How did that get there?

For some reason I have two copies of A Room with a View. This is pertinent because, just like Leonard in Howard's End ,I have been in danger of being felled by a great stack of books. All the book cases in the house were full to the point of carnage and there were additional tottering piles of books in every room in the house. There was meant to be a vague system to it all. Cookery books lived in the hall, apart from the most used ones which were in the kitchen. Non fiction on the stairway landing. Children's books in Alpha girls room and fiction everywhere else, allegedly in alphabetical order. The reality however was less organised. At the time of counting I  had 19 different books on my nightstand and 14 in the bathroom. People come to my house and say " ooh isn't it bohemian?" What they mean is " my God woman, what a mess"
  Until yesterday that is. Yesterday was THE GREAT BOOK CULL 2010. Given that I spend most of my time slaving away down the book mines the very last thing I wanted to do on my day off was mess around with books but needs must. I've tried to do this before, mainly at the insistence of Alpha Boy, but only ever in a half hearted manner. I'd look at the books, convince myself that one day I'd settle down and read Turgenev, or a book about the social history of gin and maybe cull twenty or so titles. Deckchairs and the Titanic. Not this time though. This time I was fierce. I had rules. If the book had been in the house for more than twelve months and not been started it was going. If I'd started a book and never got round to finishing it, gone. If I couldn't imagine wanting to read something again or I could think of someone else who would enjoy it ,out it goes.Heavens it was terrifying. Piles and piles of books everywhere. The dust alone was horrific. I did falter. I think it was the having to say goodbye to the idea of myself as ever becoming the kind of person who had an opinion on 18th century French Poetry which was galling. That and having to face up to just how many Georgette Heyer novels I own. Actually, I don't care all that much about the latter.I'm at ease with my love for men who say things like ,"I'll show you my proud beauty." I think it's the mark of a rounded personality.Perhaps.
  Anyway, several hours later the book cases were still full to the point of bursting but they were neat, clean and much more organised. I did however have getting on for 150 books on the floor. These were the rejected ones. I had to remain calm and unemotional. They are dead to me.I must channel my inner Anthea Turner (clearly, I don't have, nor do I desire, an inner Anthea Turner, although someone once told me that I had an inner Brett Ashley, so I'm not without the old ice in the heart) and cling to the dream of order from chaos. Anybody coming to the house in the next week will be offered these books. I have already sent one friend away with two bulging bags full. it was pleasing, she will love them in a way I never did. Anything left at the end of the week is going to the charity shop. I have heard the horror stories about how they pulp the books that do not sell but will have to try and force myself not to care.
  The only draw back of all this tidying is that I'm now eying up the CD's and thinking ," will I honestly ever listen to that again"........