I realised that in my house books follow a traditional Christian path through their lives. They arrive here from a mysterious place far away (I call it Amazon) and spend a long time downstairs (on shelves, the earthly plane of existence). Eventually they come to the Day of Judgement (when I read them). After that the judgement is pronounced (Goodreads!) and they are sorted into the sheep (three to five star ratings) and the goats (one and two stars). The sheep ascend to heaven (the loft) where they keep company with other beloved volumes and angels sing continually (pigeons on the roof, very annoying, coo-coo-coo all the time). The goats are thrown into the burning fiery furnace for all eternity (Oxfam). 
 On rereading this, I see that in this analogy I am God. That's really not how I see myself. Not really.