Today I filled two bags full of books, got rid of them (scream) and I’m sitting here clutching a third (more on that in a mo). We practically never throw away books and my children’s bookshelves and bedside tables were swamped. While I like my kids to read, that’s what libraries are for, not my entire house.
- a bin bag,
- a bag-for-life, and
- a third bag.
The bin bag
Some books were thrown away very reluctantly, but what else can you do with the dinosaur encyclopedia whose pages are a papier-maché brick (milk), or the lift-the-no-flaps-left board books from our baby days? They’ve served us well but are now mostly sellotape and fungal spores. They were binned with a little sigh.
Other books I was happy to hurl. I disagree with the premise that “any reading is better than none”, because an absence of reading can allow curiosity to thrive, whereas boring books put kids right off.
The chucked out books were mostly bad rewrites, gimmicky books, and self-published horrors.
My biggest hate is the bad rewrite. I hurled a few “modern summaries” of the classics, because why do Peter Pan or Grimm’s fairy tales need translating into banal, easy-speak summaries? Or worse, collections of excerpts? My children have accessible reads already — in contemporary stories, school books, and letters from grandparents or friends. The world is not going to break if I give them literature that contains old fashioned words and phrases that they can’t understand; instead they’ll learn how to ask for help, how to use a dictionary, or how to use their imagination to fill in the gaps. Let them feast on old language; read what their grandparents grew up on, and feel our evolution. Verily and thus. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy modern, accessible kids’ literature — but if we want new stories, let’s have new stories?
(I’m aware there’s a counterargument for keeping the old tales alive, and that we only understand them at all via modernisation and translation from their Greek/Celtic/Arabic etc origins… so yes! We should keep reinventing them so they stay alive, hurray! But if we’re going to rewrite them to keep them alive, they should not be bland excerpts or summaries for younger children, they should be retellings of equivalent complexity, tone and detail.)
Also I threw out some gimmicky books. Giving a book scratch-and-sniff patches can be brilliant; little kids love these things — but the words still need to earn their space. Googly eyes or pop out sock-puppets can’t make up for lack of narrative or tortured rhymes. And adverts that pretend to be books go in the bin for my own sanity, Disney (cough). And Lego (double cough), you make great little brick toys and we love you, but enough with the expensive hardback adverts (unless you want to bring that £300 Hogwarts castle down to £50? Because then I’d let you off.)
I also threw out a handful of self-published monsters picked up at author talks. At talks, the children in the audience will want the book because they are children. So when my kid comes home clutching one, I’m expecting it to be professionally edited and well-bound. If my child comes home with a floppy paperback with no text margins, dodgy line spacing, and poor writing, I will feel like the author has taken advantage of children. Rule: if you want to take money from a child audience, you have to use a professional editing and production team. Bin. Clang.
The bag for life
This bag’s way more fun — duplicate books.
Fat Cat, The Cat in the Hat, Where’s Wally, a few dinosaur books, a Percy Jackson… and on and on; all great books, all off to new homes. Next week they’ll be shared out, for free, and I hope enjoyed by other children.
On all levels this feels good but right now, completely selfishly, I’m mostly glad to have pain-free space clearance.
The third bag
There’s no other bag. Nothing to see here.
OK, I have… they’re not even really books any more; they’re 50% Sellotape, 10% dried spit, 10% food residue, and there’s not much ink left. I have duplicates of most of them. They’ve almost been thrown away several times. They’re not really here.
Each Peach Pear Plum.
I have newer copies, but these are the ones where you can no longer read the words. They have gum marks on the corners, and they remind me of a million cuddles. Aside from my own children, I don’t let people pick them up because they will fall to bits. Again.
Diving for Numbers (or Colours) in Hawaii.
The little books on Hawaii came from a favourite auntie, the one who sends cards full of bubbly writing with hearts and kisses. You have to hold them with two hands now.
Daisy duck visits Granny. Used to read it when we were about to see Granny. Pax tecum.
They’re in a little cloth bag. It’s soft and warm. Once the big book clear out is over, they’ll go back up on the shelves, with the little bag tucked behind them.
Safely. Because they started everything.