A Home for the Soul

Making a Case for the Bookcase

Books. Books! Books... Posts about books abound, especially on Substack: the books we love, the books that made us, the books that were too long or too short. I love these posts! I live for these posts! But, what about the bookcase? Those unsung heroes that keep our beloved books in some relative order and out of harms way? This post here is my homage to the bookcase. I hope by the time you finish reading you’ll be inspired to share your own bookcase stories.

This weekend I arranged my books in a bookcase. A fairly mundane, straightforward, and enjoyable activity. I realized though, after going through a bit of an emotional roller coaster later on about it, that bookcases are not just places to put one's books. They are unique pieces of furniture that hold curated collections of works of art. Like the frame of a mirror, they facilitate a reflection. They reflect back to us our passions, preferences, and personalities. When taken this way, they are a sort of home for our souls. And, in those cases where a bookcase has been passed down from one person to another, they can become repositories for personal memories and family histories.

I've always had at lease one freestanding bookcase. As a child, it was a three-shelf white bookcase. In college, it was a desk with built-in shelves. None of them were particularly special to me. They were disposable. I was happy to put them on the curb or give them away, figuring I'd find the same sort of bookcase to fit my next circumstances.

That all changed when I received The One. It was a dark, walnut-stained three shelfer with simple adornment on the top shelf. It had been my grandmother's bookshelf, one that graced her living room for as long as I can remember. My father gave it to me not long after she died and when I moved into my first apartment. After that, I didn't let go. It moved with me from apartment to apartment and then house to house, state to state.

The One stood in the corner of our first Vermont house, circa 2003.

The One in the corner of our second Vermont house circa 2010. Notice how few books! I was a mother of a 3-year old and a newborn. Plus, this house had built-ins!

At some point, life happened. I was faced with that kind of life crisis that jackhammers the foundation of everything, leaving only rumble behind. To cope, I eschewed every shade of feeling and focused only on practical matters. We were forced to move. Thus began the Great Purge. Nearly everything had to be given or thrown away or sold immediately. The house was put up for sale. We rented a small U-Haul and moved our young family of five to the safety and support of my in-laws and their two-bedroom cape (its own disaster in the making).

Fast forward to the present nine years later. After a divorce, two more moves, and now in a different state, in a different house with a different husband, the original earthquake that shook my life and its subsequent shockwaves are now (for the most part) in the rearview mirror. I've settled down. And, I've accumulated books enough to need a real bookcase.

This weekend, the books and journals I have stacked precariously in piles in the corner of my art room and on the floor stared up at me and begged for shelter. They needed a structure, a safe haven, and a little organization. I agreed with them. I had reached a tipping point. With the help of my wiry 13-year old, we lugged my husband's old bookcase up from the basement. It's one of those "not so special" bookcases. It's tall and narrow, made from particle board, and light brown with a fake wood grain. The flimsy cork backing hangs loosely by a few Lilliputian nails to the back of the frame. One of the removable shelves was missing a stud; I inserted a yellow Lightbright peg. It was serviceable.

The “Not So Special” One

Once my books were in place, accompanied by some art and mementos, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. I had a personal library again, a curated set of books collected in one location, all of which when taken together reflected back to me a sense of self. There they were in one place: the characters, the stories, and the philosophies that mean something to me. I didn't notice much the bookcase at that point. The real stars were the books. Until night came.

While putting my youngest to bed that night, I unexpectedly had a dim memory of my grandmother's bookcase. I could see it in my mind's eye, but I couldn't remember where it went. I retraced my steps as if I had misplaced my wallet. Now where did I put that bookcase? Did I take it with me to the apartment when I got divorced? No. Had it moved with us from Vermont to where we are now, during the Great Personal Earthquake of 2014? No. Did I sell it? No. Did I? Yes. I had. I left it there. In Vermont. In the house that I had to sell faster than lightening. In the dining room.

I don't know what's worse: selling a piece of furniture you love or leaving it behind. It didn't matter. I had left it behind under duress. If it hadn't been for the circumstances back then, I would have taken that bookcase with me to every dwelling. I tried to hold back my tears by reminding myself it was just a bookcase. And, how lucky I am to have a house and any furniture at all. But, it was no use. It was my grandmother's bookcase. It meant something to me. And, naturally, that memory triggered another one. In addition to leaving that bookcase, I had left my other grandparents' dining room table and chairs, the matching buffet, and a spinet piano I had bought. More tears.

Personal effects of any type, whether furniture, clothing, books, dishes, or other items, can hold deep meaning for their owners. Some of us may even sense that the item carries an emotional signature, a metaphysical residue left by its previous owner. With a bookcase, however, the emotional signature is magnified because it is a structure that holds the written thoughts and feelings of others, and if we write, ourselves. This is how I feel about my grandmother's bookcase. I remember it sitting stately on its own against a blank wall in her living room, crammed full of her cherished favorites. Just as it had been a home for my soul, it had been one for hers too. By leaving her bookcase behind, I was leaving a meaningful part of her and myself, somehow intertwined by our joint use of the bookcase, behind.

That night, after explaining to my husband why this had all put me in an emotional tailspin, he said it only now occurred to him that the bookcase I had dredged up from the basement was one of the first pieces of furniture he bought for his first apartment over 20 years ago. It had been in multiple houses, moved to Arizona and back, held books, Magic cards, trophies, games, knick-knacks, and other memorabilia. It had been a place for his soul too.

Just like that, even this "not so special" laminate wood bookcase with a back falling off became special. I had given it a new life; a new sense of purpose by giving it books to hold and display. And, it had given me in return a new home for my soul.

Then, I looked around the room. There was my grandmother's plant stand, her coffee table, and in the drawer over there her wedding china. I felt surrounded by her warmth. And, then I was left with this final thought that felt... good: her bookcase likely still stands in the Vermont house and if it doesn't, it is likely in someone else's house, serving admirably as the holder of another book lover's cherished collection, providing a home for their soul too.

So let's talk about your bookcase. Did you buy it new? Did you assemble it yourself or with someone else? Did someone you know or love give it to you? Did you pick it up off the side of the road? How long have you had it? What is the story behind your bookcase? Would you give it away in a heartbeat or would it be the last piece of furniture you would give away or sell if hard pressed? Please share your story of a favorite bookcase in the comments. I'll also start a chat thread because I want to see your bookcase!

And for extra fun, check out this Tumblr feed called “Show Your Shelf.” While it’s more about what’s on your shelf, there are some amazing bookshelves here to ogle.