I spent yesterday afternoon listening to Ornette Coleman's "relaxing and soothing" At the Golden Circle records while boxing up the majority of my books in anticipation of moving house. The remaining books - about 100 titles - fit on three-and-a-bit shelves, not so much a library or collection as a glorified tbr pile.
Packing my books was slightly depressing. Most of them were purchased since we moved in here almost six years ago and I've done a lot of work in that time - an entire degree, plus blogging, reviews, etc - while more or less encircled by them. While I am largely devoid of bibliophilic sentimentality, I retain the emotional attachment to books I developed during childhood. Put simply, I like being around books. Sometimes I even read them.
Yet there is something to be said for downsizing, if only temporarily. Overstuffed shelves can be daunting - too much choice, too difficult to navigate. Every one of the hundred-odd books I have available to me now is appealing in a way that many of them were not prior to yesterday. Reducing the scope of my collection has somehow resulted in an increased sense of its potential.