I’ve moved nine times in the last eleven years. About half of those moves were across state lines.
An unexpected byproduct of all those moves? With the exception of one trusty IKEA bookshelf, all my other bookshelves bit the dust. By move 6 or so, most of my books just lived in those giant cardboard moving boxes, because there was nowhere to put them, and also I knew I’d just have to re-pack everything ridiculously soon.
And then my husband Jared and I bought a house a year ago, and we could finally unpack without cringing.
The first thing we bought? BOOKSHELVES.
I promised myself I would get the ridiculous Gothic bookshelf of my dreams for my office. Between accommodating the height of the ceiling (normal, not Actual Cathedral) and getting something that could feasible get up the stairs to the second floor, this is what happened:
Pretty sure it was intended for fancy dishes. Pretty sure my use is better. Those wooden doors under the glass open onto more shelves, which are also BURSTING with more books.
Here are a few closeups of some of the shelves:
Graphic novels, Froud, miscellaneous Japanese folklore, some of my favorite folklore and fairy-tale scholarship…
Stack of art books, more fairy tales, and other assorted giant books.
Why did I shelve poor Keats upside down??
And here are a few bonus pictures from the bookshelves downstairs, which mostly hold cookbooks and DVDs:
And here’s one of the anime shelves:
Here’s a peek with the doors open:
Hope you enjoyed this glimpse of my shelves!