother was an English teacher before she died and my mother inherited her books. I learned how wonderful it was to have a home library. When I left for college I realized that I didn’t have books on hand anymore. I determined to remedy my situation. My endeavor to create a personal library had evolved into an obsession with bound paper. My battered and worn copy of Walden by Henry David Thoreau is one of my best friends. I also have a large German atlas that I love so much that sometimes I will hold it like a teddy bear or blanket.

I’ve realized that my books are an important part of my identity. Elder Douglas L. Callister said, “If we know the books located at the bedside, we know much about the man.” If you asked me to tell you a little about myself, I would be tempted to tell you to go scan my bookshelves. In my experience, one of the best ways to learn about another person is to read a book they love.

A friend recommended I read his favorite book, East of Eden by John Steinbeck. As I did so, I began to realize why we understand each other so well. On the other hand, my roommate loves Willa Cather’s books. This one piece of information convinces me that no matter how much I love her, I will never fully understand her.

Then again, who am I to complain? Very few, if any, people understand why I hold books, and smell them, and wear their dust on my face.