Books well traveled

I love books. I love many things about them. Their content teaches and amuses or irritates and forces to assess new points of view. It influences me often as written word has authority for me. Written – then it must be true or at least worth considering. I simplify my approach, of course. I am not naïve or gullible as all that. However, printed word has subconsciously stronger influence on me than spoken words.

                             

I also like nicely published books. Australian book – ONE; living as one and loving it by Victoria Alexander is an example of books I consider beautifully published. Another one on top of my list is Polish edition of Master and Margarita of Mikhail Bulgakov. I like to touch them, scan their beautiful pages, look at the illustrations. I think that I read almost all works of Bronte sisters because of being lucky to have a very nice edition of their books.

I also like smell of some books, even old musty ones. When I was very young and wondered who I want to be when I grow up I did not want to be a firewoman, this was suitable for boys. I wanted to work in a book shop which would also sell cosmetics. Hmm… I wonder about myself, at least my thinking in young years.

So, now that I have confessed my love for books, it makes it clear that it is very hurtful for me to part with them. But, I have moved around the world quite a bit. The first move was from a small Polish town Włocławek to Warsaw. This was an easy move. I did not have many possessions at eighteen. My father organized nice wooden crates in which I packed my books very carefully. And off I went to be a student in a big city.

After some years of living in Warsaw, I accumulated more books and was a proud owner of a great wall unit which easily housed my books plus other less important things. There was a room for expansion. And then the time came to move again. This time the move was serious, out of Poland. My father organised more wooden crates and I packed my books again. In those days nice carton boxes that removal people give you did not exist. Books packed in wooden crates are heavy. I heard loud complaints from people carrying them from the forth floor without lift to the container lorry parked downstairs– Please, not more books! I felt sorry for the removal men and guilty.


                                          

The books landed up in a storage space somewhere in Vienna while I lived bookless in Paris for one year. Then we all got reunited in Düsseldorf. It was great! My new Polish bookcases were placed in a special room, all my books were comfortable and there was room for expansion.

I gave my books a rest for two years and then we were on our way again. This time the journey was very long, we were going to Sydney. Books and all.

It was a time of stability for books and me for quite some time. Again, there was a special room for my bookcases and their content in my first houses in Sydney. We were all stable and happy. But the next move required changes; there was not enough place for all my books in the new house. I had to give away many of them to various libraries and charities. This was painful. My friend, who volunteers in St Vincent de Paul shop, tells me that many donated books are thrown away. I am glad I did not know it then.

This was not the end of travels of my books. I decided to go and live in Poland again. My precious bookcases went to charities together with many of the books. The most precious of the books went with me of course. We landed up in Gdansk this time. It was stability time again.  I had place for books and time to read. I bought more books to add to my so brutally culled collection. However, nothing lasts forever. Some years later it was time to come back home – Sydney. And this is where after our travels, I and my books are now.