Literary, literally.

I have often wished to be the type of person that is constantly reading and has bookshelves of a delightful array of historical references, non-fiction narratives and deep fictional work.

Unfortunately, I chose the road less typeset and instead, have an unnatural fixation with my television set and the moving picture. This is not to say I was never a reader. I just read absolute crap books, which for some sad notion of nostalgia, I have actually kept. And so, to be completely open about my flagrant lack of taste in books, I have taken shots of my sad, sad specimen of a bookcase.

So, this is the first, somewhat socially acceptable level, of books – mostly chick lit. Ok, who am I kidding, it’s the chick lit level and the one book on Charles Saatchi does little to desaturate that.

Yes, that’s right. My hidden-behind-in-shame Virginia Andrews collection. And this is only the first layer.

Yup, 2 full layers of a Virginia Andrews collection. And for some completely baffling reason, 2 bibles. I have no idea how those got there. Jesus must have slipped those in.

This the first level of the second shelf, a somewhat more acceptable selection of books (the one on Chihuahuas notwithstanding).

And behind that, would be my precious complete collection (in less than pristine condition due to intensive childhood reading) of Famous Five books.

Here’s a selection on display.

My beloved collection from my favourite author of all time, Bret Easton Ellis. These ones, I’m actually proud of.

And since I’m currently pretending to be literary, these are the 2 books on my night stand (I am totally loving Pride & Prejudice).

And here’s a growing collection of books in the bathroom. Why? Who knows.

So there it is (art and design books not included) – a collection skewed more towards “embarrassing” rather than, “literary”. I am pleased that I am making an effort towards spending more time reading, instead of mindlessly channel surfing. We’ll see how long this lasts.

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