A few months after getting married, my husband and I decided to move to the cold, dark, remote and rural lands of the far north for a year-long sabbatical. (Actually, we moved at the beginning of summer, a beautiful and luscious time, when the temperature is neither cold nor too hot, and many city folk are visiting.) While moving to this place imposed many hardships upon me - leaving my beloved West, the town I had grown to love, my dear friends, my little house, my students (my students!!!) - one of the hardest things for me was picking which of my books should come with and which of them should be packed away, (ceremoniously and with tears), in storage. 

This may seem strange, or perhaps not (if you feel as close to your books as I). Living with books has always been a part of my life. I remember having a large, built-in bookshelf in my bedroom as a little girl. There were many of my favorites on the bottom shelves and toward the top were beautiful and serious books that belonged to my father and mother. I also remember the huge, overflowing bookshelves at my father’s office. He worked amongst them and kept a large dictionary on a tall stand near his desk. I began acquiring an interest in theology early on from looking through his books and asking questions about them. Every so often, he would come over to me, pull a very old book down and let me hold it and look through it, with a raise of his eyebrows and a brief comment, “Now this is something.”

My mother also inspired a love of reading. I remember her routinely taking my siblings and me to the small local library. She knew where the best books were and soon I did, too. Picking out books there was always a highlight of the week. She also brought a book or two to read aloud to us on long car trips, and she made sure to gift books to us at Christmas, Easter, and birthdays. Books were special and dear to our family. I don’t remember ever being commanded or bribed to read. It was not expected that we would read, it was understood. 

My own experience has proved the words of Samuel Johnson to be true. But I am inclined to believe that he had more to say on the matter. Surely he was not advocating disorder in Boswell’s method of study. One might be inclined to begin one book one day and another the next. This is not conducive to ordered learning and formation. Yet he said, “Have as many books about you as you can that you might read upon any subject upon which you have a desire for instruction at the time.” What does he mean, then? 

Upon further reflection, I wonder if he meant that surrounding oneself with books would actually shape and mold one’s desire for instruction. What Dr. Johnson did not need to specify, apparently, was that James Boswell should have the best books about. Reading one excellent work would prompt the desire for another, and that book would also be close at hand. In this way, a man never has to prescribe a task for himself. He simply continues to read the books about him. The more he reads, the more he learns what to read. He begins to “love the eternal books that express eternal truths.” (A.G. Sertillanges) He tends his library, pruning those books which do not belong and feeding those categories of thought and beauty in which he is lacking. 

To own books is to love books. My childhood memories might imply a maxim like, “Own books so that your children love them”. But I would rather say that if you own books, you love them and therefore your children will, too. It is good to love books and therefore it is good to own them. Your love of the book will prompt your love of the ideas in the book, and vice versa. 

If you own a book, you either have read it and love it and plan to read it again or want to read it in the hope of loving it. You can certainly love a book without owning it, or plan to read a book but not buy it, but to intentionally endeavor to own books means you are purposefully seeking out those which you do love or should love. It means you are intentionally seeking out the wisdom that books impart. The art, the pleasure, of building your own library attaches specific books to your soul. You make them your own, not only by reading what is written in them, but by touching them often, being perennially reminded of their lessons, marking them with your own thoughts, and committing them to your entire being. 

Reading books and learning are connected activities, though not quite one and the same. A. G. Sertillanges, in his book The Intellectual Life, reminds the reader that he must put forth effort when reading in order to learn, because “reading puts truth before us; we have to make it ours.” This idea of “making truth ours” should not be confused with the postmodern notion that truth is fluid, can be created from thin air, and adjusted to fit our current whim. Sertillanges is not at all implying that you can have your truth and I can have mine. Rather, he wants the reader to receive objective truth into his very person in such a way that it becomes part of his soul. Sertillanges recognizes that this does not happen simply by encountering the words but that the reader must contemplate and digest the author’s ideas.  Underlining, making notes, coming back again and again to a passage, referring often to the bibliography and index, and comparing one author’s ideas to another’s generally cannot happen if the reader does not possess the book. Owning books lends itself to these habits which will inspire a natural discernment in reading. Gradually one will recognize which books are great, good, and mediocre. Keeping the great books close at hand will ensure that one reads them often, allowing them to slowly shape the soul, mind, and actions. 

If you have trouble motivating yourself to read or study, you may find that leaving the book close at hand will soon motivate you enough: “Whatever is in that book? I must know.” There is no better reason to read a book than out of curiosity for what the book says, as St. Augustine observed, “Free curiosity has a greater power to stimulate learning than rigorous coercion.” Samuel Johnson echoed this truth. When books sit all around you and live with you, they stimulate your curiosity continually, provoking a deep desire to learn. 

In recent weeks, Shannon and I have shared a lot of thoughts about learning and studying. This subject is evidently near and dear to my heart and is never far from my mind. This is because I live among my books. It does not mean I read as much as I would like. My relationship with my books is much the same as my relationship with the loved ones I live near. We are not perpetually engaged in deep conversation. But there is always a deep communication between our souls, even in the mundane goings-on of daily life. So too with my books. Even when I am not reading them, they maintain a presence in my life ever calling for my return and always provoking my contemplation. To live without books would be to live without friends, a thought that makes me all the more eager to unpack my books from storage and restore them to their comfy spot on my bookshelves.

If you own few books but would like to own more, you might wonder which books are worth owning. This is an excellent question, for most books these days are not worth buying. Begin with a small collection of classics. Owning a few Bibles is a wonderful thing, and you probably own one that is particularly special to you. As I have said elsewhere, every household should have a good collection of fairy tales and copies of The Iliad and The Odyssey by Homer along with The Aeneid by Virgil. Authors like George MacDonald, G.K. Chesterton, C.S. Lewis, J.R.R Tolkien, Dorothy Sayers - the list goes on and on - have written enriching, exciting, and entertaining literature that will enchant both young and old alike. And you will find within these stories the values that you already hold dear.