Shelves of Diversity

I just caught myself staring at my bookshelf and suddenly, a realization smothered me like spandex bed linen. My collection of books makes no sense at all; nonsense. I am aware that most 'book-lovers' will have an enormous collection of books from many different genres however, in my situation, the fact remains that I do not have a 'large' collection of books. In fact, my collection is rather modest for someone claiming to be a book-lover.
Some dear friends of mine are indeed, real book-lovers who are forever pressed deep into a book; up to their ears in pages and desperate for space to house more of their already exuberant congeries. They, as expected, have an incredible selection of books from varied topics and genres, but me however, looking at my excruciatingly modest sample, am very surprised to see such a variety collided so close on one shelf.
To help you understand what I am talking about, allow me to reference some titles resting adjacent to each other within sight of my office chair; Biography of K. Rudd, Autobiography of The Doors as written by Ray Manzarek, Roy, a book about Andrew Symonds, from Victoria Finlay comes a book about Colour, Chickenhawk by Robert Mason (Vietnam War) & Chelsea Horror Hotel by Dee Dee Ramone... Do I have an identity crisis? Or can I be labelled with diversification? A man of multifariousness?