Mildly curious, I followed this link to an article about culling down one’s book collection. It appears to part of a series wherein the writer chronicles the process of organizing her life. Okay, let’s go.
She is, by her own admission, a “total bibliophile.” Apparently her parents crammed 1,100 books into their apartment!
. . . er, okay, if you don’t have a lot of space (and they had four rooms in New York), then I suppose that’s a lot. The writer? Her book collection — the combined possessions of herself and her husband — “peaked at 600.”
By the end of the article, they’re down to 200. Our fiction collection consists of more books than her parents had at their incredible height. According to LibaryThing, we own more urban fantasy than this woman now has in her entire collection.
I’m not out to play a game of one-upsmanship; I’m sure there are people reading this who think our 2,260 books are a paltry few. But I just had to roll my eyes at the presentation of 600 as a huge pile of books that must be cut down for the salvation of one’s household. I don’t think the WaPo knows what a real bibliophile is.