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Collections of Nothing
Collections of Nothing
Collections of Nothing
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Collections of Nothing

Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

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Nearly everyone collects something, even those who don’t think of themselves as collectors. William Davies King, on the other hand, has devoted decades to collecting nothing—and a lot of it. With Collections of Nothing, he takes a hard look at this habitual hoarding to see what truths it can reveal about the impulse to accumulate.

Part memoir, part reflection on the mania of acquisition, Collections of Nothing begins with the stamp collection that King was given as a boy. In the following years, rather than rarity or pedigree, he found himself searching out the lowly and the lost, the cast-off and the undesired: objects that, merely by gathering and retaining them, he could imbue with meaning, even value. As he relates the story of his burgeoning collections, King also offers a fascinating meditation on the human urge to collect. This wry, funny, even touching appreciation and dissection of the collector’s art as seen through the life of a most unusual specimen will appeal to anyone who has ever felt the unappeasable power of that acquisitive fever.

"What makes this book, bred of a midlife crisis, extraordinary is the way King weaves his autobiography into the account of his collection, deftly demonstrating that the two stories are essentially one. . . . His hard-won self-awareness gives his disclosures an intensity that will likely resonate with all readers, even those whose collections of nothing contain nothing at all."—New Yorker

"King's extraordinary book is a memoir served up on the backs of all things he collects. . . . His story starts out sounding odd and singular—who is this guy?—but by the end, you recognize yourself in a lot of what he does."—Julia Keller, Chicago Tribune

LanguageEnglish
Release dateNov 15, 2008
ISBN9780226437095
Collections of Nothing

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Rating: 3.073529317647059 out of 5 stars
3/5

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  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This was a very interesting book--basically about this man's collection of stuff that no one else finds valuable. It was a bit dry for me, and not very well organized. When I finished the book, I wondered what the point of it was (maybe that's what he was trying to accomplish, since it's called "Collections of Nothing"?).
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This book trace William Davies King's obsession with accumulating "stuff" over the years of his childhood and adulthood. He traces the need to have something private in his life, which he shares only upon occasion. This countervalances his love of theater which is very public. This texture of collecting gives his life an idiosyncratic twist, which makes me want to think about my compulsion with collecting public timetables. And to support this collecting with a vast array of maps and data extracted from the Census and other staitisical sources. I probably have over 30,000 timetables and 6,000 maps, so I am definitely in this other camp.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    There's a lot that's compelling, even fascinating in this memoir, and yet somehow it falls short. How can it be that such a slender volume feels so terribly overwritten? Long sections of this short book ramble over the same territory again and again, adding nothing new. Even worse, other sections are basically the author rambling about what he should write about! Which could conceivably work if it involved deeply self-reflective observations, but I feel like the author here is constantly skimming the surface of his psyche: why he collects, why anyone collects, how the hell is he going to fill an entire book about his collections. For all that he talks about the years he has spent in therapy, he never comes close to any deep insight about his/our compulsions.
  • Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
    1/5
    I was sold on this one by the review in Amazon. Yikes!!...was I led astray. Not good. A big snoozola!!
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    “To collect is to write a life.”Collections of Nothing is a very odd book, part prose-poetry, part memoir, part self-analysis, part exorcism. The author, William Davies King, collects (as he puts it) nothing. And boy does he collect a lot of it. To give a sense of what that means, his collection includes more than 18,000 labels – labels from candy bars and canned soup, shampoo and toothpaste, bottled water and cat food. And that’s just one small (and growing) part of King’s collection. He collects valueless things no one wants, he collects to make an autonomous world. He collects like a cancer grows.I’ll use his own words to try and describe just why he collects so much nothing: “Collecting, like art, is a way of coming to terms with the strangeness of the world.” “The widely shared impulse to collect comes [...] partly from a wound that many of us feel in our personal histories. Collecting may not be the most direct means of healing those wounds, but it serves well enough.” King tells of the personal tragedies that propelled him into collecting, the trauma of an older sister with cerebral palsy and “mental insufficiencies” who became so imbalanced she had to be institutionalized, and wreckage that experience makes of himself and his family.He explains, re-explains, and re-re-explains his compulsion to collect, interspersed with a roughly chronological account of his life. To quote again, this time from a book of astrology King owns: “His style is picturesque, vivid, often dramatic; and he continues to deliver and redeliver his message, changing and adapting its form while preserving its essence, until he succeeds in arousing the attention of his audience and kindling its enthusiasm.”This book certainly isn’t for everyone. Some may throw it across the room in frustration with King’s self-absorption. Some will be puzzled by its discursions on cereal boxes. Some may simply find it boring. I liked it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt a writer so intently – and desperately -- trying to reach me as a reader and as a person. It created a fascinating, if uncomfortable, sense of having William Davies King in the room with me as I turned the pages.As he puts it: “The book says: here is the collection, here is the collector. What’s missing is the reader, which leads me to turn away from the ponderous things and from the vanishing self to you. Hesitantly the book wants to know where it is going, and I need to find you to know—you, a reader so kind as to collect me.”
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    King is a collector. He has collected things since he was a little boy. What does he collect? Worthless things, he says. Labels from boxes and cans, for the most part. But he also has several other, equally useless collections. King thinks about his collecting and puts it into context by revealing the events of his life and the larger world. I can’t really see someone going out and purchasing this book. It leaves you with a sense of having wasted your time reading it, with King dwelling on the meaninglessness of his collecting and of his life. He seems to find some meaning in the meaninglessness of everything, but that is way too philosophical for me.

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Collections of Nothing - William Davies King

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