 Coloring Books I am not referring to children’s coloring books, but to my experiment in re-arranging the books in my living room’s bookshelves. When you step through my front door into the living room, the first thing you see is the wall of books opposite. They dominate the room, making the sofas, antique coffee table, designer lamps, and early twentieth-century entry table bow before them. The approximately 700 books on this eight-foot long bookcase come in all shapes, sizes, and colors, but because of the peculiar dimensions of the shelves—they have a depth of only ten inches and with the sole exception of the bottom shelf, a height of about 10 ½ inches—only the books that physically fit on them can go there. Unfortunately, this does not necessarily allow me to fully categorize by subject. Yet I can find most books almost immediately. As all booklovers know, you come to know your shelves an a way most often reserved for a lover. When I wanted to reread part of David Halberstam’s The Fifties recently for background material for my novel-in-progress, a historical thriller, I knew precisely where to go. Yet I hadn’t picked it up since I moved it onto those shelves about a year and a half ago. Somehow I had the map of the books pinned well enough into my brain so I had no trouble finding it. (Top that, Mapquest!) The arrangement semi-satisfied me. I dream of having enough shelves to group everything by category: nonfiction by subject, fiction by author in chronological order. But those shelves, ones I originally thought would work well because they wouldn’t come out past the wall, have limited that. On the other hand, because I cannot include every book in any category it has created a striking variety of books. You can get a good idea of the wide range of books I enjoy, and so do I. Still, for a couple of years, I have despite the above reasoning been feeling dissatisfied with the arrangement but uncertain why. Recently I determined why. It has to do with the haphazard color scheme, with the book spines of multiple and varied hues all competing for attention. They are the only things that don’t have a sense of “belonging” in the living room in terms of the composition I have finally achieved with the furniture and accessories. For years I loved to startle. Lipstick red carpet, sofas, bedding, and towels, stark white walls, and black accessories provided a vibrant scheme. But when I moved to my current home, I found I longed for a peaceful, sensual decorating scheme of soft neutrals—rich creams, pale blues, soft turquoises, gentle greens, and muted golds—that now create a tranquil visual harmony. Except for the books. I have been debating what to do about this for a while. I even went back to my copy of At Home with Books, which showcases a number of private libraries. Thomas Britt apparently only has one bookcase—at least that’s all that is shown here—and that is open on all sides, made of bamboo and crowned with an intricate Chinese pagoda design. What intrigues me though is not the case, but what he did with his books on it. . . . every object of furniture in the room, every piece of fabric, every sliver of gilding, every chip of wood, has been selected with microscopic attention as to its shape and color. But in a design as controlled as this, the asymmetrical sizes and dissonant colors exhibited by book jackets would be as out of place as a jazz band in a monastery. “They were too jarring,” Mr. Britt decided. So he collected up the books and reupholstered them in uniform bindings to harmonize with the rest of his carefully coordinated design. “I slipcovered them, as was the custom in seventeenth-century libraries such as the one in Prague, where books were covered in parchment,” he says. Thus, firmly bound in shiny cream-colored paper (available in any good paper store) and identified with gold-framed handwritten labels, his newly disciplined volumes are arranged in horizontal piles in the pagoda-shaped étagerès. The effect is both weird and beautiful. I can’t help but think that the books, some of whose colored fore edges, unable to be covered, provide jarring notes in the otherwise serene atmosphere, are sadly imprisoned. The cream and gold are elegant cells into which the words have been cast. It just feels wrong. I can’t bring myself to consider hiding my books yet I find myself grudgingly admiring the look. Then about three weeks ago, I decided to see if I could create a variation of that look that would complement my color scheme but keep all the original spines intact. I remembered seeing the various experiments others had done with arranging their books by color. Most, I recalled, were jacketless, something I was not willing to do. But was it possible that I had enough hardcover books whose original jacket spines would “match” the colors in my décor (and enough softcovers in the “right” colors)? I started by going through the house pulling all the blue-colored books I could find. I set them up in piles on the floor and arranged them from dark to light, trying gradations outs. Would the grayish blues be better with the light blues before the blue-greens or after? Did I want to fade from blue to green then to gold and cream? Decisions seemed endless. Then I pulled all the books from the shelf above the bottom one, cleaned it (all that dust!), and began to create my “blue shelf.” The blue-black books on the left, then navy, then medium-blue and so on. I realized the dark blue-greens needed to be at the end because the blue would eventually fade into green so the light blue-grays did end up in the middle. Books moved repeatedly, one, two, three spots over as I saw color against color. But soon it became to come together. All the books I had removed now sat piled on the floor of the den. With that one row done, I sat back to admire. And feel disoriented. The look was unusual but I liked it. What disturbed me, though—and I hadn’t realized how much it would until I saw it—was that the only commonality my one row of books had in common was their color. Nothing else. The darkest blues began with Here is Your War by Ernie Pyle (one of Dad’s books), Arrowsmith, Babbitt, Sunwise Turn, 125 Years of Atlantic, The Towers of Trebizond, Bram Stoker: A Biography, Made in America by Bill Bryson, The Best American Essays 1994, and The Great Gatsby. I felt and still feel disoriented at the books that sit side by side. Would their authors have anything at all to say to each other? Can I really justify separating authors’ books just to have the books fit into a color scheme? I am still uncertain because while it took a couple of weeks for the books to look nice to my eyes I have no idea what books are there. That’s the most disturbing part, I think. I remember feeling this way when I moved in and desperate to get the books out of moving boxes and onto shelves (after three months) I basically threw them up there with regard only to size. But at least there was some categorization, as much as I could achieve. Then I got used to it. Not any more. The question in my mind is should I go forward with the color scheme or try to restore what I had, perhaps seeing if I can create more in a category choice than I had before. That color cacophony is the only jarring note when I relax on the sofa after work. But last night, as I searched my bookshelves again looking for a particular book, I realized that the stress of not immediately knowing where to find it is (hopefully, fingers crossed) temporary. I’m going to go ahead. I’ve already found a few more blue books, and a bunch of green ones. There was even a metallic gold one, Marie Antoinette by Antonia Fraser. The cream, off-white and white ones are next, and I think there’s enough of those to fill up the shelves. At least I hope so. If not, I may have to use one shelf for something besides books, and I am not a “knickknack” kind of person. Could that result in an empty bookshelf? Not if I decide that this way doesn’t work and I decide to re-arrange again. After all, I’ll be done. And no bookshelf should ever really be done. Upcoming Book Festivals and Fairs: Location: San Francisco, California The Pub House: Imaging Books & Reading: Of Interest: Until next week, read well, read often and read on!
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