Monday, July 30, 2018


One thing I didn’t understand when I moved into a Victorian house is that there is no wall space. It is all windows and doors. This has been problematic in terms of where to place furniture, how to get art up on walls, how to put something there without blocking the heat source.

There is no room for bookcases.

We have two. One is in the corner of Tim’s studio. One is in my second office room.

But all the books had to go in our closets. I have a large storage closet (that I may lose someday), and all my nonfiction is on three shelves on its back wall.

The fiction is in the guest room closet on two shelves that we built above the hanger rod. A step stool is needed to get to those books.

Most of my books are unimpressive paperbacks, so not displaying them is no big deal.

I have books on a mantel in my bedroom (above a boarded-over fireplace). I have a stack of unread books by the bed. We have nightstands with shelves, and there are some books in there.

There may be some books boxed in the attic, but not many.

I’ve always been a book snoop (like most of you) when I go into someone else’s home. But in this home, no one can see my books. No doubt, there are people who don’t trust me because of this lack of display. It makes me look like nonreader. Which, until this year, I wasn’t.


  1. The Vermont Greater Book Hider. Rare bird, easily spooked when merging onto the George Washington Bridge at night.

  2. I so relate. Part of the reason our books are hidden is a result of a house on five different levels, and lots of windows and staircases.