Gone to seed

I read a New York Times article late last year about personal libraries and different motivations for amassing them. According to the author, various schools of thought hold that personal libraries are 1) a self portrait of one's brain (especially useful for attracting a mate), or 2) an emotional and totemic history of thought and creative development, or  3) a repository of books 'to read' in the future, a store of knowledge for whatever awaits. 

All of those motivations for accumulating books are true for me, and are a facet of the strong tendency towards bibliophilia that is a legacy from my parents. I've resigned myself to having lots of books; I try to let the silly or mistakenly acquired ones go, tend to retain nonfiction and pass on (or borrow) fiction, and have generally enjoyed building a library. I love a good book sale. 

This past year my books have been largely in storage, and I've missed them.  I didn't really need them, but I missed them. In some ways they are a mirror. In other ways they are companions, guides along the way. I like having them around. 

This summer I'm working again at QuakerBooks of FGC, generally as a bookstore staff person - cashier, customer service, etc. Part of transitioning to Gathering at Virginia Tech has involved unpacking and processing loads of used books, which are a new inventory phenomenon for the FGC bookstore. 

Most of the used books came from the personal library of Elizabeth G. Watson, a Quaker writer, feminist, activist and minister who lived a long and inspiring life and died in 2006. The books donated to FGC are heavy on poetry, with loads of Rilke, Tagore, and Dickinson, as well as feminine/feminist spirituality, and Christian theology and spirituality. There were a lot of titles I was very tempted by. 

I knew Elizabeth Watson only by reputation, and admittedly have not read any of her books (Guests of My Life, Wisdom's Daughters, etc.), but experiencing this piece of her library gave me enormous appreciation for her brilliance,  creativity, and spirituality. I have some sense of her now, whereas before she existed only in a mental register of "well loved and respected Friends." 

While we were unpacking and sorting the books, Harriet and I talked about how it was a little sad to see them all scattered, especially because so many were marked up, full of notes and personal messages. It felt like breaking up a collection. 

I had spent the evening wondering if this is what would become of my library when I'm gone - divvied up and donated by my heirs. 

But then I decided that it was fitting. Perhaps when book lovers die, we really go to seed: all the books we have loved, or intended to love, scatter to the wind to take root and grow new ideas in someone else's life, in someone else's library. Perhaps that is a good way to live on. 

I picked a few of Elizabeth's. I look forward to their fruits.