Why can’t I part with my thesaurus?
I recently moved. Among the 87 tubs and boxes of unsorted crud left over from bygone moves, several hold my prized book collection.
My book-apportionment project reminded me of a classic “Seinfeld” line.
Why do people need them? To show off, of course.
As I separated the “keep” from the “don’t keep,” though, I realized I have very few status symbols. I have 14 Vonnegut paperbacks, and lesser-known nonfiction titles, such as “How to Write a Weekly Column Without Talent,” but nothing to wow the guests.
It’s impossible to impress people with a paperback collection, even if you own a copy of “Iliad.” You must have the hardcover.
But beware. If you haven’t read these trophy-books, you could get caught in a discommodious confabulation.
At that point, you’ve been had, and you must lie.
“Yep, great book,” you say.
At one time, it was possible to awe visitors with reference materials. An expensive set of encyclopedias provided literary decor, and you didn’t have to read no books.
But the thesaurus has never served that purpose. And I realized I haven’t opened mine in years. As a “writer,” you’d imagine I’d want to “spruce up” my “prose” quite often.