My bookshelf

I have a bookshelf. Everyone should be so lucky.

Actually 5 bookshelves. They are the length of closet doors, because that is what they are. That is also why I can't call it a bookcase. The shelves are full, with books I have read. Most of them only once but liked enough to keep, thinking one day I will read them again.

I think what you read says a lot about if we could be friends. I think my books say a lot about me.

Let me check out your bookshelf and I believe I will get a glimpse into your soul.

Look at my shelf and it's a clusterfuck of authors, subjects and genres... which is appropriate.

I am barely holding on here.

At one time, I built these shelves, for the specific purpose of making a home for my book collection. They were organized in some way now lost. Was it by author or subject matter?

The shelves, like myself, have become disorganized. I look back on these shelves, dissecting them, much like my life, what choices made me do this? Why are they there? When did I start stuff books anywhere there was space?

What was my original intention with that top shelf?

Perhaps that was where the 'classics' were to be. There was my Steinbeck, Asimov, Hesse, Wolfe. But then again, why is there a Mastering The Tarot book, sandwiched between a single serving of Tolkien (a hardcover 74th printing of The Two Towers (1983) I bought for a quarter at the Mission 2nd hand store) and Elmore Leonard's Rum Punch (better known as the Tarantino movie Jackie Brown)?

And why is 1 Harry Potter book and a Richler book on top of two Terry Pratchetts? Why are they with the Winston Churchill biography trilogy? The only thing separating the two is a sci-fi 'Hall of Fame' anthology (1971) I keep solely because it has Flowers for Algeron in it, a legendary story I only read a couple of years ago and was kinda 'meh' about.

At least still perchedon the top-right corner are my memories; about a dozen notebooks from years past, story ideas and memories waiting to be re-discovered, analyzed, considered. There's also a copy of the Joy of Sex under all that, because... I was single once.

Is that good those notebooks remain untouched, when so much of the rest has been tampered with?

On my second shelf, the 'eyeline' shelf for me, which I would think should be my favourites, are books organized again mysterious to my reasoning.

From the left there are a few hard-cover books, most over 75 years old if I go by their spines. Great, I get that - high enough to imply value if I ever become a book-collector/seller and also to keep out of toddler hands. But then there is a pile of financial books which I doubt I will ever read (again). It takes money to care about keeping money.

Then a few pretentious names to keep you interested; Philip Dick, Chuck Palaniuk, Ayn Rand. A couple books on accepting I'm a writer and how to deal with it. Dead center of the shelf is my current fav contemporary writer, Patrick DeWitt and his three books.

Beside him, my humour section. Woody Allen, Carl Reiner short stories. Will Ferguson devolves into a Uncle John's Bathroom Reader. That is bordered on the right by my 'spiritual section' in case I ever want to read more about Taoism or How to Win Friends.

Third shelf - I remember this is for my pocket books as the height is quite short. I'm thinking this uneven spacing needs to change if I am going to organize this mess. I have a lot of Discworld on this shelf, altogether. A sign of respect for honestly most influentialBut then I have some Vonnegut and Brave New World. A bunch of Malcolm Gladwell books separates the books from the few cassette tapes I have remaining from that part of my past.

I'm getting tired. So much to dissect.

Fourth shelf - the bigger books, too large to fit on my paperback shelf. These range from The Shining (2 copies) to Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Anthology.  I recall this was to be my 'books made into movies' section, which explains why Gone Girl is beside Captain Corelli's Mandolin and Princess Bride beside American Hero (rebranded Wag the Dog for Hollywood purposes). There's also Silence of the Lambs and Cloud Atlas and my in-joke copy of God Hates Us All, the meta-book within a TV series, Californication, written by 'Hank Moody'. 

But that segment is cut off by the few Ender saga books I have found in bookstores by Orson Scott Card. Then it goes back into my over-sized Vonnegut, a copy of Geek Love found under the Free Books Tree in my neighbourhood. Fencing that off is my stack of sports-related books, mostly hockey. Now I'm seeing the subjects; the social consciousness pile, Shock Doctrine, a Leonard Cohen biography sandwiches some Noam Chomsky and 2 wildly different biographies of Howard Hughes. A Pat Riley Life Coaching dips into my Pierre Burton historical Canadiana books. I enjoy historical fiction but don't go out of my way to find it. Beside Burton is the collection of James Michener books/volumes read and still waiting to be read. Chesapeake, Alaska, Space, all bought for 50 cents each. As for cost per word, you can't get a better deal than this.

I am getting OCD just looking at this... 

Finally, on the bottom shelf, there are my textbooks, coffee-table books too large to fit elsewhere. My collection of Calvin and Hobbes, my Star Wars trilogy storybooks, which is probably worth quite a few bucks nowadays. Yet, there they are, bottom shelf. Surprised they weren't destroyed by curious fingers yet. A quick Internet search reveals some for sale on ebay, roughly $10 each.

Guess that new sailboat will have to wait...

Beside the fantastical X-Men anthology, Macbeth adaptation and V for Vendetta (graphic novels, not comic books I remind myself) there is a very interesting illustrated book called Great Moments In Medicine. The corners have been nibbled on by mice years ago when I had so many of these in storage as they waited for me to put down roots. This is where I learned they used to put boiling tar into bullet wounds during the American Civil War until some doctor decided that probably wasn't helping.

There's always a lesson if you read long enough.

My last two books are Lady Cottingham's Pressed Fairy book, a book I never gave to a long-ago crush and a textbook on Criminal Behavior. Perhaps there is a link? Then it devolves into photo albums, another nostalgic memory from decades ago.

But then... stashed behind those snapshots is another memory vault. My collection of childhood hard-cover Hardy Boy books, twenty-some in total. Back when I thought Franklin W. Dixon was a real person and had no idea what a coupe was, no matter how many times it followed Frank and Joe. Turns out it was a type of car. Memories. 

I thought at one time I would be giving them to my son. Thankfully, life made it so I have two. However, my first doesn't live with me and is a great reader, probably too far ahead of the pop curve what with his Harry Potter series, anime and Youtube channel. I doubt he would ever get hooked on two teenage detectives.

Perhaps my younger will be interested. However, that is many years away yet until he will be able to read.

I really need to organize this... but there you go - a quick glimpse into my book shelf.