Confessions of a Book Collector (Short Story)

Can I be certain that my library is the largest private collection? There is no final proof, but I am persuaded, in fact convinced, that my collection is the largest and most prominent as far as the history of medieval French history is concerned. It consists of more than forty thousand volumes, most of them properly catalogued, although I have to admit that the more recent acquisitions have not yet been catalogued. This pains me, since it is an obvious flaw of my collection, but the task of looking after it, of preserving the space where my library is housed and making sure that the books do not deteriorate because of humid air has become more arduous. Only to myself am I willing to admit that the preservation of my library has become a draining task. I am no longer certain of my strength.

Yes, the library has become a burden, yet it is a burden I have to face and deal with, for giving up would mean that fifty years of collecting, that is, of searching for books in bookstores, special catalogues, and other places,  would have been in vain. Giving up collecting, not to mention giving the library away, therefore is not an option. The library demands further activities, for instance looking for and finding the perfect space, a house of its own where all the walls are devoted to my books, where the books are the only attraction and receive the full and exclusive attention that they deserve.

I have devoted fifty years of my life to this task, putting time and large financial resources into this project, more, in fact much more than my colleagues, whose collections, considered as large and impressive by the public, are small and insignificant in comparison. These collections reflect the research interests of their owners, they may be even impressive in their own right, but they pale in comparison with my collection developed patiently over the decades with the goal of completeness. From the beginning, this has been my goal and the reason for the satisfaction and the pride I have received from my labor. There is no end to this labor, in fact it has grown, making it necessary to hire help, graduate students who know how to catalogue the new books and place them on the right shelve, assistants who look through the catalogue of bookdealers and travel to other cities to acquire a rare book needed for my collection. No doubt, the cost for this labor has risen, making the maintenance of the library more expensive, thereby possibly threatening the continuation of the grand project.

My children and my friends have become concerned that my library will turn into a serious threat to my wellbeing.  They have begun to warn me and urge me to move away from my project. They have even suggested that I should sell the library or give it away. Your library, they argue, has become too large for a private collector. You have become too old for the project. It is time to free yourself from the burden of collecting. But can I take their advice? What will happen to my library, by far the most complete and best collection in its field? What they ask me to do is to abandon my project, to destroy the achievement of fifty years. This cannot be done. It cannot be expected of me. Those who do this cannot be called friends, and it pains me that my own children are among those who doubt the importance and value of my project. All they care about is the disposal of the books, their transfer to a location where they do not cost money. In the end, it’s all about money. Can their advice be trusted?   

My doubts have been increasing. I feel surrounded by voices that deny the value of my continued efforts. I face the possibility that I am the only one who fully understands and appreciates the true importance of my collection. I will have to take a stand. A strong and determined defense of my project is needed, even if I am the only one to do it.

What makes this defense more difficult than it used to be, is the fact that my stamina is no longer what it used to be. As much as I try to hide it in the public and even when dealing with close friends and members of my own family, are the signs of my increasing age, among them the need for a walking stick and early fatigue when I am doing my daily walk in my neighborhood. On a good day, I can overlook them because they are barely noticeable. I am feeling good about myself and my future in my own house. There seems to be absolutely no need for adaptation. The future looks certain and clear. But there are other days when my body aches and walking becomes a challenge. On those days, the library turns into a challenge, a problem that can barely be managed. On those days I need all my energy to control my despair and to maintain my commitment to the project. Those are the days when I am vulnerable and therefore open to “friendly” advice. The time has come, I am told, to unburden myself, to let go, to give the library away. They are concerned voices, they tell me that they are well-meaning, concerned about my health. But do they mean well? Do they give good advice? There are reasons to resist their advice. Good reasons that have to do with the final outcome of my project. What they recommend, in the end, leads to the ruin of my collection. Either it will be broken up or it will be dissolved to become part of a larger collection where its identity is lost. This is the reason why these voices have to be resisted. I have to remind myself of the purpose of my collection and renew my commitment to its preservation, even under more difficult personal circumstances. The fact that I am getting older and more fragile is not a sufficient  reason to give up. To the contrary, it is reason to stay the course and continue the good work. The goal has not changed, it is the completion of the collection. There are still books that have not yet been catalogued, and there are still gaps that have to be filled. In short, the work has to continue.

The strategy has to stay the same, but the tactic has to change. It has to be adjusted for an altered situation. Given my more advanced age, I have to placate the voices coming for the outside. I have to appear open-minded, seemingly ready to listen to reasonable advice, giving the impression that I am ready to relinquish my project. Recently, there has been an offer from a very prestigious foreign university library to take over. They are prepared to receive my collection and integrate it into their much larger collection. Even my own children have advised me to accept this unique offer, which will relieve me of the burden of looking after a book collection that increasingly challenges my financial wellbeing. I am told that I should be grateful for this unique opportunity. Of course,  I cannot see any reason to be grateful for what objectively speaking undermines the purpose of my collection. It is designed to stand out as unique, a monument of my labor. My answer to this invitation is resistance by delaying the process. Seemingly, I welcome the generous offer and give the impression that I support the transfer of my collection.  This makes my children happy for the moment, giving me time to devise actions that will in the end undermine the transfer altogether.  The appearance of cooperation will be my defense. I have asked for more time to catalogue several hundred books that were more recently acquired. I will insist that my collection should be housed separately from the rest of the university library, a request that most likely  new owners will not want to grant.

I realize that this defense will take a clever mind and a great deal of flexibility, since my children will criticize me as stubborn and unreasonable and  come up with counter proposals. In short, there is the risk of alienating my family and my friends. Is this a reason to change course? This is, as I understand, a serious question. However, I have come to the conclusion that in the end I have to take this risk to achieve my goal. And I have to remind myself of the ultimate goal that has propelled me forward for more than five decades. My collection is the material articulation of scholarship in the humanities. It is a monument.

So far, I have succeeded. I have been able to protect my library. The books are still exactly where they belong, partly in my own house, partly in two large apartments I rented many years ago. Even when I can no longer visit the books in the apartments since the access has become impossible for me, I know they are there on their shelves, properly maintained with the help of my devoted assistants. As I am fully aware, I cannot simply ignore the offer or reject it out of hand. Instead, I have developed techniques to defeat the offer by delaying the execution. By asking for special considerations and making extraordinary demands, I can delay a final agreement until the foreign library loses interest and my children give up, at least for the present. My latest device has been to insist on a special legal form of donation unknown in other countries. So far, I have been successful. However, I realize that there will be no final victory. I can protect my collection only as long as I live. After my death my children will dispose of my collection as soon as possible. Maybe this moment will come even earlier when the financials means needed to support my collection are no longer available, when I have to borrow money to pay for the maintenance. Contemplating this inevitable future is painful, but it must not and will not persuade me to give in. The library has to be protected at all costs. Frankly, I am not a great admirer of Martin Luther, but there is an anecdote describing his situation when he was on trial at Worms, facing the death penalty for heresy. He is supposed to have declared: “Here I stand, and I cannot change my position. God help me.” This is the way I feel about my collection. I am committed and cannot compromise as much as I would like to please my children and my friends.