Project Bookshelf: Claire Melanie Svec

As my husband and I prepare for a year-long stay in Paris, where he will be attending school and I will be writing, I’ve gathered the most cherished books from my collection for this project. I’ve taken them out of their boxes and stacked them on the floor to serve as my traveling “bookshelf.”

This post would not be complete without acknowledging my cat, Kisa, who loved rubbing her face against the book covers and lounging next to the scattered paperbacks on the carpet as I took these photos. (Is this a bookshelf or a cat appreciation post?)

My collection includes several signed copies from author events I attended in college, and a few recommendations from a fiction professor, curated based on my workshop submissions. Admittedly, many of these books are partially read, especially the short story and poetry collections, which I’ve enjoyed on and off as my interest piqued for individual pieces.

I will highlight the most noteworthy of the stack. The book with the skinny green spine is an assigned reading from a Debates in Creative Writing class, The Hatred of Poetry by Ben Lerner. Despite my love for poetry, I appreciate this book’s candid examination of poetry’s inaccessibility and the struggle for poets to reach an audience. This reading, in particular, has deepened my appreciation for poets whose words spring to life and grab the reader (like Amanda Gorman, Ada Limón, and Carl Philips, whose collections are included here.)

There is also Paris in Our View, a unique poetry collection about Paris from authors all over the world. I picked this up from the Shakespeare and Company bookstore, where I made a brief stop as a tourist during a vacation in Paris last summer with my mom and sister. When my husband and I move this August, I hope to frequent this bookstore for its rumored status as the hub of English-speaking literary events, in addition to another bookstore called The Red Wheelbarrow.

And then, of course, who could resist a title like I’m Glad My Mom Died? This memoir by Jennette McCurdy is nostalgic, insightful, and heartbreaking. Plus, the copy serves as a memento from when she visited my college, where I saw her speak in a live interview on her book. I remember her raw sincerity, how she candidly spoke to us on eating disorders and familial trauma. She stayed long after the allotted event time to answer our questions and tell more anecdotes about her nearby hometown, Anaheim, and other familiar spots close to the UC Irvine campus.

The last book I’ll mention is my physical copy of the literary magazine I was published in, Issue 26 of The Ear. I’ve flipped through it a few times, reading the other short story candidates, as well as the poetry of authors I had met the night of the launch party. I cherish this copy for the experience it’s linked to: standing at a podium, presenting a live reading, hearing praises from enthusiastic strangers, and connecting with talented writers.

These are not all my books, as I’ve moved from college to a city near my hometown, and now abroad. Not shown is my current Audible selection: Carrie by Stephen King. In an effort to catch up on missed-out classics, I gravitated toward Carrie for a couple of reasons: it’s King’s shortest work, and he and I share a similar interest in human morality. Also, I thought it’d be a good start to my audiobook collection, an initiative I’ve taken to make more time for reading amongst all of this packing chaos in my life currently.

My collection is small but intentional. Truthfully, I often have a difficult time choosing what to consume, whether it is books, movies, or TV shows. Too often, I’ve invested in stories that decline in quality or fail to keep me interested. Tired tropes and unoriginal observations turn me away, in addition to anything that feels too cheesy or juvenile.

My tastes have drastically evolved from my childhood, when I enjoyed fiction as vicarious fantasy. First it was the Magic Treehouse series, then Percy Jackson & the Olympians, The Hunger Games Trilogy, Harry Potter, and A Series of Unfortunate Events. Though they fostered fond memories, I now seek entertainment that adds value to my adult life. I choose titles from diverse perspectives that grip me with strong opinions and an investigative voice. This is why I rely on a fellow writer’s recommendation, along with their personal connection to the piece.

All this to say… I am open to book recommendations!

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