Depopulating My Library, Part I: But Dr. Fu Manchu and PKD Stay On My Shelves

In anticipation of a move from our current house in 2020 I have been depopulating my library. I had already done an initial culling a couple of years ago by simply giving away books from a table on my driveway for any one who waked by. Those were mostly books I was sure I wouldn’t read again or consult. For example, my philosophy books from when I studied that subject at KU and many of which I foisted on a young man who told me he would soon begin his studies at Rockhurst and major in philosophy. “Well, here, you must have St. Augustine’s “The City of God.”  And there was a whole mix of novels I saw no reason to keep.

This time I’ve become more mercenary. I learned of a place that was buying items to open a used book store and thought portions of my collection might appeal. And bring me a bit of money, though I knew it would not be much. This time I went to the heart of my collection. Let me explain.

Harold Bloom died the other day, a much admired but also often reviled literary critic. I thought his “The Western Canon” was not just a list of what he thought were the great works of literature like Dante and Shakespeare, but rather he established a criterion that was something like this: These are the works that made Western Man what and the way he is. (Bloom was not favored by feminists using the male pronoun in this context.) Anyway, it struck me that I should consider what works of literature I had read that made me who I am.

It struck me that as I free up shelf space I should put together the books in my library that formed who I am. I was an early science fiction fan. In high school there was a drug store that was the only purveyor of paperback fiction. I knew on what day the salesman came in to bring in new volume. I snatched up any Philip K. Dick, Robert Heinlein, James Bond and Fu Manchu novel. Fu Manchu captivated me. The yellow peril. The exploits. The exotic oriental women. Knowledge of China by me was a black hole then. It was this mysterious place and our World History textbook didn’t give it much space.

I think that was part of the formula that I was smitten when I saw this oriental woman with long shining black hair walk into my Italian language course when I went to Italy to study that tongue. We’ve been married almost 50 years now.

Don’t think it followed that I excised my Fu Manchu collection. I won’t do that. And since I turned my son onto Philip K. Dick and he has added to the five-foot shelf we have of his works, they will go to him.

When I got to college, my reading expanding greatly. I also realized that I was a reader that when encountering a new author wanted to consume everything. I remember the summer in Lawrence when at the local library I came across their collection of Conrad in a set of volumes. In the volume Conrad wrote an introduction for each title, introductions that to me where the epitome of good writing, as was his fiction.

In one he wrote that his task was “by the power of the written word to make you hear, to make you feel—it is, above all, to make you see.”

That became a kind of mantra to me when I started to attempt writing fiction that has remained my goal for the novels and stories I’ve created.

I collected my Conrad books (except for the 1942 714-page Book of the Month Club selection I’ve displayed above) and took them for sale. It earned me a whole $10, which paid for my bar bill that Saturday. Gave me something to reflect upon as I sipped my Negroni.

I don't know if any of Conrad can be detected in my fiction. I do know that

my novella One More Victim I consider my Heart of Darkness, that for a long time I reread every year. One of the things I admired about Philip K. Dick was his ability to start a story and immediately grab a reader. I hope I learned that lesson in 3 Very Quirky Tales. From Sax Rohmer's Fu Manchu story I hope I learned pacing and I hope it shows in Tortured Truths and Heart Chants.

Hemingway, you’re going next.