I'm considering getting rid of the enormous steel desk I have. I don't work at it. Or maybe I should just get rid of all of the stuff on top of it so that I'm more likely to work at it.
Certainly, it is time for a purge. I never look at those back issues of Modernism/Modernity, as much as I think I should. Two of those desk organizer thingers contain papers I haven't looked at in weeks. How important could they be? And I think I've never read a single copy of The Believer. In my closet, chaos has spread itself thick. Why do I have so many things I never wear or use?
The answer to all of the whys is that one can never tell when something might be useful. This attitude makes sense when books are involved. Perhaps one day soon, I might need a quotation from Middlemarch. It's unlikely, but the possibility meets the minimum requirement of keeping that book on the shelf. Books do decorate a room, as someone said once, and a book may also be lent out to a friend who—should she read it—will be improved by at least that much. (Perhaps I agree a little more with Arnold's "sweetness and light" principle than I'd like to admit.)
No comments:
Post a Comment