Almost two weeks ago, fellow Bloggforum panel member Håkan tried to infect me with the booklisting virus that’s been doing the rounds of the Swedish blogosphere. I resisted answering, as this is my blog and nobody, and I mean nobody, is going to tell me what to write here. But now Erik has sent another dose my way, and I am simply not immune against a sustained memetic onslaught of such virulence.

Clearly, these questions are not really about books, but about me, so I’ve helpfully annotated my answers to clarify what essential revelatory information each book is meant to divulge.

Total number of books owned?

Answer: 80

What this is meant to show:
I am a light traveller, a globetrotter, a ruthless uncollector. My belongings fit into 10 cardboard boxes. I long for the day I can search all the world’s books via Google, subscribe to their contents, and download to a reader. I have no nostalgia regarding books. They are inefficient and inaccessible stores of knowledge.

What it really means:
I don’t read books much. Honest. Not since the internet, anyway.

The last book I bought?

Answer:
AppleScript: The Missing Manual, by Adam GoldsteinAged 14, apparently.

What this is meant to show:
I am not the overly literary type, nor a clear geek (geeks don’t buy manuals), and I am secure enough in my own skin to flaunt this ambiguousness publicly, right here on my blog.

What this really means:
Geeks don’t buy manuals because they figure this stuff out by themselves. Me, I’m too lazy and/or inefficient and/or stupid to be a geek, even though I do aspire to it.

The last book I read?

Answer:
Blink, by Malcom GladwellBut what about the book? It was like reading a themed issue of The New Yorker from cover to cover, with all that that entails.

What this is meant to show:
I am a regular and voracious reader of this type of book (you know, Everything Bad is Good for You, The Tipping Point, Freakonomics, Critical Mass, etc…) because I am serious about my status as a technoratus.

What this really means:
A friend had this book lying around on Skärgården (the Stockholm Archipelago) this past weekend, and I read it in one sustained go in part so that I could include it here in this post and make a good impression.

Five books that mean a lot to me? (AKA books I’ve read more than three times)“More than three times” should be in scare quotes because if I really had to list books I’ve literally (haha) read more than three times then we’d be stuck with 201 Swedish Verbs, 501 Spanish Verbs and 501 Italian Verbs.:

The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald

What I’ll say about it:
Great short books are the best, because the hardest part of writing lies in sublimating experience properly. Anything longer than The Great Gatsby better have an excellent excuse for its verbosity. (No, Tolstoy’s works don’t have one.)

What this really means:
I have attention-deficit disorder. Which is why I blog. I can’t sustain ideas for

The Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad

What I’ll say about it:
Joseph Conrad is my great write hope, in the sense that he is one of the best-ever writers in English despite having learned the language as late as age 8. A role model, obviously.

What this really means:
Denial really is a river in Africa, only it’s called the Congo.

The Magus, by John Fowles

What I’ll say about it:
Brilliantly written. Nothing in this book can be taken for granted, and it forces you to read much more critically. Not unlike with blogs.

What this really means:
Set on a Greek island, smart promiscuous identical twins are hired to seduce me the narrator, who is the object of a God-game. Does self-indulgent fantasy get any better?

Mating, by Norman Rush

What I’ll say about it:
Together with Simone de Beauvoir’s Les Mandarins, this book contains one of the most compelling intelligent female characters I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. Plus it’s set in Southern Africa, where I’m moving to next.

What this really means:
I’ve failed to include a single female author [link in Swedish] in this list, so instead I’ve come up with a compelling female narrator written by a man. How does Rush do it? Impressive!

Ficciones, by Jorge Luis Borges

What I’ll say about it:
At the crossroads between science and art, literature and philosophy, the short stories in this book really do manage to encapsulate how irrational, finite Man comes to terms (or not) with mathematical truths and infinity.

What this really means:
I am trying to convey how intelligent I am purely through my taste in fiction written by other people.

Tag 5 people and have them fill this out on their blog:
AKA “Do unto others as others have done unto you.” Felix, Matthew, Oliver, Kim, Eurof, you’re It.