If you stacked my books one atop the next, they would reach to over 1213 feet, which would put this freestanding structure’s height between the Eiffel Tower and the Empire State Building.
Laid end-to-end, they would stretch around 0.9% of the Earth’s circumference. It would take nearly four hours to drive the 364 kilometres they would stretch. (But why drive when you can take public transit and read?)
The collection weighs as much as 466 badgers, or, nearly as much as an elephant, and if you wanted to pack them in U-Haul boxes, it would require 401 of them. (But my friends still haven’t forgiven me for the last move.)
Inside? So many pages: 2,688,428. Including 31,170 characters and 4,925 settings, and there are representatives of 1,415 series and 2,195 award-winning (or shortlisted) titles.
Of these, 72% were written by authors who are still alive, with 62% identifying as female and 37% identifying as male.
On average, over the past ten years, I’ve read 229 books annually (on average). In 2018, I read 83,372 pages, and it looks like I might beat my record in 2019.
The stats were gathered from these sites, and I’m grateful that other bookish people are more stats-minded than I am.
I’m too busy — you guessed it — reading!
(Curious which writing resources I’ve read and reviewed? See here.)