Getting rid of unwanted books is a revealing process – Laura Waddell

Long overdue, I embark upon a book audit. It’s certainly time.

Besides worrying genuinely about the structural integrity of the wall my shelves are bolted to, there are small stacks of books here, there, and everywhere in my flat and it’s not so much charming lifestyle choice as it is straight-up clutter at this point. I begin coveting the sensation of acquiring a new book and having shelf space available and waiting for it, how it would just glide right in.

The old adage that you can’t judge a book by its cover is not quite the full story. Graphic design has improved a lot over the years, and a cover is an important starting point for communicating something of the essence of the book to its potential reader. Its vibes, if you will.

Conversely, there are joys to be found betwixt uninspiring covers, and books that stumble off the starting block can go on to find their footing, so giving them a chance can pay off. But any heavy reader hones their instincts over time. (I make an exception for the genre of poetry, whose covers are a law unto themselves.)

I prefer to write about the books that excite and engage me, rather than giving column inches to an assessment of the merely so-so. Anything I feel ‘meh’ about goes into the pile.

A category emerges among the discarded: books I’ve been sent by publicists I simply have no interest in. This is rare; for the most part, what arrives in my postbag for review is generally up my street.

Some reviewers, particularly for magazines, receive astonishing quantities of proofs every month. I get a steady trickle, and largely from independent publishers whose output I admire and have followed over the years. But now and then will come something perplexing from a scattershot mail out, usually a lead title with a bit of budget behind it or seasonal mush that leaves me utterly cold.

The next category to go features books that come with a sense of obligation, those that make me feel vaguely guilty when I spot them still unread. Books by friend-of-friends, zeitgeisty confessional memoirs whose writing quality lacks and whose moment has passed, anything that feels like a charity case is going to the charity shop.