Bookshelves

So, I promised pictures, no?

The Billys in the living room
The Billys in the living room

To the left are two Bennos containing dvds, mostly children’s since that’s what we need to have readily available. What precicely we’re going to do with the rest of our dvd collection we have not decided. taking up space in the Billys are our stereo and our cd collection. At some point I suppose we’ll go all digital, in the meantime they need to stay.

You’ll notice some books are just stuffed in whereever, this will probably not be rectified until we get shelves on that wall you can see on the right there.

Austenania, biographies and whisky books
Robin Hood, Austenania, biographies and whisky books

And at the bottom, a somewhat miscellaneous bunch.

At the top: Milne
At the top: Milne

Below that books-about-books and Wildeania. A few collected works (Hamsun, Kielland and Fønhus among the old editions, those purple ones on the right there are Bjørneboe). And at the very bottom, two ineffectively used shelves, one containing a humidor, the other an old wine box with who knows what inside. And at the front Bjerke’s Moro-vers is resting on top of another pile of books I couldn’t quite find room for…

The row of Bestå along the other wall
The row of Bestå along the other wall

The husband remembered the name of the shallower bookcases: Bestå. With Innreda extra shelves (they only come with four each, which is ridiculous). Five 60 cm wide and one 30 cm wide to fill the wall as near as possible.

Sci-fi on the right, novels on the left, poetry in the top middle.
Sci-fi on the right, novels on the left, poetry in the top middle.

On top of the shelves my collection of Gerald Durrell’s books, a few by Håkon Mielche, more books-about-books, and a couple of collections of letters or diaries.

Mostly travelogues
Mostly travelogues

And the travelogues need sorting, I see. So does the non-fiction below. On top are some to-be-reads, they need a better place, but for now, this is where they live.

Sci-fi
A slightly closer look at the Sci-fi/fantasy

Though the bookcase on the left has allsorts – poetry at top, then Harry Potter (one of our sets, the others(!) have not emerged from boxes yet), then Jean M. Auel, then Jasper Fforde sharing with Bing & Bringsværd, then a few odd paperbacks then fairy tales in editions too tall for this particular shelf and lastly, at the bottom, mostly Baroness Orczy’s Scarlet Pimpernel books…

My kind of logic
My kind of logic

Sayers and Wodehouse go well together, don’t you think? McCall Smith is partnerless as of yet as I suspect he’ll need more room, what with being so prolific (you may have noticed some hardbacks a bit earlier on). Kate Atkinson and Richard Russo go well together in my head, Marian Keyes just happened to fit – specewise – in the middle there. Though I guess I should move her down, she’d sit better with L. M. Montgomery and Helen Fielding, methinks.

I may add some more pictures once we’ve got all the boxes opened and sorted.

Now you’ve seen mine, will you show me yours?

Inspired

Mihoe mentioned on Twitter (@Mihoe) that she’d blogged about her bookcases – or rather about the organising of same – which made me add another blog to Google Reader, but that’s by the by. The point is we’re in the middle of getting all our books up on shelves ourselves at the moment, so, naturally, the theme is one close to my heart. In a follow-up post Mihoe provides some useful links, amongst others a link to a post I’d already seen on Bokdama’s blog (since that was already in my Reader).

So how have we organised our shelves? Well, not alphabetically. I tried that once and quite apart from the problem of suddenly needing to move all books after A because I’d aquired a new one by Paul Auster, I found I disliked the extreme mix of sizes this led to, both from an esthetic and a practical point of view. Esthetically I find it more pleasing if most of the books on a certain shelf are of much the same height, practically I have had more books than I strictly have room for ever since I moved out of my parents’ house close on twenty years ago, and so I favour a system that lets me keep books of much the same height together.

Our current setup consists of four Billy bookcases along one wall in the living room and uhm, five pluss one bookcases also from IKEA but that I fail to remember the name of (chosen because they are shallower and so take up less room) along this wall which runs from the living room into the kitchen/dining area. There’s also this Billy bookcase in the guest/hobby room which contains comics and two 60 cm wide Billys in the lass’ room containing some of our children’s books. I’ll grab some pictures of the bookcases with actual books in them later and show you, but for now, here’s the general system:

In the living room we keep the hardbacks, mostly novels and biography, some larger size books on art, photography or nature, and my collections of Austenania, Wildeania and Milneania. Oh and some collectible children’s books. The latter categories are shelved together, as are the biographies, loosely sorted into literary and non-literary. The novels are sorted by author where possible (if we have editions of widely varying sizes author groupings may be split), and authors that are similar (in my mind) are shelved together, if possible.

Along the other wall we have mostly paperbacks, though some hardbacks have crept in. Travelogues and non-fiction are grouped (by theme/geographical area and by author where relevant) to the left, science fiction and fantasy are mostly kept to the right, sorted by size and/or author. Novels are in the middle and are organised to a certain extent;  I’ve attempted to keep books by the same author together (size comes into it again) and authors are grouped according to a logic which probably makes sense to nobody but me, a combination of how well I like their work and perceived similarities of style, theme, genre or geography.

We’ve not finished unpacking all books, and so there are gaps – on the shelves and in the system. In terms of physical gaps they are nowhere near wide enough and we’ve accepted the fact that we’ll have to add bookshelves along the «spare» wall in the living room (behind the sofa) as well if we’re to have any hope of housing everything.

En smakebit på søndag #1

fortuneWell, ok, Tuesday. As challenged by Mari at Flukten fra virkeligheten – and on bokelskere.no – here is a quote from my current read, The Fortune of War by Patrick O’Brian:

Though they liked the notion of prize-money, they could not see much sense in fighting the Americans: there were half a dozen Americans aboard at this moment, and they were practically the same as Englishmen – no airs or graces about them – and you could not say fairer than that. Fighting the French was different; they were foreigners, and somehow it came natural.

Yes, I’m at it again. So now you know what I’m reading this month or so.

Another roundup

Not to be avoided, obviously.

The Great Western Beach by Emma Smith – charming.

The Rune Blade Trilogy by Ann Marston, consisting of The Kingmaker’s Sword, The Western King and Broken Blade. Engaging, well worth the time. My one gripe, if you can call it that, was that I’d have preferred to stay with the same protagonist throughout the trilogy. But I suppose that’s more of a «the books were too short» kind of complaint, which isn’t neccessarily a bad thing. Picked up the whole set as bookcrossing copies and have been meaning to release them, but haven’t gotten around to it yet. Must see about picking up further books from Marston.

One of our Thursdays is Missing by Jasper Fforde. A delight as usual, even more twisted than its predecessors, though I’d hardly have though that possible.

At Home by Bill Bryson. If anyone can tip me off about other authors who are as good at collecting, organising and relating anecdotes as Bill Bryson, please, please do.

That Old Cape Magic and The Bridge of Sighs by Richard Russo. Both quite magical in a very everyday, humdrum sort of way, if that makes any sense. Confirms Russo, again, as one of my all-time favourite authors.

And that’s mostly what I read during the holidays. Now, what did I read between March and July I wonder? Think, think, think.

———-

Update number 1: Well, of course, I reread the whole series that will not be named. That took a couple of days.

Update number 2: The School at the Chalet by Elinor Brent-Dyer. I’ve never read any of the Chalet School books before, and found this copy by chance so thought I’d try it. It’s niceish. I’ll probably buy more from the series if I come across them second-hand, but I doubt I can be bothered to search very hard.

Update numer 3: Karin Lindell, better known as Ketchupmamman, of course. I even registered it on Bookcrossing before passing it on. Her blog is hilarious at times and thought-provoking at times, which is a good mix. The book follows along the same lines, and is highly reccommended as a present for any new parents.

Started Early, Took My Dog – Kate Atkinson

atkinson_startedearlyHaving gotten my hands on Started Early, Took My Dog, I obviously had to start it as soon as possible.

Jackson Brodie gets himself mixed up, yet again, with a lot more old history than he had bargained for. This time missing children is the variation of the recurring theme. A far cry from archetypal crime, Atkinson is firmly rooted in tradition, but runs circles round most of her fellow crime writers.

For one thing, she produces passages such as this: «Schrödinger, whoever he was, and his cat, and anyone else that felt like it, had all clambered inside Pandora’s box and were dining on a can of worms. Jackson felt the beginnings of a headache, another one, on top of the one he already had.»

I’m already waiting for her next book.

The Worst Date Ever – Jane Bussmann

bussmann

We meet Jane Bussmann in Hollywood where, having failed at making it as a comedy writer, she is making a living interviewing – or making up interviews with – celebrities. Not feeling like this was, perhaps, just where her career ought to have taken her, she sets out to do something more meaningful in the best way she can, by finding a celebrity that’s doing something worthwhile. That he is also drop-dead gorgeus does not strike her as a drawback, hence the title. Through a series of events Bussmann finds herself in Uganda, without her interviewee, and starts doing her own research while waiting for him to show up. What she finds is that the drawn out conflict between the government of Uganda, headed by Museveni – regarded by «the west» as one of the Good Guys – and the rebel Kony, leading an army consisting mostly of kidnapped children, was not being carried out in such a straightforward manner as one might think, and that who was actually on which side seemed less clear the more people you talked to.

Now, finding that a conflict in an African country is not straight forward, finding that a conflict anywhere at all is not straight forward, is hardly surprising. However, Bussmann manages to narrate her investigation in such a way that you do feel personally involved, which is a good thing.

And along the way she does manage to convey the insanity of conflicts such as these and some of the plain idiocy you can be met with from those who are supposed to know better. Of the latter, here is an example:

Rebecca had had her retirement plans shelved by AIDS. I could be wrong, but I’d read that the man George Bush put in charge of foreign aid had the chance to make AIDS drugs affordable in Africa. However, the unfortunately named Andrew Natsios said it would have been irresponsible, because these drugs need to be taken at the same time every day. He really did mean Africans couldn’t tell the time.

All in all, though, it left me feeling a little… deflated? Not that I expected Bussmann to somehow, singlehandedly, solve all the political problems in Africa. That, I guess, would be an unfair expectation. However I guess I did expect… something. Something more than the book provides, anyway. Because whereas, to all intents and purposes, The Other Hand – a book still fresh in my memory – ends in disaster, it still manages to be life-affirming, and The Worst Date Ever ends on a bit of a «Meh».

The Tent, the Bucket and Me – Emma Kennedy

kennedy_tentThe Tent, the Bucket and Me was an obvious buy when I found it in London a year and a half ago. For some reason it’s been languishing on a shelf since then, until it grabbed my attention when I was looking for a book to bring on the aforementioned long weekend in Dublin. It turned out to be a good and a bad choice.

Good because it is cracking. Really. Read this book, especially if you’ve ever been dragged along on a camping trip as a child.

Bad because, well, it’s cracking. It cracked me up. Repeatedly. On public transport.

Luckily, I don’t really mind laughing out loud on public transport. Lately, though, I haven’t been reading too many books that were literally laugh out loud funny. I’ve read a few that claimed to be so on the cover but weren’t. So I was a bit out of practice. Not complaning, though. Far from it.

A long weekend in Dublin

That’s what we had last weekend. And, obviously, a few books came home with us.

From the Oxfam Bookshop:

  • No Worries – Mark McCrum (2€)
  • Great Bus Journeys of the World – Alexei Sayle and David Stafford (2€)
  • Travels with my Radio – Fi Glover (4€)
  • Just As Well I’m Leaving – Michael Booth (5€)

From Eason:

  • Started Early, Took My Dog – Kate Atkinson
  • The Brightest Star in the Sky – Marian Keyes
  • Eating Animals – Jonathan Safran Foer
  • Germania – Simon Winder

From an outdoor book market:

  • Memoir – John McGahern (4€)
  • A Confederacy of Dunces – John Kennedy Toole (4€)
  • The School at the Chalet – Elinor M. Brent-Dyer (4€)

From Pocketshop at Arlanda on the way back:

  • The Worst Date Ever – Jane Bussmann

Pies and Prejudice – Stuart Maconie

maconie_piesI found Pies and Prejudice – In Search of the North by Stuart Maconie in the newly extended English language section of one of the lokal bookshops (Norli på Nordre, om noen av mine norske lesere lurer). To my surprise, and glee, they now have a proper section for non-fiction, covering two whole book cases. I celebrated by buying this book, and I am very glad I did. The Times – according to the blurb on the cover – called Maconie «The new Bill Bryson» in their review, and I think they might be on to something.

Maconie writes well, seems to know what he is talking about, and most importantly, conveys a genuine affection for his subject, even the not so pretty bits. And he shows the right sort of attitude.

From [the Henry More Centre], you can stroll through a Perspex walkway to Leeds City Art Gallery, haunt of the teenage Alan Bennett and home to the finest collection of twentieth-century British art outside London. Their online literature encourages visitors to ‘read… mingle… chat… laugh’. Personally, I’d have put ‘look at some pictures’ in there as well but I understand that museums are now so terrified of being thought elitist, so desperate to be ‘inclusive’, that they have to avoid the unspeakable truth, namely that modern art isn’t for everyone. Neither is John Coltrane or Bartók or the ghost stories of Robert Aickman or peaty Laphroaig whisky or English mustard. That’s why they are special and fabulous. Let’s not patronise the public by wet-nursing them like this.
(p. 210)

Maconie has written anothe book called Cider with Roadies. I’ll be reading it.

Mammut-salget

So. It’s time for the annual mega book sale, so I had to pop out at lunch to try to grab the titles I really wanted. Here’s the list of today’s haul:

  • Midtens rike by Torbjørn Færøvik, 179 kr – having read his book on India, this was top of my list of «must haves» in the sale.
  • Da Emma ble Emma by Peter Gotthardt, 99 kr – one can never have too many books that explain the whole birds and bees thing
  • Bare helt meg, Clarice Bean by Lauren Child, 99 kr – on second thought I should have noted the title and ordered an English version, but I can always do that anyway and save this for a present. I love Lauren Child.
  • Barske ramperim by Gustav Lorentzen, 125 kr – goes without saying.
  • Døde menn går i land by André Bjerke, 79 kr – lovely little pocket-size hardback of a book I’ve been meaning to read.
  • Livets kruseduller by Øistein Kristiansen, 149 kr – both the lass and I love Øisteins blyant, so this was an obvious choice.
  • Paddington i dag by Michael Bond, 39 kr – another one where the English version would have been a better choice.