I joined Library Thing.

It has been on my list for some time, and late last night, when I wanted to go to bed though my kids were still doing homework, I did join. On Jenni Fry’s advice, I upped the commitment to a lifetime membership, taking advantage of the low introductory rate of $25 while it lasts. As I went through the impressively streamlined administrative process from basic to fee-based membership, I received each time the enthusiastic confirmation message “Happy cataloging.” Happy cataloging? What the heck am I doing, I thought. Do I want to spend my limited free time cataloging my books? Is accessing them really a problem? Not considering all the other stuff around the house that needs doing. Of course, I’m joining Library Thing because I’m a publisher. I made a mental note to save the receipt and deduct the $25 at tax time.

I’m not a book collector. As a publisher’s sales rep in the late eighties, I would receive a steady stream of free books. They were a source of clutter in my apartment; then a source of side income by sales to used bookstores or tax-deductible donations. Still many I saved thinking I might read them later. Some I kept because an older rep tipped me off that first editions of our low print-run books might actually be valuable some day. Six years ago, I moved from a 2-bedroom apartment to a small house with lots of windows. Lacking wall space for bookshelves, I had to get rid of a lot of books, including a full-set of Encyclopaedia Britannica, another freebie from when I worked there. Now I see book-buying as a zero-sum game. For every one I buy, one has got to go. Instead, I use the library.

Nonetheless, what Library Thing lacks in utility for me will be made up for in Wow factors. I was particularly impressed by how fast its Z39.50 search engine pulls records. Our Guide to Reference project pulls records from Library of Congress and, for a few weeks more RLIN, but not lickety-split like this. Also a kick to see how many records Library Thing holds for your books. Walden, by Henry David Thoreau was among the handful of books I pulled from my shelf to test out. The edition was an old one that I had pulled from my childhood home and kept all these years (OK, I collect a little), part of a Time-Life series with a 1962 copyright and no ISBN. After a bit of search refining (and letting go of the urge to just pick any old Walden), I actually found the record. I learned 1,600 users had this book. Surely not my odd edition? I dug around some more and learned that those numbers account for the Work (it’s a FRBR thing); though indeed three others claim to own my edition.