Welcome to my living room! My bookshelves start in the corner of the living room with fiction, alphabetized by author, natch. (None of this pretty, color coordinated stuff for me!) This bookshelf holds A through K, with miscellaneous plays and such on the bottom shelf, which is too small to hold anything upright. The corner is one of those places that causes my friend Jeffrey to say, “Miss Osborne, you’ve got a book problem.” (Note: I sort of, maybe agree with him, but when I mentioned it to Miss Ball, she was pretty peeved and huffily told me that I’m a grown woman and I should do what I want with my apartment. Clearly, domestic book eradication is one of those topics that upsets certain people.) Those two piles have been reduced from what they were before a recent purge. But I think it may be time to invest in another bookshelf. Or start making Esty-worthy art projects out of the books.
K–Z in fiction continues into the dining room, hanging out with my Scotch, bourbon, and wine. As it should be. Though I’m mildly embarrassed that I have yet to rearrange my shelves so that the continuation of fiction shelf is on the left. You see, when I move I like to get everything put away the day I move in. I can’t deal with clutter. But somehow I managed to reverse those two shelves. The shelf on the left is the start of my non-fiction, which is starting to be heavily weighted toward Mary Roach and biographies. (If you haven’t read Mary Roach, I highly recommend everything she’s written. Her books make me laugh out loud, and I—temporarily, anyway—learn stuff! If you’re looking for a biography, one of my favorites is My Life in France, by Julia Child—and what portions of the movie Julie & Julia were based on.) There’s also a subsection of books about Arthurian legends. And British history.
On top of the bookshelves I have a portion of my art books, mostly from exhibitions I’ve seen. To the right are cookbooks, my enormous binder of recipes that I’ve collected from the Internet and friends, and The Complete Calvin and Hobbes boxed set. (Should you have a craptacular day, the best way to get over it is to go home and read Calvin and Hobbes for a few hours. Or watch Anne of Green Gables. Life is instantly better.)
The little bookshelf when you enter my bedroom is where I keep a random assortment of young adult or children’s books (mostly because they’re smaller and fit on the smaller, unmovable shelves) as well as reference books for copyediting (note that I still hold only to my Chicago Manual of Style 14th ed., which I think is the best one) and miscellaneous books that will eventually be inserted into the fiction and non-fiction shelves. I’m proud to say that a few books on this shelf were illustrated by friend-of-Austenacious, Mrs. Light. (aka Kelly Light, author and illustrator extraordinaire. Go pre-order her newest title Louise Loves Art. Right now!)
And the last bookshelf is the keeper of photo albums, Oakland A’s bobbleheads, travel books, and the rest of my non-fiction, heavily weighted toward medieval history. A prized possession on the second shelf is my copy of the Bible. Right after graduation, my college roommate suddenly was offered a job by CNN and packed up her beat up old Volvo and left for L.A. She also left a ton of stuff, including a pile of textbooks destined for the trash. I told her if she threw out a bible (from her World Religions class) that surely she burn in hell for eternity. She told me that if I was so worried for her immortal soul that I should keep the bible. While irritated because I had my own packing up to do, I took the bible. Whether from fear of the wrath of God or inability to see a book go to waste, you’ll never know.
There are other miscellaneous piles of books around—on the nightstand, below the coffee table, and in corners around the house. I’m saving things for the day when I get to move into a house with a library like this: