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We didn't have many books when I was a child, but I can remember my father sitting in the bay window in the sitting room with a pot of coffee and a packet of cigarettes, reading - either the newspaper, or, more likely, a book and my mother nagging him to do something around the house or garden. My mother's family were of the generation that tended to see reading for pleasure as mildly sinful. I won't say that my mother was of that opinion (even though she wasn't a great reader herself), but her aunts disapproved of me sitting around with my nose in a book unless it was for educational purposes.
When I got old enough, I'd be badgering my mother to take me to the library as I'd finished my current batch and wanted more. She ended up putting her foot down - she'd only drive me once a week on Saturday, and if I'd finished everything by Monday evening, tough. Once I was old enough to go on my own on my bike, that was OK.
Of course, I've more than made up for that in adulthood. I've got around 4,500 print books, and probably nearly as much again in an electronic copy. (The numbers of print are going down, and the ebooks are creeping up - we only have so much space in the house and I'm not allowed to move to a house with more book space.) . I'm glad I went for a very plain decorative scheme in the house - if I had anything other than a neutral paint job, the house would look impossibly cluttered.
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