What Happens to Old Library Books?

There is only so much shelf space in a library: the NEW section is ever-expanding, and the stacks are not. The term librarians use to describe the process of getting rid of old library books is called “weeding,” which is preferable to the term “culling.” You weed a garden to make it grow more vibrant. You cull a herd to get rid of stragglers. Only the most sadistic librarians prefer the latter term.

Now for some of the fun things I’ve discovered while weeding:

For a book to have a successful life, it needs to hit at least 20 circulations. Most of the books I weeded in our last round had fewer than 10 checkouts. Some hovered below three. At least 20 books had never even left the shelf.

Since purchased in 1993, Along Came a Spider by James Patterson has circulated 176 times. A Is for Alibi by Sue Grafton, purchased in 1991, has 134 circulations. Homeplace by Anne Rivers Siddons has circulated 112 times. Now, compare that to two of my favorite books in our collection: Swamplandia! by Karen Russell has 30 checkouts, and The Girls by Emma Cline has circulated 15 times. It’s interesting to consider what makes one book circulate more than another. Whether it’s name recognition, subject matter, quality of writing, awards won, book cover design, or weeks spent on The New York Times bestsellers list, I couldn’t tell you. It’s definitely a topic for another article … another very long article. Even though some of the above-mentioned authors garner high circulation numbers, it doesn’t guarantee all their titles will live on the shelf forever. This year alone, I weeded seven Patterson novels from our collection. Five of Fern Michaels’ cozy romances met their demise. Six of Stuart Woods’ mysteries reached their last checkout. I have nothing against these authors, but when you stock between 15 and 142 titles by a single writer (Guess who?), shelf space has to be a consideration. Plus, you can make fun collages with their author photos.

A little-known fact: Books are great insulation for your house. Walls obscured by bookshelves hold in the heat. If we ever run out of places to donate our weeded selections, I’m considering starting my own construction firm as a solution. Instead of pink fluffy fiberglass insulation, I’ll just load up the space between plywood and drywall with old thrillers and westerns, romances from the 70s, and outdated almanacs.

Renew, reuse, recycle. It applies to more than just plastics. Books never die; they just morph into alternate forms, circling through reincarnation until they reach Nirvana … or until I funnel them into my wall to save on heating bills.

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