biblio-profiling (books as bios)

In my early twenties I had a simultaneously high opinion of myself and not a clue who I was. I was a judgmental twat. It’s okay, when I look at my younger self I shake my head with loving patience. ‘She’ll learn in time’ present me smirks. My sense of self was constantly changing based on the music, movies and books I was losing myself in at the time. I think I knew that my tastes were a better indication of who I was (or was becoming) than any pithy profile I could write or spout, which is why I put so much stock in my book collection. I collected titles like a fashionista collects labels. I haunted second-hand booksellers around the University, hoarding Penguin Classics I would never read. Each acquisition was a status update.

I judged others by their libraries as well. I went home with a boy from my History of Revolution class. He had no books besides the required texts. He did not close the deal. There was no second date. Another boy won my heart and body by introducing me to Italo Calvino and Julian Barnes. The boy who introduced me to Charles Bukowski became my best friend. Sometimes the LibroBio would lead me horribly astray, the Calvino boy was one of my difficult loves. The young Hollywood actor who gave me a copy of Marlon Brando’s biography and only read non-fiction probably read Helter Skelter too many times for us to have a healthy relationship. But there’s always room for surprise when books are an aphrodisiac – I found John Fante via the broken English of a French lover.

I know I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover or a lover by his books. I know now I should look at the whole person – Netflix queue, iPod playlists and books. But really I think John Waters sums it up best ~

We need to make books cool again. If you go home with someone, they don’t have books, don’t fuck’em.