I've been sort of compulsively reorganizing my books over the past few days. Taking them all down off the shelves and putting them into categories. Memoir, history, science, fiction. I had some debate as to whether I should segregate the science fiction from the general fiction. I ultimately decided against it, because it somehow cheapens the science fiction. The best science fiction transcends the genre.
Other than the pleasure of running across books I love and had forgotten about (I happened upon a well-worn illustrated copy of "The Twelve Days of Christmas," from my childhood, which filled me with warm sentiment) or that I look forward to reading (Stanislaw Lem's "His Master's Voice), I experienced an odd elation at the strange bedfellows created by alphebetization. A William Buckley potboiler ended up next to Burroughs's "Naked Lunch." I imagine Buckley being outraged and smile.
6 comments:
I really dig Lem.
I know. I think you gave me that book.
So far, I've read the Cyberiad, Memoirs Found in a Bathtub, Futorological Congress, and Mortal Engines.
let author b_1 be by b_2
What a strange post by anonymous. Anyway, I'm currently rereading "Tales of Pirx the Pilot."
wha?
whoa. we posted at the exact same time.
Post a Comment