When I moved from London to NYC, packing up my beloved flat was heartbreaking. And the hardest part was handing boxes and boxes of books over to my mother. I am the proud owner of a ridiculous number of books. Seriously. I have almost all my childhood favourites, my vast, vast collection of early to mid-nineties YA, every book I bought for university and never read and the fruits of a six-year publishing career. And you know, all the books I actually love.
Realistically, there was no way I could bring all the books I loved, all the books I needed, over to the States with me, so I spent a good couple of hours weeping on the floor, breaking it down to one box while my mother intermittently came over, kicked me in the back and told me to stop being such a wuss because I still had to go through my clothes. It was a painful day in many ways.
Anyway, I got to New York, all starry-eyed and far too busy to read. Right? Um, according to the my newly completely filled bookcase, nope. How does this happen? And this doesn’t even cover my full to bursting Kindle. Heart the Kindle.
Anyway, here’s the bookcase as it stands right now:
Also my coats. I love coats. Anyway, since I’m procrastinating horribly, here’s a shelf by shelf breakdown.
The top two shelves have all my oversized books, picture books, teeny tiny US vinyl collection and a pair of Louboutins. Which aren’t books but are very important. And yes, that is a copy of Burnin’ Up: Behind the Scenes with The Jonas Brothers. It was a gift. I stand by its inclusion.
Second shelf down as a bunch of books from work, my beloved Mo Willems Pigeon books, my signed Louise Rennison and probably the most precious book on there, my leaving present from HCUK, Mary-Kate and Ashley and Lindsey’s HarperCollins Secrets. It’s an amazing spoof of a book I wrote for HCUK years ago filled with secrets from everyone I used to work with. Can’t pick it up without having a cry. This is why you should always work with/be best friends with a designer. Also, please note the inclusion of Wetlands. I still haven’t read it all. I just… can’t.
The next two shelves hold most of the books I brought over and the books I read most often. My lovely, lovely graphic novels, my beloved Bret Easton Ellis collection (mostly stolen from my brother), my collected works of Ezra Pound, a signed Donna Tartt book, battered copy of The Secret History (my most re-read book ever), Room, an amazing book I just finished that you should definitely read, my two poet buddies’ books – Laura Dockrill and Shafer Hall – my sad little collection of love letters from a boy who doesn’t send them anymore and Paula Danziger’s Remember Me to Harold Square, the book that introduced me to New York as a teenager. And ahh, look! There’s my graduation photo! Told you I’m a natural blond.
The next shelf down is my ‘To Read’ shelf, a combo of stuff from work, stuff I’m very easily bullied into buying every time I go into my local bookstore and some proofs from my friends at other houses. And double ahh, my amazing grandparents. This was taken at their 50th wedding anniversary and I’m pretty sure grandad was giving nana money to convince her to stick around for another fifty. Amazing.
The biggest worry is, I already have another pile almost as tall as my bed and nowhere to put them. One day I’m going to have a house with a room full of books. Mostly because my mother has been quite vocal about me moving my stuff out of her place ASAP and there’s won’t be any choice but to have a room full of books. Or possibly a house built out of books. Might get a bit soggy in the winter…http://0