Minimalism vs My Books

Jerry:  "What is this obsession people have with books? They put them in their houses like they're trophies.  What do you need it for after you've read it?"

I love minimalism.  At least I think I do.  Actually, I guess I just want to be someone cool enough to exist in a chic, minimalist environment.  I also love the English country house look.  Therein lies the problem:  trying to decorate when you are drawn to two diametrically opposed styles is a challenge.  It's also why I still have some Ikea furniture.  Until I can make a final decision, I am loathe to spend thousands of dollars on something I will probably regret as soon as I can't return it (my elegant and costly sofa that I now hate attests to this).  I am also, naturally, sort of messy. Without meaning to or noticing, I will leave magazines and papers lying around until you can't see the furniture anymore.  I stop myself before it's time to call the Hoarders people, and go on a mad purge to try to get closer to my minimalist ideal of surfaces, darling.

Harvey House, by John Lautner, Los Feliz. Perfection.

The Lautner and Neutra houses brought beautifully back to life by Kelly Lynch and Mitch Glazer have been inspiration since I first saw them in magazine features more than a decade ago.  I wish I had this commitment to one style, and the vision to execute it so perfectly.  Oh, and some Hollywood money would also be nice...

Aside from my natural, let's say, sloppiness, there is the matter of my bookishness.  I read a lot, and I love to be surrounded by my books. The great ones are reread, loaned out, occasionally returned, and serve as a reminder that something predated the Internet.  And they look great, don't you think?

Sadly, not my living room.

I have a very hard time throwing out books.  Exhibit A would probably be my grade 13 (yes, that used to be a thing in Ontario) French text book.  I keep it because it's still useful, and dammit, I might one day commit to learning more French than just what was required to get through school or buy a pair of shoes in Paris.

I also have a collection of books from university.  These are books I have "read", meaning that I plowed through them on Diet Coke-fueled all nighters right before needing to pass a test or write an essay.  I retained virtually nothing.  Books in this category include The Master and Margarita, Fathers and Sons, and, to my deep embarrassment, One Hundred Years of Solitude. I guess I keep these ones out of guilt, and figure, maybe one day I will properly read them.

I have an alarming number of sort of stupid books- Cruel Shoes, by Steve Martin, old Letterman Top Ten List books, Simpson's anthologies.  I never throw out something that can give me a laugh.  It's why the David Sedaris and the Spy magazines stay, too. One of my favourite stupid books is The Bachelor Home Companion, for God's sake! Having books like this around requires some balance; hence the Serious Authors collection:  Ian McEwan, Martin Amis, Timothy Findlay, Philip Roth, Margaret Atwood, to name a few, and my favourite- John Updike.  I'm not sure I'll ever re-read Updike's amazing Rabbit tetralogy, so yeah, I guess I am keeping those to prove that, although I own this book, I'm not a complete moron. 

So, my attempts at minimalism are usually trumped my my desire to keep things I love.  But it could be worse.  One of my friends married a guy who felt strenuously that the only acceptable thing to have hanging above their living room fireplace mantle was his signed, framed Walter Payton jersey.  I'm not discounting Walter's awesomeness, but as a living room decoration? Keeping tons of books may violate the principles of minimalism, but at least the style police won't show up at my door.