The books I like to have ready to hand are ones that I can derive benefit from by only reading a paragraph or two. And most of the books that fall into that category are the sort that speak to long-term preoccupations. Still, like a cliff that faces a raging sea, the façade presented by the spines I can reach without bending over or standing up has manifested both incremental and sudden change over the years. For a long time, the two easiest-to-reach shelves were devoted primarily to books by, about, or in dialogue with the work of Walter Benjamin.
Then, in the summer of 2005, I decided that the bookshelf needed a makeover. I put most of the Benjamin-related titles back in their former location -- across the room, in a location where I have to move obstructions in order to remove most volumes -- and replaced them with books devoted to the history of language and theories of history, which I added to a few works on allegory that I had retained from the previous arrangement. A little later, I made another important modification when I found a way to squeeze in a few books by Paul De Man, Roland Barthes and Giorgio Agamben and also created a subsection for right-wing political philosophy pertaining to the legacy of Carl Schmitt.
Today the bookshelf looks very close to the way it would have at this time of year in 2005. And I find myself drawn to the same few titles that would catch my eye back then. My favorites are Eric Auerbach's Mimesis, Fernand Braudel's The Structures of Everyday Life: Volume I, Giorgio Agamben's Homo Sacer and Carl Schmitt's The Concept of the Political. Lately, though, I've been inclining in the direction of Agamben's Theory of Prose and Leo Strauss's Natural Right and History. The former has many short chapters, conducive to reading in very short spurts, and the latter invariably helps me think my way past the distractions of the present.
As I write this, though, I'm feeling guilty about the books I don't reach for. I know I'd be enthralled by Kristin Ross's May '68 and Its Afterlives, but for some reason have never removed it from the shelf. The same goes for George Steiner's After Babel, of which I once read a good deal, but now inexplicably avoid. And then there are the texts which I get the urge to leaf through, but usually leave on the shelf because they are literally hard to handle, like Hans-Georg Gadamer's Truth and Method. That book is simply too big to grab unless my attention is focused squarely on the task. Nevertheless, I feel that I should be reaching for it a lot more often.
This ends your trip inside my mind, which is only slightly more interesting than a furniture showroom.