There is a very particular form of hell reserved for the expat bookworm attempting desperately to reduce the amount of clutter left in storage at home. I have spent the last few days surrounded by opened boxes of books; mainly, I have to admit, sitting cross-legged in the dust, lost in one or another within minutes of opening any box.
Over there in Germany is a life where I end up reading just about anything in English I can get my paws on; I read in other languages too, but really need my "fix" of books which can be read without turning on the extra layer of brain required for foreign languages, even those in which I am totally fluent. And then over here (I am in England for the moment) I have box upon box of temptations to rationalise; some unread (!!), some begging to be re-read; some with sentimental associations, some valuable, some simply too seminal to be given away.
I have been helped by a local school asking for charitable donations by tomorrow morning. The school will receive more money the more the donations weigh, so I find myself actually able to fill bag after bag with my precious darlings, off to a new life, but ohhhhh it is HARD!
(And then of course there are the boxes now marked "Katy's Classical Library" and re-stacked; and the boxes of academic books now re-stacked; and the pile in my bedroom for reading whilst here; and the inevitable accumulation in my suitcase ready for the flight back... I am definitely not cut out for a minimalist lifestyle!)
Having resisted the temptation for ages, I suspect I am soon going to succumb to the delights of the Kindle. Nothing like the pleasure of real books stuffed in a pocket or a handbag, and I shall miss the aimless ferreting around in second-hand bookshops, but I don't think I could face another forty-three boxes of books next time around!