A room without books is a like a body without a soul. But now I have too much soul.
So tonight I finished reading a book I only picked up from the post office this morning, which I totally loved, and have possibly in a fit of crazy ordered the next three books as well, despite not knowing if I will continue to love this series but feeling that if I have to wait between books I might DIE, you guys. (For those interested, the series in question is the Mary Russell series by Laurie R King, which is the best sort of Mary Sue Sherlock Holmes pastiche that totally plays on my deep intellectual attraction to the character and my abiding physical lust for The Cumberbatch. Every time Mary and Holmes have a particularly good scene together I squee on the inside. And possibly on the outside. A little. DON'T JUDGE ME OKAY I LOVE IT)ALSO THEY TOTES GET MARRIED ALSO DON'T JUDGE ME OKAY
ANYWAY. What I actually intended to post about was the difficulty of clearing ones bookshelves when your favourite kind of reading is often rereading, and there are an awful lot of books you love enough to keep.
Those who have been to my flat will know that I own an entire (big) wall of books, and that they are double- and sometimes triple-stacked as it is. I went through tonight to find books I no longer want and found four I was willing to part with.
FOUR.
I have a disease. It is called bibliophilia and the only cure is MORE BOOKS. Eventually I will have to start stacking them around the room, and then they will collapse on me one day and I will die, and it will be like the Death of a Thousand Cuts except it will be the Death of a Thousand Papercuts, and I only hope that a really good book lands open in front of my face as I lie there trapped so that I don't get too bored while I slowly suffocate.
What have you been reading lately, oh mighty flist? Any recommendations for a voracious bibliovore?
ETA: Weirdly, iPad decided to disable comments without asking me. Now turned back on.
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