Purveyor of fine fantasy adventures

Category: life stuff (Page 1 of 27)

How do you like yours?

Bookshelves, that is, not your breakfast eggs. Do you stuff books in anywhere there’s room, or do you have a system?

The reason I ask is, I was scrolling Instagram and came across this piece on Bookriot. Seriously, have a look; it’s fun, but make sure you read all the way to the end.

It got me thinking about how I organise my bookshelves – or rather, how I don’t. Yes, I know, I am an utter barbarian. No, I don’t care. Nobody needs to find a book here but me. My one rule about shelving is that series should stay together, regardless of format. That’s it.

You see, when I was but a junior bookworm, I had limited shelf space, but mad Tetris skills. My books were therefore arranged to maximise storage capacity, whilst still keeping the parts of each series in contact with one another. Once I had a house of my own, I had room to ease up on the double-stacking, but other than that, the only nod towards organisation was to keep the fantasy books and general fiction separate.

Then we bought the current house, and installed bookcases with non-adjustable shelves – something of a rookie error. It was further compounded by letting my husband Rob take charge of filling them. Bless his compulsively-organised, neat-freak heart, he chose to shelve the hardcovers and the paperbacks separately, by size.

 

Photo of three large bookshelves filled with (mostly) hardback books. If you look closely, there is a full set of Gollanc Masterworks on the rightmost top two shelves, but that's not important right now.

Our bookshelves circa Novermber 2015. My books on the left and middle bookcases, Rob’s on the right.

Yes, it was tidy but . . . Historical fiction was next to spy thrillers. Women’s fiction and memoir were cheek-by-jowl with fantasy. My Pratchetts were split across two bookcases because the first 10 or so are in mass-market softcovers, the rest in hardback – ditto The Wheel of Time. Several other series are in the paperback bookcase but on separate shelves due to a mix of A and B format. And Memory, Sorrow and Thorn, which I have as mass-market, followed by trade paperback, then by hardback, was distributed across bookcases in three different rooms.

Oh boy.

Rainbow coloured silicon muffin cases stacked in random order. This is very, very wrong.

No.

Two sets of rainbow coloured muffin cases stacked as the good lord intended it, in colour-spectrum order

This is the way.

I couldn’t adequately articulate the sheer wrongness of it to me, and Rob didn’t get why it bothered me so much. But then he also doesn’t get why tea-towels must be folded with the printed design on the outside, or why only one of these stacks of silicon muffin cases is correct.

Or am I just  weird? On second thoughts, don’t answer that.

As you can probably guess, I will not ever be sorting my books by colour. Unfortunately, neither will I be shelving series together (except those I was able to buy all in the same format), because now that I’ve got used to them, Rob’s way of organising the bookshelves does look very nice.

But if anyone thinks that because of that I treat the books as purely decorative, they’re mistaken. My books are old friends. Every time I look at them I remember our shared adventures. That “photo album” effect is one of the things I miss the most about switching to ebooks. Maybe it’s why the shelf rearrangement bothered me: it shuffled all the familiar pictures around, and changed the narrative. No doubt when we next move house and everything’s boxed/unboxed again, I’ll have the same reaction.

So how do you shelve your books? Alphabetically by author, by genre, by vibes? Does the result have to be aesthetically pleasing, or merely useful?

Just don’t argue with me about the muffin cups, okay?

All images by Elspeth Cooper

Reading the TBR

Before I became a writer, I was a reader. I think most of us start out that way – I mean, the love of story has to come from somewhere, right? In my case, it came from my parents reading to me as a child¹.

There were always books in the house, everything from mainstream thrillers and romances to my Dad’s Penguin Classics and as I grew up  I devoured them all. I don’t recall ever being told “not that one” or that something was too adult for me. Actually, I don’t think I ever even asked permission. If it was on the shelves, it was fair game².

As soon as I was old enough to go into town on my own, I was regularly to be found haunting the stacks at Newcastle’s bookshops, or maxing out my library card. I coudn’t get enough of books. Once I had an independent income, well. It came as no surprise to anyone that my first house contained a significant number of IKEA ‘Billy’ bookcases and I filled them all to overflowing.

Fast forward through two house moves (and marriage to MrC, who is also a bookworm) and I now have a to-be-read pile which . . . well, it looms. Not quite so vast as to distort the fabric of space-time, but still enough to induce backache when it has to be packed into boxes and moved from house to house. Since I also appear to be constitutionally incapable of not buying even more books, something has to give.

To that end, I declared 2024 to be the Year of Reading the TBR Before It Crushes Me and made a start. By the beginning of April, I’d completed 9 books from the pile and come very late to the party on some great reads:

 

These books have been waiting patiently on my shelves for years, quite frankly. In many cases, since they were published. The longest-resident on the list is Daughter of the Empire, by Raymond Feist and Janny Wurts, which I bought in 1996. I bounced off it back then, but kept it because I thought I just wasn’t in the mood for it at that time³. It has been staring accusingly at me from the bookcase ever since. Maybe I’ll get around to it this year after all.

If I’m honest, I would have liked to have read more from the pile by now. According to my mostly-accurate Goodreads list, I still have 209 books I want to read, of which the physical Mount TBR is 138. The only problem is I started the year at 206.

Um. Whoops.

¹ They had a beautiful illustrated edition of Ivanhoe that became my favourite bedtime story for a number of years, and a comfort read for many more thereafter. I don’t remember much about it as a physical object so I don’t know if it was abridged or a kid-friendly edition or what, but the story had such an impact on me that when I moved out of my parents’ house at age 23 I wanted to take it with me. Alas, it was nowhere to be found. Gentle reader, I was gutted.

² Which was how I came to read The Iliad and The Odyssey before I’d finished middle school. Quite enjoyed them, too.

³ “Books and the Moods In Which To Read Them” would be a whole other post.

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