I thought it’d be interesting to reflect on how an object in my friend’s room is situated within it. My friend’s room is a lot different from my own–he lives in the dilapidated, muted pink house on the outskirts of Main St. When pulling into his driveway, the radio station you’re listening to automatically cuts out due to interference from the heavy amounts of led used in the gaudy pink paint. The front door is always unlocked, and a faint smell of cigarette smoke is omnipresent. It’s easy to see how Luke’s living situation heavily contrasts from my own–this unruly house seems to have few rules set in place aside from probably flushing the toilet after you use it.

Luke’s room is almost overflowing with stuff, and I’m envious of his proudly-mounted Cocteau Twins poster and his wood-carved incense holder. The thing is, while Luke’s room is filled with trinkets, papers and clothing, I find there is only one object that will be moved around, replaced, and handled extensively on a daily basis.

While his books are technically more than one object, I find that he treats them as a sort of homogenized entity in his room, as they form a cohesive wall which he has to actively switch around and tinker with depending on what book he is trying to extract from it.

As an English major, he is constantly leafing through one book or another, whether it’s The New Oxford Annotated Bible or Don Delillo. There are plenty of juxtapositions of books of differing subject matter and genres in the wall of books.

Although Luke has about 30 hefty books stacked up in his room, the reality is that this is only a small fraction of them. He has about 70 books strewn about his childhood bedroom that he felt he could live without up here. The books he ultimately decided to bring are extremely revealing of the overall aura that he wants these books to project–many of these are the books he is currently studying, that are taking up most of his critical capacities at the moment. There are also books that are always useful to keep on hand as an English major, such as  Introduction to Literary Theory by Terry Eagleton or Norton Shakespeare. Finally, there are those that are just his favorites. Those that make him happy to talk about if one were to see it proudly displayed in his wall of books and ask about. These for him are The Fact of A Door Frame by Adrienne Rich and The Tennis Court Oath by John Ashbery.

So, Luke’s small, varied possessions really don’t need to be there at all. They really seem to be there less for decorative purposes and more as a product of the seemingly Sisyphean task of moving in and out of one’s childhood home between every semester. All the emphasis in the room is really placed on the books, and those who enter are immediately drawn to the book wall, furiously scanning it in the hopes that their favorite book might be there. And that’s the point–nothing makes Luke feel more like himself than talking about what he knows best. It’s a safety net that allows for him to keep the ball in his own court so to speak, so that when new people enter his space he doesn’t feel vulnerable.