Tell Me All About Your Bookshelves (Past and Present)

Ten years ago, approximately, I left Istanbul, and along with a city that I loved/loathed, I also left behind a lot of books.

By this, I want to absolutely emphasize that this was a heartbreakingly vast quantity of books that had slowly but steadily grown in number over my six years in Turkey, and which had kept me company in cafes, on long bus trips into Anatolia, during long winter evenings and weekends in the days before I actually had internet access at home. Yes, I didn’t even have internet at home until 2007.

I read a lot of books, paper books. No Kindle, no ebook, no tablet. Books from Pandora kitabevi, from Robinson Crusoe, from Homer, from Greenhouse, from the used booksellers in Kadikoy, from the tiny little shelf of really random English books in that department store in Kayseri.

I loved my bookshelves full of beautiful books. I used to kneel down (because the book case was low to the ground, and deep– probably a china cupboard in a previous life) and look at their spines, remembering each one, feeling frankly calmed by their presence in my home.

And, yes, when I left with two suitcases and a cat in a patent leather bag, I gave almost all of the books away.

And I mourned their loss for years. I told myself to not be so materialistic, to be more appreciative of the ephemeral nature of text. Whatever.

It still hurt.

In Shanghai, the book carts selling plastic wrapped fake books replenished my shelves there. I had ALL of the Murakamis, ALL of the Mievilles, ALL of the Keyes, all of the nerdy non-fiction I could lay my hands on for 15 kuai a pop. When I was in Cambodia, I bought all of the books from all of the beggars.

When everything exploded back in 2013 and I found myself suddenly adrift, those books were lost, left behind. I didn’t have the energy to negotiate them back. The few I smuggled over to my next flat, deep down in Xuhui, were handed out to whoever wanted them when I left China for good six months later.

If I had a bookshelf- a real one, a big one, a wall-sized one like I’ve seen on Pinterest boards- I would fill it with every book that i have loved and lost, arranging them in chronological order, compartmentalizing all of the million chunks of my life that had been discarded, moved on from, partially or wholly forgotten. Those books I left behind in guesthouses in Eire, in Guatemala, the ones I traded for lesser ones in Nicaragua, the ones I gave away, the ones I forgot to take with me (they were under the bed). 

Which have you left behind?

I think I’d like to kickstart a series of posts from all of you guys who have told me about your bestest books. The ones keeping you company now. The ones you’ve remembered. The ones who messed with your head in your 20s.

If you fancy, send me a list of 6-8 books that you’ve loved and lost and a little something about them. In the comment section, or email, or Facebook. Whatever.

Let’s get a conversation going. I really enjoyed the last one.

Go on, then. Let’s talk about books for a change.