There is something about sitting next to a bookshelf – especially one of my own – that I find simultaneously invigorating and soothing. It must be the fond memories of the books on it that I’ve loved. The anticipation of those I’ve not yet read. The inevitable, distinct smell of a collection of books that vary in age, how many hands have touched them, and how far they’ve traveled. My bookshelves are great roommates.
A few years ago, my 31 Days series was a celebration of shelfies – pictures taken of my bookshelves. Like the books on them, each shelf tells its own story.
Like the one pictured above, with the whimsical pig bookend holding up books I’ve had since childhood. It captures the reminiscence of Scholastic book fairs and the special visit from John R. Erickson, creator of the Hank the Cowdog series, to our small town elementary school. Technically I wasn’t in elementary school anymore at that point, but my mom made sure I still got a signed copy.
Or the one below, that holds some of my favorite serving pieces as well as the bulk of my foodie/cookbook collection. Everything I know about being a good host came from someone who used to own one of those pieces or from the wisdom shared in one of those books.
The next picture is another cross-section of my life. The little plant that could, a cutting from my friend Sarah in a planter that my mom just knew I had to have. Larry McMurtry’s most popular novel as well as the one we read for Follow the Reader (also nurtured/led by Sarah). Part of the latter half of my fiction collection, including books from some of my favorites – Louise Penny, Haruki Murakami, Toni Morrison, Ann Patchett, Joyce Carol Oates. Just thinking of these authors makes me remember where I was when I discovered them and what their books helped me through.
When I have a larger library, some authors are going to get their own shelves. Meanwhile, I’ll arrange my Isabel Allende collection however it will fit. She is the reason the As already get their own shelf, when most other letters of the alphabet have to share. The Bs are quickly catching up, though.
The shelf that holds most of my nonfiction is probably what you saw behind me if you’ve had a Zoom meeting with me in the last year or so. I don’t have quite as much nonfiction, so there are also children’s books, stacks from authors I like who write both fiction and nonfiction (but I feel like they would miss each other if they were separated), and books from my academic years, which are mostly nonfiction but with a sprinkling of poetry and short story collections (some, apparently, in German). As with most of my shelves, I also have small pieces of art nestled between, in front, and beside the books.
The look and smell of my books is what makes any place I live feel like home. You could probably learn a lot about me by spending some time perusing them. Maybe that’s why the first place I go when I’m left to my own devices in someone’s home is to their bookshelves. I always learn something I love about the people who live there.
M. Suzanne Terry 
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