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.

My fascination with books – beginnings

Books, or rather insufficient space for my books, became a problem. Mainly because getting a new bookcase has been on my project list for almost three years. I was not moving forward. This has been annoying, disappointing and even affecting my self-esteem as it was a promise given to myself that I have not kept for such a long time. Place for my still unpacked books was on my daily agendas for too long. This was so important because I have a very close and intimate relationship with my books. 

My family home had a build-in bookcase covering the whole wall. It was a really big bookcase, dominating the room. My mother was the force behind decorating the place and esthetics was very important to her. I wonder if she ever had enough time to read the books she arranged so nicely, tastefully coordinating their colours. She was a working woman and it meant her work took a lot of time and energy.  Watching television was an easier option to reading.

Books in my mother's collection, so proudly displayed sent a message to me that they are important element of life. The bookcase housed a comprehensive collection. The books were beautifully published, mainly as series of classics, hence colour coordination worked well even preserving connection of subjects. I may seem a little sarcastic about my mother’s esthetic needs, but I some could say that I have inherited it myself. Mind you, it is not likely I’ll colour coordinate books, especially if they are from vastly different subjects.

Back to the bookcase.  There was a blue shelf with all works of one of the Polish poets Slowacki. There was also maroon and gold stripes shelve of all works of another Polish poet. The poetry books looked beautiful on the shelves but I was not that much interested in their content.  Maybe I was too young? Maybe there were really boring? The shelves of a lesser quality of publishing drew more of my attention. The brick colour shelf was my friend for a long time. It was the left top corner of the bookcase and I needed a chair to climb for closer inspections and taking books for reading. The shelve housed another Polish classic – Sienkiewicz. Unpronounceable name and he is little known to the world even though he was a Nobel prize winner in 1905 “because of his outstanding merits as an epic writer”. His novel Quo Vadis about martyrdom of first Christians in Rome was adapted into a Hollywood film with Peter Ustinov and Deborah Kerr. It was a big spectacular production still shown on Australian television sometimes.

Monument of Sienkiewicz in Villa Borghese in Rome

Sienkiewicz was very prolific writer and his novels spanned from historical epics to short stories. One of his less famous novels The Polaniecki Family may have been responsible for my romantic education. In my very young years some of the messages from the book most likely got installed in my subconscious. I wish I read more practical stories at the time of being easily influenced.

There were mainly Polish books that occupied the shelves of the bookcase but at some stage Galsworthy, English contemporary of Sienkiewicz, appeared as well. He also became one of my favourites. Looks that I liked longer forms of literature and I read many sagas. Canadian Mezo de la Roche – Jalna, Buddenbrooks, Forsyte Saga and some Polish ones. It is only now I have fully realized this preference of mine.

This post seems to be self-indulging, but why not. Quite appropriate subject for a person waiting for delivery of new bookcases! More on me and books later.