The Shelf

I’ve finally figured out the perfect use for the built-in bookcase at the top of the stairs.

Shrine of Bickford-Smith.

I have squeed about Coralie Bickford-Smith and her fancy-fancy covers of Penguin Classics in the past. But I figure you can never have too much book-related squee.

To buy a new or fancy book is a solemn thing with me, so I’m not just picking them all up at once. I have ordered my very first C. B.-S., Oliver Twist, which as an added bonus I actually want to read. It is winging its way towards me as I type. My only concern is that the first set has numbers on the spine — and numbers 1 and 8, Madame Bovary and Crime and Punishment, are nearly impossible to find. It is a numbered list with two numbers forever missing.

This will make me crazy.

I have already written a strongly worded letter to Penguin suggesting they do something about this, but received only a marginally relevant form letter in reply. Oh well, maybe I can use this as an opportunity to overcome my slightly anal retentive need for order among my books. Or, more likely, I will go on obsessively searching for copies online until my fingernails and beard grow into a kind of second skin and Gene leaves me and the new owners of the house are forced to have me exterminated, believing me to be some kind of internet-surfing mold.

So you can see how this is an excellent plan.