Member-only story
Why Did I Keep Unread Books?
Confessions of a Book Collector (Who Rarely Reads)
I was standing in front of my bookshelf last week and I counted — twenty seven unread books. Some of them still wore the shrink wrap like an armor. Others looked worn out a little… just from being carried around, but not read.
I told myself last year, I would get to them eventually. Yet, weeks turned into months. Eventually, I stopped noticing them — until the guilt crept in again.
Okay, I admit, I did not just buy those books to read them. I bought them because they felt like the right things to have. A thick classic always makes feel wiser.
A new bestseller promised I would stay in touch with the world. Even the untouched self help books whispers me every time I see them, “ You are improving just by owning me.”
Curiously, every unread book had a story, I must say. No, I am not talking about the one between the covers, but my own story with it.
I remembered the rainy afternoon I bought that poetry collection by William Wordsworth.
