I don’t believe my grandmother owns ANY books other than a few price guides for her favorite types of antiques. Oh, and Grey’s Anatomy and a few guides to medical terminology and pharmaceuticals, but she uses those for work.
She’s also extraordinarily bright and quite well read. It’s just that she goes to the library for her books. Her opinion is that there’s really no point in reading a book you’ve already read, and besides, if she really feels the need she can always go to the library. It’s an unnecessary expense in her opinion, and her apartment is just big enough for all her other stuff.
Her daughter, my mother, has a house FULL of books. Full. Books in floor to ceiling bookshelves taking up half of two large rooms. Books on shelves all around her bedroom. Boxes of books she just doesn’t have shelf space for. I’d guess a good 2000 books in her library, not least because she works at a bookstore.
I remember visiting her recently to get some of her yarn and knitting needles. She’d been cleaning out one of those rooms of books – a studio with shelves of fabric and other craft materials – and there was a file box on the floor overflowing with attractive, well-cared-for hardcovers.
“Some of these books,” she said, “I liked so much I bought them three or four times.”
Me, myself, and I. I have four bookcases – one tiny pine one with four short shelves, two generic three-shelf models (you know, the sort everyone has) and one nice tall cherrywood five-shelf. Total books, not including individual comic books but including roleplaying books (maybe ten) and comic compilations (maybe fifteen) I figure maybe 500 total.
I hate moving.
Though that may be equally because of my small collection of antique oak furniture…
Everyone else hates it when I move, too. 