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Bookshelves are windows to the souls of their owners. Any single book can be explained as a gift or an impulse purchase. A book collection, taken as a whole, is a fairly honest portrait.

Leave it to the Internet, that destroyer of intimacy, to try to steal the house guest’s voyeuristic privilege. A website called LibraryThing allows users to compile personal book catalogues and share them with other users if they choose.

I had planned to write a column making fun of LibraryThing. It seemed like a snooty version of those sites that help strangers share photos of their pets. It seemed to degrade books, by allowing web surfers to use them as accessories. Besides, I couldn’t come up with a good reason for the site to exist.

With due diligence and an open mind, I gave it a whirl. And wouldn’t you know, I was converted. LibraryThing is one of those tools you never know you need until you use it. Knowing which book is where is useful enough to justify it, but there are subtler joys too.

Type in a little information, such as the ISBN or the title, and the site searches the catalogues of libraries and bookstores. If it finds the book (it usually does, although sometimes the specific edition of an updated book must be added) it fills in the publication information, date, even an image of the cover.

Next, "tag" each book with your own searchable keywords. This is great for locating books you’ve lent out, moved into a box in the basement, or taken to work. If there’s a fire or a flood, you’ll know which books to replace. You can tag books you should return to friends. You can catalogue books you don’t own, but want to remember to buy or borrow.

You can also rate and review your own books. That doesn’t appeal to me. I know which books of mine are good. I was tempted to assign a nasty tag word to a bad airport novel, but I removed it when I recognized my own vanity at work. I suppose I hadn’t wanted some other user seeing it in my collection without comment.

That’s one way LibraryThing can be less honest than real bookshelves: Users can choose which of their books to reveal, and how they reveal them.

I’ve opted for exhibitionism in my catalogue. When I came across a little "Instant Spelling Dictionary" of unknown provenance, onto the list it went. It would seem dishonest to do otherwise, and unfair to the ugly ducklings on my shelves.

I’m sure there are users who do manipulate their catalogues to be status symbols. The first 200 books are free. It’s $10 a year after that, or $25 for a lifetime membership. Since every book brings a new user closer to opening up her wallet, it’s tempting to start with the most impressive titles. I wonder, though, if that’s much more dishonest than putting the leather-bound books in the living room and the ratty paperbacks in the bedroom.

So far, the communal aspects of LibraryThing haven’t turned it into one of those emotion-filled sites I had feared. There are users who comment on the collections of others, but most comments are practical and to the point: Where did you find that? Or, for the users whose collections run to eight thousand: How big is your house?

Although it is possible to keep a LibraryThing catalogue private, I’ve left mine public, in case some user has a suggestion for a better translation of a particular book, or a better reference guide than one I’ve got.

And I’m discovering some interesting things. It’s not surprising that only I and one other user have The Song of Dermot and the Earl, an 800-year-old poem. It is surprising that, when I entered it, only I and one other had The End of Poverty by Jeffrey Sachs. You’d think a foreword by Bono would give even an economics book cachet.

It turns out to be fun to browse the book collections of about 43,000 other people. I’ve come across books I’d never heard of and now must read.

But what I’ve found most interesting is seeing the patterns in my own shelves: the archaeology of my life so far. This could be called navel-gazing, or a waste of time. I’m starting to think of it as an effort to understand my own soul.

The interaction between the Internet and objects — books, CDs, clothing, packaged food — is likely to increase. Cellphones can scan bar codes in stores or homes, and connect to websites with information about the products.

This isn’t the violation of the private sphere it might seem to be. As with most online activities, the user is in control. LibraryThing can reveal patterns a bookshelf never can, but only the clutter of a real bookshelf reveals things the owner never intends. In a way, that comforts me. If you really want to get to know someone, you still have to get into his or her house and wait for an opportunity to snoop.

Kate Heartfield is a member of the Citizen’s editorial board. Contact her at kheartfield@thecitizen.canwest.com.