Here is a piece by Harry Eyres from the Financial Times that was mentioned in the Anthony Powell List, Goodby, my good companions, in which he reflects on disposing of his parents' library.
I couldn’t help feeling that books were rather like people: some more formal and off-putting, others more racy; some simply for show, others with unpromising outsides but rich interiors. They did more, in fact, than furnish a room; they were companions who could offer insights, good advice, or just reliable escapism, as one went through the stages of life.
Now the books are being dispersed (not all, to be sure, but very many), and I fear for their future, almost as if they were refugees...
I don't know. I don't think so, but time will tell. The age of ink and paper and printing has been relatively brief: a few centuries.As I dispose of the books – many are going to charity shops and I hope they will find good homes – I can’t help wondering if my generation is the last that will oversee such a process.