Why is it so difficult to get rid of books?

Why is it so difficult to get rid of books? The logic of the situation is easy. There is simply no reason to hang on to a book that is:

• falling apart because of the acidity of the paper

• hasn’t been read for twenty years

• is a classic which can be borrowed from the library or picked up second hand for less than a pound

My rules of thumb for keeping books are similarly unambiguous:

• personal favourites that I really do reread

• multi-volume series which I reread from time to time (even if these are available from the library, it’s difficult in practice to borrow an entire series)

• books that would be difficult to replace

• books that are beautiful things

• practical books which are in active use

Part of the problem is that books, more than anything else (except, perhaps, photos), have the power to evoke memories*.

Sometimes it’s to do with the book itself: the knowledge or insight gained or the sheer pleasure of reading it (or both). Books that were gifts are a reminder of the giver and perhaps the occasion. Some seem to have the power to fix a particular memory: I can still remember buying “Brighter Than a Thousand Suns” in Birmingham whilst waiting for a connection to Leeds for an interview at the Polytechnic in my second year of 6^th form.

But why is it so difficult to get rid of a yellowing copy of “The History of Henry Esmond” that I bought at least twenty years ago for 32p and am very unlikely to reread? I can only think that it has become part of my personal environment: something that has travelled with me from one house to the next – something unchanging in a changing world.

*(I appreciate that, for some people, music might perform a similar function, but I don’t really do music – I would be no good on a desert island)