I do Konmari-style book purges, and I don't miss the books I toss.

There are two lime green reusable grocery bags (that spark joy) sitting in the corner of the reading-and-knitting nook (which sparks joy) I created for myself last summer. One bag holds hardback books, the other has paperbacks. They're the books I'm not keeping. They do not spark joy.

Before the grocery bags, I had a moving box under my desk. It did not spark joy. It was annoying to sort through the books to donate every year, the box split, and books went everywhere. See? No joy.

I wrote a review about Marie Kondo's "The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up" back in 2015. Now, with her Netflix series enchanting the Twitterverse, it seems a good time to revisit my experience with it. Particularly the seemingly controversial advice about getting rid of books.

I have not re-read "Tidying Up," because my dad borrowed it when he visited me at Christmas, so it does not live in my house anymore. But watching the Netflix series reminded me that the book is meant to fundamentally change the way you view your possessions.

Bibliophiles have been frothing at the mouth about chucking their books after a meme circulated showing Marie Kondo saying something like, "Ideally, keep less than 30 books."

This isn't accurate. What the book DOES say is that Kondo herself does not own more than 30 volumes, but if books spark joy for anyone, and they have more than 30 books, it's fine. You can still use her method to guide the relationship you have with your possessions.

From Indiewire: Marie Kondo to Bibliophiles: No, You Don’t Need to Throw Away Your Books

"If the image of someone getting rid of books or having only a few books makes you angry, that should tell you how passionate you are about books, what’s clearly so important in your life. If that riles you up, that tells you something you about that. That in itself is a very important benefit of this process.” Kondo told Indiewire.

I've read almost a dozen books so far this year, and I'm not keeping any of them. It seems crazy, but here are a few reasons why:

1. Books are not sacred, romantic objects to me

It's possible that I think less of physical books because I get a lot of books for free. Many of them are advance review copies, so they're virtually useless after they've been read. Libraries and used book stores can't take them to re-sell.

For the books I do buy with my own money, are they really better off in my house? Normally not. The potential to re-read books is not high with me.

I don't believe books are imbued with the soul of the author or carry sacred stories that I should treasure forever by making room for them in my home. Once I absorb the information in a book, I have that information in my mind. It'll either be a memorable story, or I'll look back on the list of books I've read in a year and wonder what it was about.

2. The books I've read can be more useful somewhere else.

This seems logical to me, but why would you keep books on dusty shelves in your home when they could be out in the world educating and entertaining someone else? Why keep a book that you're not going to re-read when you could take it to a library or used book store to help the owners earn money for that place and keep it in business?

I was delighted to see some of my discarded books with $1 stickers on them the other day when I went to the library. If someone wants to purchase them, the library will benefit, if only by a few dollars. On my latest trip to the used book store, I exchanged books I've already read for some books that I haven't read, and it was completely worth it.

I think perhaps the people who hold on to books suffer from the sunk-cost fallacy when trying to part with books they'll never read. If you've spent money on a book, it seems a waste to get rid of it on the slim possibility you might want to read it, right? No. You can always buy the book again second-hand or check it out of the library if you truly miss it. I have never once wished I hadn't gotten rid of a book that I purged from my collection, and I've never had to repurchase a book because I missed it.

3. Books take up space

Since I've lived in small-ish apartments for my entire adulthood, there's not a lot of space for a lot of books. I have one bookshelf that houses some cookbooks, and the top of a cube storage unit for my "to-read" pile. Dan has another very small bookshelf. Beyond those boundaries, books are nothing more than clutter.

Caveats

The one thing that was kind of disappointing about my experience with the Konmari method was, while it changed my attitude toward possessions in general, it was easy to slip back into old habits of holding on to things that aren't books. "Tidying up" claims that once you go through the process of letting go to possessions that no longer spark joy, you will never need to go through that process again because it will change the way you view the things you choose to keep in your life. I have not found that to be true. Your tastes will still change, your style might change, and the things that you once enjoyed might not bring you joy anymore!

I still have to go through my possessions about once every other year or so in order to shed things that no longer bring me joy. I've found it particularly true with clothes.

For books, I take those lime green grocery bags once or twice a year to the used book store and the library, and the ARCs get recycled if visiting family or friends go through them and don't want any. It's the system I've found that works for my life.

If you find immense value in holding on to tons of books, you do you. And please, for the love of God, take some of my books. But if you're going to tackle "The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up," do it with an open mind, and be prepared to view your book collection in a different way.

The 5 stages of a book slump

I have a pile of four books to review for the San Francisco Book Review right now. Also, I want to read Jeff VanderMeer's Southern Reach trilogy before "Annihilation" arrives in movie form next week. Somewhere in my house there are a few installments of the Jessica Jones comics that I want to read before Jessica Jones Season 2 comes to Netflix at the beginning of March. I have a few galleys from NetGalley to read.

But, guys, I don't feel like it.

It was chilly for a while in Florida. It was fairly windy, which made it difficult to go to the beach to get in some solid reading time. It's no fun when you're cold and there's sand in your eyes and your pages are flapping around everywhere.

When I don't feel like reading, I drink tea and knit. When I don't feel like knitting, I read. It's a happy marriage. I'm working on a baby sweater, by the way.

Beyond that, I think I'm in a book slump.

It's happened before, after I've read some of the worst books I've ever read in my life, and I'm usually mostly fine. I just feel guilty that I spent a lot of time in November and December launching this blog and a YouTube channel only to abandon it unceremoniously for two months. There's nothing, really, that can be done.

Part of my slump, too, I think, stems from wanting to listen to other people more rather than spout my own opinion about things. Right now I want to live in reality, rather than get lost in another reality. But that's a story for another day.

Anyway, here are the five stages of a book slump, and how you can get through it.

1. Forcing yourself to read

Pick a book up, put it down. Read a page. Read a whole chapter. Put the book in your purse, thinking you're going to read it during the down time in your life (lunch breaks? waiting in line?) and you don't. Find the book a few weeks later at the bottom of your purse with old receipts in the pages and an ancient, melted cough drop stuck to the cover.

2. Feeling like a terrible person (but you're not!)

Look at your pile of books. Think: Were all of the covers of these books always this ugly? Who would want to read them? What amateur thought red- AND yellow-colored letters on the title was a good idea? Since when do you judge books by their covers? What kind of book reviewer are you? Embrace your self-admonishment. Really lean into that sense of loss that a book slump can bring. The faster you admit you're in a book slump, the sooner you can move beyond it.

3. Buying new books -- and not reading them

Surely you'll get back to reading if you can find something you'll actually enjoy. There's a movie coming out in a few weeks that you think you'll like, so you find the source material. Gosh, the book looks awfully long. Will you be able to finish it in time for the movie? Eh, maybe not.

4. Ennui

If you've gone a few weeks glancing at your book pile and wishing you felt compelled to read anything, anything!, pursue some other hobbies. I like knitting, baking, running, playing video games and lifting weights for fun. Put your books in a safe spot where you'll still remember they're there, but where they're not GLARING at you. Do some other things for a few weeks. Heck, do NOTHING for a few weeks. Your books will be there when you get back.

5. Really reading this time, and loving it

Eventually, the covers won't seem so ugly. One day, you'll pick up a book (watch out for that sticky cough drop spot on the cover!) and slipping into a new world with new characters will be so easy. You'll wonder why you ever stopped reading at all.

Review: The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo

The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing by Marie Kondō
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I don't like minimalism.

Bad minimalist philosophy spouts vague platitudes ("Society places too much emphasis on things.") and doesn't account for hobbies or why humans would be better with less stuff. The end goal is vague. For example, some theories on minimalism encourage those who pursue it to have only 100 possessions. Why 100? Will owning 101 possessions make you a breath away from total enlightenment? I think minimalism is a garish practice when it's made public, and its followers take on an air of smug superiority, like a race to see who can own the least amount of stuff ("Well I only own 99 things!") It's almost as bad as those who seek to own a lot of stuff. The sense of self-righteousness is the same on both ends of the spectrum. Minimalism is not supposed to be a competition.

My relationship with my things is my business, but I've been a cluttery person my whole life. Odds and ends litter virtually every flat surface in my apartment. I knit and cook, and I have skeins of yarn and kitchen gadgets out the wazoo. I have dozens of cookbooks and cooking magazines, huge stacks of knitting patterns, multiple needles and notions in every corner of the house. My apartment is well lived in, and its contents are a testament to the things that make me happy.

I picked up Marie Kondo's book, "The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up," because I'd heard good things about it, as well as a great deal of backlash. Much of the criticism was that Kondo comes across as smug and her methods extreme. Some of the 1-star reviews on Amazon and Goodreads call Kondo crazy, criticizing her Shinto-based beliefs that our possessions have a spirit and we should respect our living space. Other comments were of the "what-about-me" type, where someone would say "What about my husband and five kids? What am I supposed to do with their stuff? This book is only for single people living alone!" which isn't necessarily true. Those comments were rude and completely missed the point of the book.

Another part of the book that was criticized was the idea of discarding books. I can say with certainty, as a person who reviews a book a week, that I already do this and bibliophiles can do this, too. My house isn't swimming with books. I have a big moving box that houses all of the books I want to donate. When it gets full, I'll find a place to donate my books. Sometimes, I find books that I think my friends and family would like, so I give them away as gifts. Most of them are ARCs or galley copies, so they can't be sold, and they can't just sit in my house. I've NEVER found myself missing a book I've reviewed and later discarded. Too many new books are published every month for me to worry about one I've read a few months ago. I keep all of my book reviews in files on my computer in case my editor has a question about one of them, but I don't personally go back and read any of them.

Kondo's book fundamentally transformed the way I view my things. While I may never part with my vast collection of small kitchen appliances, no matter how infrequently I might use them, I've found myself looking at some of the books and clothes I have and asking myself why they're even still in my house. I got rid of some uncomfortable shirts, perfume samples that didn't even smell good, cookbooks containing unappetizing recipes that were given to me as gifts, and clutter and papers that were doing nothing more than taking up space. While I thought my living space was a testament to what made me happy, some things just didn't belong there.

"The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up" will probably affect the way I purchase things in the future. Usually, I purchase clothes for work when I have a coupon to a store. While some of the items there might not fit quite right or be in my taste, I'll purchase them anyway because I'm getting them at a discount and I have to wear something to work. In the future I might shop when I have a coupon, but refrain from buying anything unless it "sparks joy" or I'm absolutely thrilled with it.

Kondo describes our attachment to things as our way of holding on to the past or expressing anxiety for the future, and I feel like this is exactly right. And I think this idea is partly why the negative reviews of this book seemed so angry. We don't want to think of our way of living as the wrong way to do things. We can see this in the way we vehemently defend other aspects of our lifestyle such as our dietary choices and religious beliefs. It's healthy to reevaluate the way we live our lives, whether we read political news that doesn't align with our beliefs or we look at our things and determine it's time to let some of it go.

Maybe I'm not as critical of minimalism as I was when I started reading "The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up," but I won't start putting a quota on my possessions any time soon.

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