The Bookcase that is Home

Trying to keep up with my great-grandparents as they jump from El Salvador to Guatemala to France to Spain has left me a little winded, not to mention more than a little envious. As I look out my kitchen window I can see teensy little snowflakes falling, triggering, yet again, a longing for warmer climes. In an effort to keep myself from spending all my savings on an impulse trip to San Sebastian, I have decided to remind myself about the things I like about my own life. So, this week’s post will not feature the ticket or the de Jaureguis, but, if it is any consolation, it will feature Arnold Schwarzenegger (sort of).

For the last two year, my longtime boyfriend and I have shared a small studio apartment at Southside Terrace Apartments. It is a plain space, much the same as any other apartment in the complex. The walls are painted the same shade of dubious light beige, the bathroom has a small medicine cabinet with mirrored sliding doors mounted to the wall, and the carpet is a knobbly beige just a little darker than the walls. In addition, it has a large bookcase which serves as a barrier between the kitchen and the living room/bedroom. The backside is towards the kitchen, creating a sort of half wall where I have chosen to hang our joint calendar listing important dates such as birthdays, our anniversary, and, less romantically, when the electric bill is due. The front of the bookcase faces the living room/bedroom. It is divided into six cubbies (each roughly two and half feet wide and a foot and half tall) accommodating some of our favorite belongings. Although this bookcase is not unique (all of the deluxe studios here at Southside have them), it is the most fascinating aspect of the apartment and it is the chief feature in evoking the sense of this apartment as a home. More specifically, I would argue that it is the primary feature that evokes the sense that this apartment is our home.

The kitchen side of the bookcase. The joint date calendar is to the left.

The bookcase serves as a miniature habitus, reflecting both my and my boyfriend’s identities. In this space, our individual collections have blended together in ways that indicate both our common interest and our differences. For instance, posing along the top of the book case are several plastic figures of various heights. A few of them are characters from our favorite action movies. Robocop stands as if trying to placate a suspect, his gun still contained (for now) within his metal leg. The stripped down Terminator crawls over a wooden stand, seemingly off to destroy his other self who stands a little ways down with a Gatling gun. However, overtime the collection has grown to reflect more of Matt’s other interest. Spiderman now crouches, ready to swing away, while his former nemesis Venom keeps watch next to my houseplant. A miniature Cowboy (of the Dallas football team variety) stands ready to receive the ball, unaware that he is going to be the skeleton Terminator’s first victim. On the kitchen side, a tiny red Power Ranger stands next to Godzilla the size of a finger. Godzilla, in turn, seems to be pointedly facing away from the similarly sized, but more brightly colored, Charizard Pokémon figure. Almost all of the figures are posed in a way that suggests a story (e.g. the crawling skeleton Terminator off to fight his fully skinned self). Viewing this collection, a stranger can fairly easily divine my boyfriend’s favorite football team, the television shows he watched as a child, and some of his favorite movie as well as his earnest appreciation for merchandise associated with his interests. However, they might also note his exuberance and creativity. Not unlike Charles Ephrussi and the netsuke, Matt wants the figurines to be shared and appreciated, not kept in boxes in the closet.They are a clear indicator of his presence in the apartment, mixing unselfconsciously with the decorative wooden stand, the geodes, and the houseplant.

Robo Cop (left), Skeleton Terminator (atop the rock), Cowboy (below), Spiderman (right)

Schwarzenegger Terminator (left) and Agent Venom (right). Between them stands Edna Mode from Pixar’s The Incredibles. Matt got her for me because she is eminently sensible as well as rather short

The bookcase is also the clearest indicator of my presence in the apartment.  The three cubbies on the right contain most my books (I have many and was forced to leave some at my parent’s house). It is a blend of past textbooks, childhood favorites, and current interests. The textbooks (almost all having to do with literature and language) are certain to give me away as an English student while the rest of my collection will reveal a penchant for science fiction and contemporary literature. I have not categorized them in any ostensible way (The Chronicles of Narnia sit next to the brain-teasing metafiction novel House of Leaves on the top shelf. David Mitchell’s Ghostwritten is not next to Cloud Atlas, but down next to my dictionary and anthology on literary criticism on the middle shelf), and if someone were to glance at them they would probably conclude that I am not very organized. While this is a little bit true, the books do, in fact, have a method behind their madness. The ones that I refer to the most often occupy the top and middle shelves while those that I refer to less often are located on the bottom. I call this organizational scheme the Arm Chair System as the texts I need the most are within easy reach from the armchair located, conveniently, right next to the shelves. The middle right shelf also hosts my various notebooks, sticky notes, and a pen holder that holds a plethora of ballpoint pens and wooden pencils as well as a couple of highlighters (yellow). It is difficult for me to guess what someone might think of me looking at my books. Likely, my love of language and narrative will be clear. Perhaps they might guess at my appreciation for the fantastic and the unexpected, and my desire to push on and find new forms and make new connections. Perhaps, they would get nothing of the sort. I am too close to see myself.

Everything you need at arms length…accept the fridge. The Chronicles of Narnia box set is right above the green sticky note. Next to it is House of Leaves. Cloud Atlas (orange and beige spine) is stacked horizontally.

Together, the various items on the bookcase represent Matthew and me both as individuals and as a couple in ways that are far more complicated than I can fully explain here. One can clearly see our mutual love of storytelling and our tendency to collect stories in tangible forms. Yet, one might notice that, spatially, the two collections are quite clearly separated. No figures descend to the shelves, and no book ascends to the top. This is partially a height problem. I cannot reach my books if they are sitting on top of the bookcase. However, it is also a product of the unspoken agreement that the right cubbies are my space. Due to the apartment’s small size, this boundary is relatively significant as it denotes one of the few areas either of us have allowed ourselves personal space. By the same token, I respect Matt’s wish that all of the figures be displayed, regardless of whether or not they match my aesthetic impulses (Full disclosure: Spiderman is not my favorite Marvel superhero). Our mutual acceptance of not only each other’s needs for space, but also our need to shape this space to reflect our likes regardless if they are our partner’s like, have made it possible for us to live in such a small space without turning Terminator. The fact that both the collection are present is the reason why the bookcase equals home.When the figurines are gone and the books packed away, you will know that Elise Bruce and Matthew Grey do not live here anymore.