One-In, One-Out, Books Excepted.

The sound minimalist rule should not apply to books.

An inventory of possessions grows if left unchecked. Per Parkinson’s Law, and in line with George Carlin’s observation, stuff will expand to fill all available space. You need more space. Then it fills again. One-In, One-Out rule can help arrest the spread. It is a simple directive don't acquire a thing until something else is recycled.

It works, but not with books. Not for me, anyway. Books are enchroaching on empty surfaces of our boat. A Kindle would resolve the clutter. I own one, and I love it. My quick reads, guilty sci-fi indulgences, and technical books fill the hard drive. I read these books once and will not touch them again. If I am to reread a book, I buy a paper copy. I buy paper copies of esteemed books and paper copies of books by authors who have taught me something before.

I am not sentimental about the medium. I have no special affinity with the texture of the pages, the smell, or the heavy feel. I buy hard copies for their margins. They are the perfect place to record thoughts in the context of author’s ideas. I write the notes in ink perpendicular to the lines of text. They document my journey through books marking points of personal evolution.

I pick the old books off the shelves sometimes and leaf through them. The notes catch my eye at random. Some are illegible; I wrote them in bed or leaning against the wall. Many I can read but cannot follow the old ideas. Others revive seismic concepts, jolt poignant memories, or recall people who affected my thinking at that time.

We packed books into boxes in the basement storage before leaving our house last year. I leafed through many, read my notes on the margins, then slotted each tome inside the box. In Grunbaum, “to think the Universe owes you, an individual, a meaning is the height of arrogance.” Still true. In Incompleteness, “The quiet mathematician upends the world. Is it always the quiet ones? I talk too much.” Kurt Godel was a brilliant man. In War and Peace, “Pierre is a fucking idealistic moron.” I changed my mind by the end of book two. In Bolano, “Benno Von Archimboldi, lol, I should call my dog that.” My dogs get weekly nicknames.

The last book I packed was Richard Dawkins' "The God Delusion." I planned to bring it along but changed my mind. "Confront people who insist God is the only path to ethical living." I still agree, but today, I would start such a note with "Ask people why they think..." Time taught a modicum of tolerance. Books taught nuance. It is good to have the margins to learn from the past.

The books are overflowing the four tiny shelves we have on the boat. They make it feel like a home. But I will have to let them go and toil through choices of which to keep. There is still room for a couple, so I am putting it off.