On buying yet another book (when I have 500 unread at home)

There’s a familiar scene that plays out in my life, again and again: I’m standing in a bookshop, cradling a new novel in my arms, heart fluttering with anticipation. I know, deep down, that at home there are stacks of unread books - a hundred, maybe even a couple hundred, waiting patiently for their turn. But somehow, this new book feels essential. Necessary. Irresistible.

I tell myself it’s about supporting the literary economy. I tell myself it’s about the art. I tell myself it’s about the vibe. And honestly? I don’t think I’m necessarily wrong.

Supporting the literary ecosystem

Buying a book is more than a transaction. It feels like casting a vote for the kind of world I want to live in: a world where stories matter, where authors and independent bookshops survive, where creativity is actually valued. Every purchase is a tiny act of resistance against a culture that sometimes seems to prioritise speed and convenience over depth and imagination.

I imagine the author, somewhere out there, seeing one more copy sold. I think of the bookseller, whose passion for reading keeps the shop’s doors open. I think of the publisher, the designer, the editor, of how many hands have touched this book before it reached mine? Buying a book is a way of saying: I see you. I appreciate what you do. Please, keep going. Don’t stop.

It’s about art

There’s something sacred about holding a new book. The cover design, the typography, the weight of the pages, it’s art you can touch, art you can live with. Sometimes I buy a book just because it’s beautiful, even if I don’t know when I’ll read it. The presence of books, stacked and scattered around my home, brings a sense of possibility and inspiration. They’re reminders that creativity is alive and well in the world.

I like to think of my shelves as a personal gallery. Each book is a work of art, a portal to another world, a testament to someone’s imagination and effort. Even the unread ones have value - they’re full of potential, waiting for the right moment.

It’s about the vibe

Bookshops have a particular magic. The hush of voices, the scent of paper and ink, the thrill of discovery as you wander between shelves - it’s an experience that never gets old. Sometimes, buying a book is about capturing that feeling and taking a piece of it home with me.

There’s a comfort in knowing that, whatever happens, I have stories waiting for me. Each new book is a promise: of adventure, solace, laughter, or learning. The vibe of a bookshop, the ritual of choosing a book, the anticipation of a new story. It’s all part of the joy.

Permission to be a book collector

For a long time, I felt guilty about my growing collection of unread books. But I’ve come to see my shelves not as a to-do list, but as a treasure trove. Each book is a future friend, a conversation waiting to happen. Some books are for now, some are for later, and some are just for the pleasure of having them close.

Buying books, even when I have plenty at home, is an act of hope. It’s a belief in future free time, in future curiosity, in the possibility that I’ll always want to keep learning and dreaming.

The joy of abundance

There’s a particular delight in abundance. A shelf full of unread books is a shelf full of possibilities. It means I’ll never be bored, never without company, never lacking in inspiration. Each unread book is a door I can open when the time is right.

So yes, I’ll keep buying books, even when my unread pile threatens to topple over. It’s about supporting the literary economy. It’s about art. It’s about the vibe. But most of all, it’s about loving stories, and loving the life I get to build around them.

And when I finally do pick up that new book, months or years from now, it will feel like a gift from my past self: a reminder that there is always something wonderful waiting, just beyond the next page.

What’s the last book you bought just for the art, for the vibe?

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Until next time,

Allie