bookshelves

last night, fortified by ice cream delights, confessing mermaid and i settled in to leaf through the new ikea catalogue and both of us were struck by the photograph of a carefully planned room which, i do not doubt, the compilers of the catalogue ("catalogueiers"?) intended to be a monument to liberal/democratic boomer bourgeois taste. there were two walls, entirely covered in books, the shelves a mere infrastructure for the mazes of plots, arguments and descriptions that lined them. the room was tastefully lit with those little lights one finds at the swedish shop that require special ikea lightbulbs. on the right facing page there was an aphorism about the value of books, and the necessity of storing them on assemble-it-yourself-it-keeps-our-prices-down shelves to be purchased in stackable flat cardboard boxes on one's next trip to an obsessive-complusive's furniture mecca. CM and i wanted to move in right away.

this oogling of bookshelf porn (and what english major doesn't participate in such oogling from time to time) got me thinking about the neglected stacks of books scattered around my apartment. the architecture of my garret doesn't allow for many full-size, free-standing shelves -- in fact only two! -- and thus, i've resorted to stacking books in tottering towers in carefully chosen locations. there's my stack of anthologies, including the 10 lb norton shakespeare and my beloved broadview anthology of nineteenth-century poetry and poetic theory stacked next the radiator in the living room, across from the litterbox (i need to rethink that location!) and the stack of library books from stauffer near the doorway to the kitchen. i recently undertook a carefully executed assault on this stack in an attempt to find some books that i could return to bring down my list of borrowings which is nearing the cut-off point.

the most intriguing stack, however, is that to be found in my bathroom. yes, you read that correctly. i keep a stack of books in my bathroom, below the shelf of towels, on the floor betwixt the bathtub and the toilet. now, as any water closet reading selection bespeaks much about its frequent readers (friends of mine keep stacks of the new york times magazine, books about hockey history and back issues of tvo's guide to programming in a basket by the handtowels -- a demonstration of their cerebral interests and quirky approach to culture) in interests of full disclosure i should admit that there are magazines too: two back issues of the fitness magazine, shape both of which promise to reduce the size of one's thighs and increase the strength of one's weight-loss willpower, a summer edition of vanity fair with sandra bullock on the cover, a copy of glamour choicely subtitled "the man issue" along with the necessary, and they are definitely necessary, copies of back issues of the rowing news, including my favourite, the july 2006 edition, which features an article about john yasaitis, the masters sculler from boston who, in a freak boat accident, had the bow of an 8+ pierce right through his abdomen and who miraculously recovered and returned to competition six months later. if that last is not stirring reading for the john, i don't know what is.

but yes, there are books. at the moment three to be specific, two of which are library books. the two smuggled from the stacks of stauffer to my bathroom floor are brantlinger's and thesing's a companion to the victorian novel and brantlinger's the reading lesson: the threat of mass literacy in nineteenth-century british fiction. the latter has a yellow sticky note perkily placed over the cover art which reads "shannon -- this is out on my card so you might want to put it on yours. i'd be happy to have it back some time -- but no rush at all. CRH". this note from my second reader stares me down each time i retire to the wc, a reminder of my book renewing delinquency (i'm sorry cathy. i'll make sure to switch it over this week, after the library catalogue is up and running again. i realize it's been two full terms since you loaned me the book!). the third book is adam gopnik's paris to the moon which i like to read in those quiet moments of bathing solitude, often with my favourite "paris" playlist playing in the background.

it was as i was reading this last of my toilet trilogy that i was struck by a realization, hovering on the edge of my consciousness. at the time was thinking about what gopnik was saying about the two kinds of travellers ("There is the kind who goes to see what there is to see and sees it, and the kind who has an image in his head and goes out to accomplish it. The first visitor has an easier time, but I think the second visitor sees more") when it hit me; i don't think anyone, even the ever-practical and design savvy folks at ikea, have come up with bookshelves that fit the architecture of the bathroom. moreoever, in the design magazines that i like to peruse from time to time, i don't recall ever seeing a bathroom that acknowledges the fact that a lot of people do a lot of reading (and writing!) in the loo. now, i realize that there is nothing to stop one from assembling some billy bookcases and setting them up in your lav, but wouldn't it be nice if bookshelf creators came up with a shelf that met the specific needs of the bathroom reader? a shelf, the dimensions of which complimented the height of the majority of bathroom counters, and which met the eye-level of your average squatter? perhaps with protective glass doors that kept the books dry while allowing them to breathe and not be assaulted by the damp air from a too-hot shower? maybe there would be a rack, something like the one used for towels that could be used to drape the latest broadsheets for convenient quick reading when one ducks in for just a moment. certainly a reader's paradise.

i suppose a girl can only dream. if you'll excuse me though, i've got some reading to do.