Book Orgies

“Second hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack.” –Virginia Woolf
 

Jack and I have different ideas of what our bookshop should look like. Left to my own devices, I would alphabetize the spice rack in three subcategories: Asian, Italian, and Other, while he would put all the paperwork in the house in one room and call it “the office.” (Come to think of it…)

However, we do agree on a few basic principles:

  • the books should be on shelves
  • there is some vague sense of separating fiction from non-fiction
  • the shop bathroom should be free of personal laundry

Beyond that, we have to negotiate.

Lately, though, the books seem to be fighting our best efforts, bent instead on mayhem and madness. Perhaps it’s the holiday spirit; they could just be gearing up for their office party (after all, tonight is St. Andrew’s Night). Still, every time we turn our back, the neat rows of Science Fiction and Fantasy leap from their shelves, race across the room, and jump into Christian fiction before we know what’s happening. We hear the flap of pages, and when we turn around, there’s a little pocket-sized Amish romance lying inside the covers of a Stephen King hardback. Looking smug.

That ain’t right, I tell ya.

Last night I went to bed secure in the knowledge that Mysteries and Thrillers had been tidied to perfection; this morning, there were three vampire paranormals lying in the floor, entwined with a John Sandford.

“Have you no shame?” I asked them, picking them up by their corners with a good hard shake. “Look at yourselves, pages splayed in lewd display, your covers bent backward. Where is your pride, your sense of decency?”

I’m pretty sure one of the paranormals belched.

So there it is: every day I go through the stacks, straightening, shelving, putting O’Brien back in front of Roberts, forcing Jack to separate Historic Fiction from Cookbooks, and at night when we head upstairs, we hear the noisemakers, the champagne corks, the swing of the chandelier as the Norton Literature volumes do somersaults into the punch bowl. {Sigh} Books today. What can you do?

Don’t forget today is the last day for the November Caption Contest. Scroll back to the photo in the blog and leave your caption under Comments.

Spatial Sarcasm?

Give us an inch, and we’ll build a bookshelf. Those of you who have read the book or visited our shop can picture the place: is there a space left where we could put up another? (Regular readers may recall, from our November visit to Philly, the outrage Jack expressed at finding Walk a Crooked Mile Bookshop had indeed used their bathtub.)

Yet on Thanksgiving Day, we found three. The bookshop was closed, Jack and I invited to a 4 pm dinner to which we planned to take Cookie Glass’s frozen-in-waiting cookies, so we didn’t have to log kitchen time. With the day clear before us, we swung into frenzied action.

Jack knocked together a standard “sleepbuilt” for under our last untouched window; created a special construction to slip over the counter in the half of our kitchen that is crafts and cookbooks; and built a skinny, tall bookcase—which, due to the influence of my Seattle coffee-fiend friend Cami, I can’t help thinking of as “the latte”—for just outside the bathroom door.

Surveying the latte that is two pocket paperbacks wide and six shelves high, Jack said, “That isn’t a bookshelf. That’s spatial sarcasm.”

But it worked. We now have a “BARGAIN BOOKS” section where paperbacks can go to die. $1 each, or 10 for $5, not returnable. Enjoy, folks.

And perhaps, just perhaps, this time when we stand back-to-back in the center of our store, surveying 360-degrees while saying, “OK, we’ve found the last space where we can put a bookshelf”—well, maybe this time it’s true.

Although I do keep eying the downstairs bathtub….