The Argument from Interior Design: Bookshelf Edition
Covid 19: or how I stopped worrying and learned to love Zoom. As Zoom has been the flavour of the month for almost every month since time began (do you, reader, also yearn for the golden era before quizzes), we are spending an inordinately large amount of time staring vacantly into the little fishbowls of each other’s homes. Quite quickly we learned that our colleagues’ existence is not limited to their desk - truth be told, they actually have houses, with things like kitchens and hallways and running taps. Who would have thought? Indeed, these ‘homes’ betray the humanity of even the most lifeless of co-workers. Have they taken to Marie Kondo-ing their hallway? Is there a euthanised sourdough starter dripping down the walls? Worst of all, are they getting ‘quarantine-fit’, pretending that the frayed resistance band looped in the background is a reasonable exchange for a gym membership, and is not at all representative of their mental state? They may have even technologically trumped us all by creating a Zoom backdrop. Respect to these people, because nothing says inexhaustible comedy like sitting in a meeting pretending you’re on a pixelated beach.
Our fascination with general backdrops is never so fierce as when a book case features. A bookcase! The person who takes every call in this ‘personal library’ is obviously a self-entitled wise-guy who wants to fool us that they can read! Suspending the sarcasm for but a moment, for those of us who are interested in such trivial things as books, bookcases are a vital part of one’s personality. They display what we have read, and more importantly what we want other people to think we have read. The organisation of a bookshelf also inspires limitless creativity. Are they arranged by height? By colour? Flavour? The possibilities are endless. Those, however, who arrange their books with the spines facing the wall for an apparently innocuous and minimalist design, take warning. You are a psychopath and demonstrate no obvious understanding of the function of a book.
We all judge books by their covers. Otherwise book designers would be obsolete. This came to full fruition in early May when a picture of Michael Gove’s bookcase was shown to feature a book written by historian and Holocaust-denier David Irving. The Times journalist Janice Turner picked up on this, making the valid point that owning a book is not a declaration of belief. If, then, books do not necessarily demonstrate the belief of their owner, what do they declare - other than the fact that you need to do more dusting? Quite a lot actually. They can illustrate interest, yes, but they can be - more importantly - an intimate glimpse into the mind of the owner.
I took the liberty of imagining the books which (most likely) feature on your bookshelf, and revealing what they say about you.
A rather dog-eared copy of War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
You’re most definitely an English grad who has tried (and failed) multiple times to finish this epic. At first it was an emblem of your scholarly aspirations and prowess, then it gathered dust and evolved into a romantic symbol of unconquered intellect. Now that it has been reclaimed as a quarantine-kettle-bell, your yearning for the sweeping landscape of a glittering wintry Russia is more appositely elusive. Nevertheless, in quarantine you have moped about the house in true aristocratic style, have adopted a penchant for melancholy staring out of windows and have a sudden urge to write some emotionally complex letters. After giving in to your parents’ totalitarian demands to weed the garden, you now take to it with new vigour, sentimentally imagining yourself as a Levin-esque character from Anna Karenina. You remain toiling throughout the day, waiting for your emancipation from the bonds of quarantine life.
Normal People, Sally Rooney
Chances are if you’re a thoughtful twentysomething, Rooney’s novel will not just sit on your bookshelf, it will be ensconced in its own shrine. Move over Dolly Alderton, damaged youth have a new means of cathartically trawling through their own complicated relationships. By now you’ve migrated to the T.V. show either to fill some sort of Connell Waldron shaped hole or because you reasoned that a heart-heaving love story was the perfect antidote to quarantine drought. Let’s face it, after watching the series you sifted through the discarded tissues and did a massive Asos haul for ‘Tuscan dresses’ and ‘brooding vintage wear’. You’ve already made the group chat to rent Marianne’s villa on Airbnb, and you’ve followed @connellschain on Instagram. Be prepared for every person you’ve slept with who’s watched the show to resurface, wishing to conjure the ennui on screen in their own lives. Grow up, not everyone can pull off a fringe or a chain like Marianne and Connell. Get back to feeling emotionally flawed like the rest of us. The question still remains: is it too late to switch my MA to Trinity?
The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Eric Carle
A literary triumph. People can only dream of being as well read as yourself. That the book is so close to hand means that you, hopefully, have children - and for that, respect that you’ve managed to even get onto the Zoom call in the first place.
The Bible
In the beginning they created Houseparty and Zoom.
For the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of those forced into taking calls in their downstairs loo. And the Spirit of those broken by their excruciatingly slow WIFI moved erratically upon the face of laptop screens.
And Boris said, Let there be more exercise: and there was confusion.
And we made the Quarantini, saw that it was good: and we could no longer divide working day from weekend.
And my favourite verse, Covid19: Thou must support local business and order as much takeaway as thou would like.
The Complete Works of Shakespeare
This makes you seem intellectual but if you don’t know your folio from your quarto then you are, as Shakespeare would say, a cream-faced loon. If the strains of quarantine haven’t led Shakespeare to double up as a doorstop for some fleeting, precious moment of privacy, perhaps they may force you to follow his suit and hastily change your will: give your wife your second best bed as a punishment for dismantling your 1000-piece jigsaw.
The Life-Changing Magic of Not Giving a F**k, Sarah Knight
Out of respect for the novelty of the Zoom work call, in the first week of isolation you hid your wine in a mug. By week six you’re not even making an effort to hide the bottle. Ownership of this book is a power move. By having this in the background you are making a statement: you’re done with placating people who think their banana bread triumphs or the intricacies of their daily walking habits are even mildly interesting. When Quiz fatigue demands that you forgo all future ‘social calls’ you won’t even apologise for the lack of a credible excuse. These uncertain times call for drastic measures.
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Philip K. Dick
This novel inspired the Bladerunner films, but you don’t know that because you are Elon Musk and you have mistaken the novel for a manual on how to raise an android child. I am of course referring to X Æ A-12, the most recent model of Musk’s offspring, which has been given a name linguistically and morally unspeakable. Bookmarked passages include ‘5 warning-signs that your child is a replicant’ and ‘How to explain to your child that their naming was not a drastic attention-seeking ploy but a genuine expression of parental love’.
First Man In: Leading from the Front, Ant Middleton
Unfortunately for Ant Middleton, pushing yourself beyond the limits of what is physically possible is being done on the daily by those trapped in quarantine with their family trying to stay sane. I think this choice can be summed up with a particularly illuminating Amazon review: ‘As for the story of the ocean voyage, that’s the icing on the cake, I wouldn’t trust this bloke on a pedalo’. First Book Out.
You don’t have a bookshelf
I’m not saying that you’re not amongst the intellectual elite but you have some soul-searching to do. I can only hope that all your books are stacked beside your bed or you’ve made them into a magnificent fort. If it’s because you have a Kindle, well, as much as I enjoy a benign practical joke, this time you’ve gone too far.
Written by Esther Bancroft
A recent graduate of Bristol university, Esther has returned to the pen to write a little bit about a little bit of everything. When not staring at a screen trying to be creative, she likes to buy books without reading them and paint pictures of the sea - which is her healthy obsession.