So Nice to Have Some Books around the House

Want to ensure that your house feels like a home? Furniture is nice, art on the walls even nicer. But books are crucial for that homey touch. According to Chris Casson Madden, design columnist for Scripps-Howard News Service: “I’ve always believed that books belong in every room of the house.”

She will get no argument from me. Books live in every room of my house, including the storage room and attic, where I put those that won’t fit on bookshelves in living room, dining room, and bedrooms. It appears that I’m on the right track, interior design-wise.

Not so fast. Madden has more to say on the subject. “Not only do their [books’] bindings add color and texture, but they also add history, lore, great visuals, and a constant source of entertainment.” Yes, books add that and more to your average house. Mine is quite average. One of the first things I hear from guests is this: “Your books add color and texture to the room, as well as lore (you can’t have enough lore!) and a constant source of entertainment.” On these occasions, I remove the guest from the premises – with extreme prejudice. This is the same technique I use with Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses.

If I cared about color and texture on the premises, I would actually try to coordinate the décor instead of assembling clashing colors and designs. For instance, my wife and I bought an earth-toned couch and love seat that clash wildly with garish book jackets of recent design. You know some recent examples: Big Bad Wolf by James Patterson, Can You Keep a Secret? by Sophie Kinsella, or Robert Parker’s Bad Business.

My wife, Chris, came up with a solution: move the aforementioned books to our bedroom with its faux zebra-skin bedspread, harsh industrial-style furnishings, and the pile of mismatched socks I have transformed into a sculpture entitled “Sock Study No. 1.” Those books, with their clashing colors and textures, belong in a room such as this. Humans may not.

To fill in the newly vacated spaces in the living room bookshelf, I moved in several earth-toned books as replacements. One, Memoirs of Ulysses S. Grant, is a 100-year-old slightly tattered book, a nice shade of olive green, which fits nicely with the couch. Madden would be pleased, I’m thinking. Not sure about U.S. Grant.

But it is another quip by Madden that leaves me cold: “I stack books on my coffee table and use them as pedestals when serving appetizers or drinks.” I don’t know where Madden lives, but out here in the American West, we treat our books respectfully and do not use them as serving trays for chips and dip. There are transgressions. Some Bible thumper will occasionally burn a stack of volumes for spite. When the wind really blows, you might view a stray paperback romance sailing by the window on its way to Nebraska. I have inadvertently sprayed a new book with mustard from the sloppy lunchtime sandwich. But this was while I was actually reading it, not using it as a coaster.

Perhaps Ms. Madden cavorts with neatniks, those who will spill nary a drop of blenderized avocado on its way from bowl to mouth. Perhaps she is childless and has childless friends? If so, she is to be envied not emulated. Bring on the literary pedestals, for they will survive an encounter with such people.

My friends and family come from different stock. Consider our Super Bowl party of a few years back. There were eight adults and twelve children on the premises. Several of the children were under five; others were teens. Each family brought an appropriately sloppy snack: chips and salsa; buffalo wings; pizza. A kaleidoscope of beverages lined the kitchen counter. Most were of the kind that permanently stains carpet. Those, of course, were the most popular with the youngsters. Fortunately, our earth-toned carpet absorbs stains like a sieve. Another popular target is the earth-toned couch, which fortunately wears a veneer of an anti-stain chemical made by the same people who gave us napalm.

Through the course of the game, beer was consumed by the adults, a mix of Denver Broncos and Green Bay Packers fans. One even wore a massive “Cheesehead” hat, which wrecked a light fixture and almost poked out the eyes of several attendees. The game was exciting, a rarity for a Super Bowl. As it progressed, soda and chips met the carpet, pizza was upended on the couch, and a buffalo wing flew from my hands as I cheered a great John Elway play. It fastened itself to the shade of our earth-toned lamp. Those wings are sticky!

You get the picture. Using my copy of John Fielder’s photo essays about the Rocky Mountains would be a bad idea. I actually like to sit down with my books and read them. They are also the only inheritance my children are likely to receive. Sure, maybe it’s forward-thinking to combine an occasional buffalo wing with a collectible book, just in case famine overtakes us. And, I have to admit there are some books in my library which might be improved upon with a dose of Budweiser. That novel by Newt Gingrich, for instance, which I gave to my dad for a birthday present and he left to me with a sarcastic note. Or maybe new books of Anne Coulter or Sean Hannity. But I will never have those books in my library unless one of my Republican friends sneaks them in.

Overall, I prefer to buy and keep books for an old-fashioned, self-serving reason: reading. I know this makes me an old fogy or, as my daughter says, “old school.”  But I will just have to live with that stigma. Books as color swatches and pedestals may be fine for some, but I will take mine well-read and dog-eared.

By the way, does anyone know which living room décor goes best with the new novel by Chuck Palahniuk?

--Michael Shay (3/27/04)