My SF collection. The state of the nation.

I need to have a book cull.  Plain and simple.  There’s not enough  room on the shelves any more.

When this realisation finally filtered beyond the barrier in my brain that says,  “No!  You can never get rid of books”,  I started scanning to see just what (potentially) could go, and when I worked out what it was, it came as a bit of a shock.

Charles Stross, come on down.  You’re books and my bookshelf are about to part company.

Why is this a shock?  I’ll tell you.  Charlie’s books are a good read.  In fact, they’re a great read. BUT, will I be re-reading them?  Possibly not, so they’re prime candidates for eBay (unless anyone reading this fancies them, £1.50 each or 5 for £5 (I’ll list them later).  The reasoning behind their imminent demise is quite simple.  Although they are cracking reads – and they cover the whole spectrum of sf, from space opera to cybercrime and virtual worlds – they don’t give me the certain thing that the SF books I love do.  And that is a sense of wonder.  It’s not there.  I’m sorry Charlie, it’s not.  You’re books are very clever, but I can’t help feeling that there’s almost too much going on.  There’s no real sense of awe, and that’s what I loved about SF when I first picked up Asimov* and started reading.

Don’t get me wrong, I will continue to read your books as and when they come out, but as to whether they get permanent residence alongside the Moorcock, Heinlein and Reynolds, that will be decided on a book by book basis.

(* Asimov, for all he was probably the first SF writer I read, and still occasionally read, I don’t collect.  This is purely because, to me at any rate, his books come over as very dated now, whereas, there are others from the same period, who’s stories time has been kinder to.)