LIBRARYS

1. Reading is a cargo cult.

2. I told her my name was Eddie, which she said was great: “I like people who are named after things.” Within half an hour, we left for my house.

3. Collecting is all about control.

4. I was commuting back then. Sometimes I didn’t make it home. We’d work till nine, eat a curry, end up at a bar. Used to the commute, I’d wake early the next morning on someone's sofa and buy clean clothes on the way to work. The money was good, too good, and I ended up with a wardrobe full of shirts bought on mornings after. It’s easier than you’d think to have more money then sense.

5. I was sick a lot in those days, and it made me think about libraries. Libraries are the root of the problem.

6. Run your fingers along my spine, open me, trace my lines. Love me more than you would love your books. Remember me as fondly as you remember Peter Pan.

7. According to Umberto Eco, there are two types of book: books to be read, and books to be consulted. Books to be read are intended to be followed in a straight line – examples are novels, of course, or philosophical treatises. Books to be consulted are random access, volumes you dip into – instruction manuals, dictionaries, books of poetry. The question is – which type was she?

8. I found a job closer to home with less travel so that I could be with her. As winter drew in, I spent more and more time in her flat. I grew used to watching her read.

9. All I want is to find someone who doesn't build libraries out of things. Someone who can let objects go, doesn't need to save them. I'm not perfect, but I do my best.

10. Between the hangovers and commuting I'd given up on fiction. There's more emotional range in A Pattern Language than most stories. Magazines are more exciting than novels.

11. Thrift is less of a virtue these days.

12. The worst was when my parents found the files. There's one rite of passage many boys share but few men discuss: when your parents find your dirty magazines. But my friends never had the shame of their parents finding out they'd classified and catalogued their wank mags.

13. Sometimes she couldn't sleep. One night, when I couldn't sleep either, I asked how she filled the time. She told me she thought about imaginary breakfasts. I regret not asking her to tell me more about them.

14. I watch people buy books at Borders. I wonder how many are never read, never even opened. The economy produces more books than people with time to read them. We'd all save time if they didn't bother printing the text, simply released a range of attractive covers.

15. Something that looked like home: “Two six foot couches, two easy chairs, a clean and odour free carpeted or rugged floor, a large coffee table, two floor lamps and four cushioned folding chairs. Please feel free to dress room up to give an apartment feel.”

16. I think of sex with her as a library, each time we do it another book on a shelf – that time in the car park, quietly at her mother's. I imagine them catalogued under a special taxonomy somewhere outside the two of us, so they aren't gone once we shower or fall asleep. Other times I just want her to lie next to me.

17. Her flat was filled with bookcases. She had a dozen of them, some with piles of books on top, side on so you couldn't see the spines. I even found a couple of boxes in the wardrobe. The place was overflowing with books.

18. San Francisco has more cars than parking spaces.

19. Her collection of books is similar to the collections of animals some people accumulate. They end up with houses covered in newspaper, stinking of shit and piss, terrified in case the authorities take the animals away. I see her library the same way, the books neglected and emaciated, dead volumes lying among the living.

20. Sometimes I fantasise about persuading her to throw away her books. Maybe then she'd be free. Think what we could do with the space we'd have instead, the pictures we could hang. There are cheaper ways to decorate houses than bookshelves.

21. The English are a race of hoarders. Our museums are filled with other country's trash and treasure. We even horde our heroes, King Arthur waiting asleep, in case he comes in useful. That's what the English are like.

22. Second hand bookshops have some charm: they're constantly in dispersal. But she wouldn't buy second hand books – she wanted pristine copies. She wanted to be the very first person to read them.

23. How can you trust someone with too many books? It's not the words they love – it's the objects they're trapped in.

24. Sometimes on a weeknight, we'd just go get drunk. Those were the happiest times of my life, drunk and cold on the way home with her.

25. There's nothing wrong with bookburning, provided it's the right books. I want to ask her to torch Waterstone's with me. We would hold hands as we did it.

26. We parked the car. The wood was shady and other drivers sat in their cars, snoozing on the hot day. As we reached the trees she became nervous, told me to turn back. I looked at the ground, saw that it was covered with condoms like fallen leaves. I looked up, saw the drivers no longer snoozing but watching, waiting. We hurried back to the car and drove off.

27. Have you ever burned a book? Start with something trashy – a Mills and Boon, probably. Watch the pages curl up and blacken, burnt like ink. If you do it once, you can do it again. Imagine burning the complete works of Shakespeare and pretending it's the last copy. Imagine burning a confessional autobiography, someone sharing their deepest pain, and you don't care. Imagine Brod, burning the only copies of a couple of Kafka's stories, just to see how it felt. Wouldn't you?

28. I hate books. I hate reading. I hate the idea this is a worthier thing than watching television or meeting people. Bookshops erode the soul.

29. We sometimes pretend we've never met before.

30. The closest I've come to the future was at Hay on Wye. Bookshops had taken over everything. Every shop had some books for sale, even just a single shelf next to the jams. One day, if we're not careful, the entire planet will be like this.

31. It was raining when she said she wanted to be with me forever. I could hear water spilling over the gutter outside, spattering on her concrete. I could feel the books around me, crushing me.

32. I wonder if the characters in books know when the last copy is gone?

33. She was more insistent another time – “we should get married.” I could only see her life as a series of shelves, the things she owned trapped on them. I could hardly say no, so I said soon, once I work out a few things with my job.

34. Brinkmanship is the letter writing of the 21st Century.

35. I'm not even sure what I was scared of – but people change when they get married. They stop being the person you wanted and become the person they really are.

36. I took a sick day to take my things from her flat. I felt like a burglar as I carried them to the car. I couldn't resist taking some of her books, the copy of Peter Pan she read as a girl, to see if she would notice.

37. Our world, here and now, is prejudiced against real people in favour of fictional ones.

38. I met this other woman, went for coffee. Her house was minimalist. I loved her for her shelves, only a few dozen books, probably only those she really loved. The rest of the space was taken up with framed photos and well chosen ornaments. I wanted to stay there forever.

39. I know it won't last.

40. Nothing left. I'm a howl without a dog.

Background

I know I promised to get back to sharing shorter pieces, but last week’s discussion of listicles got me thinking about this piece I wrote back in 2008. It was written for an MA Creative Writing workshop where we were encouraged to experiment. It’s one of my favourite things I’ve written. I was quite unhappy at the time, and this did a good job of capturing that mood (although most of the items are made up - and section 15 is a clause from Britney Spears’ rider).

The title was another experiment: by misspelling the word library, I wanted to give the feeling of a number of singular libraries. I agree, this is pretentious - but I stand by it. When this piece was published by Alex and Elle from Penumbra magazine, they agreed to go with my suggested title.

After I graduated, I tried to write an entire novel in this style. It didn’t work, but I’m still haunted by that idea. I love the idea of a novel you can scan through, reading only occasional bullet points that catch your eye.

I promise to get back to smaller pieces next week.

Recommendations

Five examples of lists as literature:

1. Celestial Emporium of Benevolent Knowledge by Jorge Luis Borges

2. Seven Short Stories about Drones by Teju Cole

3. Howl by Allen Ginsberg (where each ‘who’ functions as a bullet point)

4. 50 Fun Facts I Learned at the Zoo, by Cee Glass

5. Bear Fragments by Christine Byl

Are there any other examples?