My bookshelf

I’m a confessed “book smeller”. Those who perform this activity with new books will understand; you know who you are. We consume books in our house, often two or three at a time. Books are permitted at breakfast and in cafes, but not in the toilet. At bedtime, my 3-year-old daughter is in the habit of asking for, “two books before bed, two books in bed and two books to read to myself”. I let my son out of dishwasher duty as I saw he was reading a book on the human body — a worthy distraction, in my view.

My treasures are grouped by author and genre. I have sections for New Zealand authors, flash fiction, poetry and short stories, and my medical textbooks.

I haven’t read every book on my shelf. For instance, despite an intense desire to finish David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest, I can’t get past the first 200 pages. Others I have read at least twice — some because I read the first version on Kindle and felt I needed to experience the sensory experience and total immersion that only comes with the ink-and-paper version.

These include Eleanor Catton’s The Luminaries, David Mitchell’s Bone Clocks and Hanya Yanigahara’s A Little Life. Others I have re-read just because they’re so damned good, including Donna Tartt’s The Secret History and anything by Tim Winton. I’ve also bought and re-read new copies of classics that inspired me when I was young but never owned, such as Catcher in the Rye, The Outsiders, The Bone People and Under the Mountain.

I’m not ashamed of any books on my shelf, even the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy (well, everyone was talking about it, so I had to satisfy my curiosity). Unfortunately the trilogy is now incomplete after a house sitter, who shall remain nameless, borrowed number two and never returned it. These books are not on my re-read list (I haven’t heard the word “mercurial” used so many times outside of a science experiment), but my A-type personality is slightly perturbed by the missing book. However, I cannot bring myself to buy a second copy of this book so it shall remain incomplete.

I’ve recently finished the fantastic Chaos Walking trilogy by YA author Patrick Ness. My son is reading the first book in the trilogy and we’re having great fun exchanging notes. One recent acquisition is Richard Flanagan’s First Person, which was an early Christmas present to myself, although I never really need an excuse to buy books. It smells good.

I’ve told my husband another bookshelf was in order. He pretended he didn’t hear me. But, like wrinkles and sagging breasts, it’s only a matter of time.

I’m not ashamed of any books on my shelf, even the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy.