CONFESSIONS OF A BOOK NUT

To-be read books, all second-hand 

MY LOVE affair with books did not start until I was 13. As a freshman at a private school in the poblacion of Sta. Maria, Ilocos Sur, I stepped into a real library for the very first time. Coming from a rural barrio, I could count the number of books I had read on my fingers. Suddenly, I found myself surrounded by an impressive collection of titles neatly stacked across rows of shelves and glass cabinets. I knew right then and there what I wanted to do for the rest of my life: read.

Before long, I was in the library devouring fantastic stories, children’s fiction, anthologies, encyclopedias, adventures, and history books. I read to the point of forgetting to study for exams or submit school projects. I became a compulsive reader, spending every spare moment nestled among the stacks. There were simply too many books and too little time.

That period sparked my most dearly cherished ambition: to live in a grand house with a private library of my own. I even harbored a secret wish to be locked away in a prison surrounded by books—much like the young lawyer in Anton Chekhov’s short story, The Bet. In that tale, a man spends 15 years in solitary confinement over a crazy wager, passing the time by reading everything from complex romance novels and sensational stories to dense volumes on language, philosophy, history, and religion. Schoolwork was never a chore for me until college, purely because I genuinely loved the act of reading and studying.  

When I moved to Manila for work after college, my life remained anchored to the printed word. I spent many years working at a publishing house. After long days of proofreading and editing textbook manuscripts for errors, I would unwind by reading pocketbooks in my spare time. Once I had disposable income, my addiction to reading seamlessly evolved into an addiction to buying books—specifically second-hand treasures from the makeshift stalls along Recto Avenue in downtown Manila.

However, my serious book collecting only began five years ago. I started frequenting Booksale, a popular bargain bookstore chain, after scoring a pair of long-sought titles for the absolute bargain price of just 50 pesos. Since then, whenever I walk into a bookstore or any place where books are sold, I cannot stop myself from buying anything that catches my eye—provided it is cheap. It is practically impossible for me to browse the stacks and leave with just a single book; the thrill of acquisition never fails to hook me.

I buy books knowing full well that I might not read them immediately. Often, they are put away on a shelf, treated like pieces of art waiting to be admired whenever I finally have a free moment. While it might seem superficial, merely seeing them on display brings a unique sense of satisfaction entirely separate from actually reading them. Then, at some point down the line, I will pick up a book purchased two years prior and enjoy it as if it were a brand-new acquisition.

To curb my purchasing habits and avoid buying duplicates—a mistake that happened once or twice in the past—I started maintaining a meticulous wishlist. I carry this list everywhere. It allows me to check off acquired titles and scribble down new ones. Cultivating this list actually encourages me to read more, knowing I can reward myself with a new book guilt-free.

Given how I feel about books, I don't view this habit as a nagging problem. When it comes to literature, there will always be more books that I haven’t read than books that I have—people keep writing them, after all. To me, a collection is just as important as reading accomplishments. I agree with the bibliophile blogs that declare a library of books waiting to be read far outshines one that has already been entirely devoured.

Admittedly, I don’t have that dream library just yet. I only have a small bookshelf and the tops of plastic drawers and tables to file my acquisitions. A corner of my house has become a cross between a cluttered mini-library and a dusty bargain bookstall, housing 210 books waiting to be read. And that stack will surely grow higher now that I've written this. I simply like to surround myself with every source of knowledge available.

Once, my youngest child expressed doubt that I was actually reading the books I bought. Her comment made me pause and ask myself: Am I a book collector, a book lover, a bookworm, or just a reading nut?

While I easily lean toward the latter, an article I stumbled upon on The Atlantic Wire gave me a clearer diagnosis. The blogger noted that for as many books as exist, there are just as many different reading archetypes. Several of her categories resonated deeply with me:

• The Bookophile: Quite simply, I love books, and reading is my ultimate pleasure. I have dabbled in e-books recently, but I still firmly prefer the old-fashioned ink-and-paper format. I adore the musty scent of old pages and the crisp texture of new ones.
• The Chronological Reader: Thanks to my tracking list, I tend to read books in the exact order I purchased them. I move through each one methodically and sequentially from cover to cover, transitioning to the next with almost no gap.
• The Compulsive/Voracious Reader: I will read almost anything I can get my hands on. Wherever I go, a book comes with me. At home or at the office, there is always a volume by my side, waiting to be opened in between tasks. If a book fires up the imagination and brings the simple pleasure of whiling away the hours, I’ll grab it.
• The "It’s Complicated" Reader: I occasionally refuse to be strictly categorized, and I hesitate to admit how much of my identity is reflected in my book collection.
• The Ageless Reader: I am a grown-up who still reads Young Adult series (like Collins, Rowling, and Riordan) or children's books (like Lemony Snicket and Dr. Seuss). But there is a balance here; as a kid, I read adult literature, diving into Dickens, Fitzgerald, and Eliot when I was only in high school.
• The Easily Influenced Reader: My reading list expands constantly because I trust the recommendations of fellow bibliophiles. If someone says a book is great, I assume they're right. I am always curious to read the titles that authors mention as their own influences, award-winners (Pulitzer, Man Booker, etc.), and selections from Oprah’s Book Club to discover exactly why they earned such acclaim.
• The Sleepy Bedtime Reader: Since childhood, reading has been my ultimate sleeping pill. I always tote a book into bed, closing out my day with my head propped up on a comfy pillow until my eyelids turn to lead.

I continue to read despite the endless distractions of my current work as a freelancer and my responsibilities as a single parent raising three children. There are flat-out chaotic days, but I always ensure I carve out a moment for my pages.

In the wake of my wife’s passing, reading became my refuge and my salvation. My intense, productive reading periods were sparked by an ardent desire to calm my nerves and divert my mind from sorrow and anger. Books proved that I am still, very much, a book nut.

I am not quite ready to listen to advice telling me to cull my collection just yet. Earlier this year, I ran into a former classmate who now teaches at our barrio's elementary school. I told her about my plan to donate some of my books to the school library, a project I hope to work out this coming summer. Naturally, I will keep my particularly valuable volumes, my all-time favorites, and the non-fiction reference sources I return to regularly for reliable information.

Right now, I have begun organizing my collection, boxing up the books I've finished and separating the keepsakes from the donations. But as long as the stacks do not encroach on the rest of my home or obstruct our living space, having a house overflowing with books doesn't seem like a problem at all.