The other day I happened upon a New York Times op-ed in which writer Laura Miller talks about culling books. When I read it, I simultaneously thought: “How wonderful!” and “How horrible!”

Now you have to understand, I am a compulsive cleaner. I constantly pick up after Andy, who is too concerned with efficiency to bother with things like aiming at the laundry basket or scraping food off plates before putting them in the dishwasher. But me? I fantasize about throwing things away. I revel in dropping off bags at Goodwill, or cleaning out a box by dumping its contents in a trash can and then folding IT up and dropping it in the recycle bin. I burn with desire to get rid of about 75% of the things in my parents’ home — half of which is junk I accumulated growing up, the other half is stuff my dad can’t bear to let go of even though he hasn’t even SEEN it in two years or more. You know, “just in case” he needs it someday.

(He was born towards the end of the Great Depression, so maybe he has some excuse…)

Anyway, being “streamlined” and tidy is a compulsion for me. But it does NOT apply to books.

I love books. The feel, the smell, the pages that turn, and have words on them, and form stories! How could I throw them away? We even have doubles of a few titles on our bookshelf, since we took a couple of the same courses (with the awesome Scott Sandage).

So, since I am too weak-willed and nostalgic when it comes to literature, I must resign myself to the fact that I will probably always have some form of “junk” in my house. I can weed out old clothes that don’t fit, recycle papers I don’t need, even delete music files that I never listen to, but books… books are just too hard to part with.

What do your shelves and drawers look like? Are you a pack rat, or a purger? How do you decide what to keep and what to toss?

Per Michael Griffith’s suggestion last month, I looked up Cincinnati’s Mercantile Library, and it turns out they were about to host a “Literary Evening with Lisa See.” The same Lisa See whose heritage and identity I had pondered a month ago. How could I resist?!

Answer: I could not. So I quickly read Peony in Love (free online courtesy of the Cincinnati Public Library system) in preparation.

Thursday night I made my way downtown for the event. In the parking lot I spotted a group of older women holding copies of Snow Flower and the Secret Fan (See’s best novel, from what I’ve heard) and I asked if I could follow them. They were rather cute, as older people are wont to be, teasing each other and laughing like girls and chattering excitedly about meeting Lisa See. I was excited too, but I was also beginning to suspect that I might not, um, fit in.

This feeling was confirmed once we reached the reception area. I was one of two people under the age of 35, and the other was a daughter who had been roped into volunteering, I’m pretty sure. Soooo yeah. Awkward.

But actually, everyone was so friendly it didn’t matter. And Lisa See herself was mingling before her talk, munching on hors d’ouerves and catching up with her former Pilates instructor who had moved out here from LA. She noticed me hovering, waiting for my chance to talk to her, and welcomed me into their conversation. I told her why I was interested in her — Hi, I’m Miss Identity Crisis! Do you have one too? — and she told me to ask her about it during the Q&A session because she loves talking about it. She also recommended her (first?) book, On Gold Mountain, in which she discusses her family lineage and how she fits in (or doesn’t).

The Pilates instructor was a sweet, enthusiastic woman who invited me to sit next to her in the second row. From there we listened to Lisa explain how Peony in Love came to be, and I sort of wished I hadn’t read it until after I’d heard her talk, because I think knowing her ambitions and inspirations for the book would have added a very special layer to my reading and made the story more enjoyable.

Regardless, I was awed by her charm, her wit, her sincerity. She was very smooth and genuine. (And tiny!!) And she talked a lot with her hands.

When she was done speaking, we had the Q&A, and she said several things that stuck with me.

1. 1,000 words a day, no matter what. Or 2 hours of editing. That’s her work method/ethic, and I think it’s more than reasonable, even for a beginner like me.

1. She personally responds to her email. No assistants, no canned replies.

1. She often joins book clubs for their discussions via speakerphone.

1. And, in answer to my question, “I think for children, what we see in the world around us is our mirror. So when I looked out at my family, at my mirror, I saw Chinese faces.” By appearances, she doesn’t fit in with them, or in LA’s Chinatown (where her family is quite prominent), or in China, but that’s the community in which she was raised and where she feels most at home. On the other hand, here in Ohio, she looked just like everyone else, but that doesn’t mean she felt like she belonged. I found myself nodding (vigorously) the whole time she was answering.

(Note: Even though it’s in quotes, that’s actually a paraphrase of what she said. I can’t remember what I ate for lunch yesterday; do you really think I could remember someone’s exact words?)

I hung around afterward, hoping to get a moment with her again — I’d even made a little booklet out of Ama, in case she asked what kinds of things I wrote — but the line for autographs was long and the library’s director mentioned he was planning to see if Lisa wanted to grab a bite to eat since they’d scheduled her to speak over dinner. So I took advantage of what I’d learned (see #2 above) and decided to let her be. I can always try her online.