Project Bookshelf: Nic Job

A brown wood bookshelf with a seven books from the Redwall series by Brian Jacques

When I sat down to write this post, my first thought was “Oh, I don’t have any pictures of my bookshelf.” The second was, “My bookshelf looks a bit odd right now anyhow.” There is a small selection of my Redwall books (ever-precious childhood loves), and my large collectibles—those I deemed too fragile or valuable to risk in boxes and packed in suitcases instead. Or too sentimental. During Mom’s fire evacuation drills when I was a kid—the forests of the California mountains are particularly prone to burning—Italian Folktales was always, every time, the first thing in the laundry hamper-cum-emergency suitcase.

My bookshelf is less a bookshelf, and more a scattered collection at this point in my life. It is in boxes and suitcases, with only a few unpacked onto random shelves in my parent’s house. I moved only a couple of weeks ago, coming back home to California for a brief while after two years away. I started those two years with only a careful selection of my books—those in progress, those most dear, those most likely to be useful (I was there to study, after all). I try to limit myself, during each move, to only ten or fifteen books, but the collection inevitably grows and grows. Some, I gain because of classes. For my Master’s alone, I probably grew my collection by almost twenty or thirty books. Others are gifts, or irresistible bookstore finds, or recommendations from friends.

I shipped five boxes of just books here to California (USPS Media Mail is a fantastic resource, I’d have spent a fortune on overweight suitcases without it).

Many of the books that come with me every move are the heavy ones, ironically enough. My two copies of Shakespeare’s Complete Works (one decorative, one for notes), my one-volume copy of the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy, Italian Folktales, of course. My collectible Illiad and Odyssey. The fantasy novels closest to the top of my to-be-read list. There are others too, though, that always make the cut. Imaginative Writing, and Tell It Slant, and On Writing. Flash Fiction International has gone with me everywhere since sometime halfway through high school. Castaways of the Flying Dutchman since sixth or seventh grade. I can be so horribly sentimental.

I think that’s part of the beauty of books though, the sentimentality. My childhood favorites have irrevocably shaped the way I see the world and how I approach life. My favorite books continue to have a huge impact on how I go about my life, my craft, and my perception of people and the world. So of course they are sentimental, are precious. They are pieces of me.

One day, I hope to have a library of bookshelves to organize my collection. No books relegated to boxes, or being hidden in double-stacked shelves. No precarious piles, or mix-matched sorting due to lack of space. I want one of those rolling ladders, and a window nook, and plenty of pillows and blankets. A little table for tea and chocolate. We can’t forget the chocolate.

A black-and-white photo of a white individual with short-cropped hair wearing fancy earrings and a satin dress standing in front of a white wall eating pizza.

Nic Job is a queer writer with their MFA from DePaul University and a constant curiosity for the world—cultures, places, people, and themself. They are a human who likes humans, and all of their tangled-up ordinariness. Their fiction, non-fiction, and poetry has been published in Club Plum, Defunct Magazine, Spare Parts Literary, and other magazines.