There must be no more books. The shelf which holds the queue of ‘current concerns’ is 70cm wide and holds roughly 140cm of books. (Actually, there’s a couple stacked on top of some others now, so it’s especially bad). There is no more room; there must be no more books. It turned out, at the start of the year, that reading may be a viable hobby, which it hadn’t seemed before. This is the story of a philistine trying to relearn how to read.
Shelves need rules. Nothing can be added which would obscure any book already on the shelf (i.e. I have to clear the front row and then make enough room for a new book alongside, rather than in front of, the others). Anything new I start reading has to go via the shelf. If something really isn’t working, it can be abandoned (books last too long for bad ones to be endurable). The disease of philosophy means a lot of time is spent between books trying to devise rules for book order. Candidate rules include counting up recommendations, or making space as efficiently as possible, or some kind of randomisation (or worse, a meta-rule combining the three).
There’s no more room; there can be no more books. Even a sliver of shelf space is at least 90cm or so away. The current book is White Noise. That should have a couple more days of life in it.
