(no subject)
We are liquidating a huge portion of our book and DVD "holdings" (as I said on Facebook, it's too haphazard to even be considered a collection) by way of Amazon Marketplace. Before you swoop in and suggest another venue, understand that I am willing to "pay" -- or, more accurately, lose out on profit -- for convenience. Everything is priced so that we'll make at least a dollar per item after seller's fees and shipping costs are factored in. But, although making a little money is a good side-effect of this effort, it isn't the driving force behind the decision.
Basically, we have too much ... stuff. Books and DVDs sit on shelves, unread or unviewed for years, simply because (and I'm only speaking for myself) they're like proud, little external manifestations of the complexity of my personal tastes, the diversity of my background. For example, I'm parting with a lot of the source material for major critical essays and research papers I did in grad school. The De-Moralization of Society stays (mostly because I'm still gobsmacked that Gertrude Himmelfarb's scholarship was at all relevant to my thesis), as do The Other Victorians and Armstrong's Victorian Poetry. And I'm keeping the majority of the referenced literature (except in the case of duplicate copies. Anyone need a spare Cranford?). Plus way more Adelaide Anne Procter than any non-academic should ever have, really. In other words, you can still look at our bookshelves and say, "Here resides a person who enjoys the work of Victorian-era women writers." But I have come to terms with the fact that I don't need to woo any (theoretical) potential friends ... or Mr. Rooter ... with a heap of impressive-sounding (or provocative-sounding: au revoir, Straight Sex) titles. No. One. Cares.
In part, too, I've kept all of it for as long as I have because I want to remind myself that my interests were once, well, "interesting" -- and maybe can be again. A lot of these have had to be sublimated (if not completely erased) in order to let parenting take the front seat for the time-being. I'm not crying over this, because I know it isn't a Forever thing ... which means that my kids' childhoods aren't, either. And that does make me a little misty-eyed. I guess I have this fear of being discovered as one of those moms, you know? And I am a bit ambivalent about that identity. I do put a lot of stock in my role as a parent and don't think I should be derided and called a "moo" because of it. But, again, this degree of being needed by the kids is transitory; I don't want my self-image to be completely wrapped up in mommyhood, only to be left out in the cold as Stuart and MaryAlice mature. It's a big old ouroboros is what it is.
In any case, I'm setting a deadline of January 1 to sell all my existing "stock," at which point everything but the more esoteric art books -- and perhaps others with a potentially high resale value -- will be offered up to friends, and anything left over shipped off to charity.
Basically, we have too much ... stuff. Books and DVDs sit on shelves, unread or unviewed for years, simply because (and I'm only speaking for myself) they're like proud, little external manifestations of the complexity of my personal tastes, the diversity of my background. For example, I'm parting with a lot of the source material for major critical essays and research papers I did in grad school. The De-Moralization of Society stays (mostly because I'm still gobsmacked that Gertrude Himmelfarb's scholarship was at all relevant to my thesis), as do The Other Victorians and Armstrong's Victorian Poetry. And I'm keeping the majority of the referenced literature (except in the case of duplicate copies. Anyone need a spare Cranford?). Plus way more Adelaide Anne Procter than any non-academic should ever have, really. In other words, you can still look at our bookshelves and say, "Here resides a person who enjoys the work of Victorian-era women writers." But I have come to terms with the fact that I don't need to woo any (theoretical) potential friends ... or Mr. Rooter ... with a heap of impressive-sounding (or provocative-sounding: au revoir, Straight Sex) titles. No. One. Cares.
In part, too, I've kept all of it for as long as I have because I want to remind myself that my interests were once, well, "interesting" -- and maybe can be again. A lot of these have had to be sublimated (if not completely erased) in order to let parenting take the front seat for the time-being. I'm not crying over this, because I know it isn't a Forever thing ... which means that my kids' childhoods aren't, either. And that does make me a little misty-eyed. I guess I have this fear of being discovered as one of those moms, you know? And I am a bit ambivalent about that identity. I do put a lot of stock in my role as a parent and don't think I should be derided and called a "moo" because of it. But, again, this degree of being needed by the kids is transitory; I don't want my self-image to be completely wrapped up in mommyhood, only to be left out in the cold as Stuart and MaryAlice mature. It's a big old ouroboros is what it is.
In any case, I'm setting a deadline of January 1 to sell all my existing "stock," at which point everything but the more esoteric art books -- and perhaps others with a potentially high resale value -- will be offered up to friends, and anything left over shipped off to charity.