Andrew Liptak’s Shelfie
I like to think of libraries as a sort of external brain or memory for a reader, something they can visit to retrieve a story or a fact. If that's the case, my office's bookshelf is the engine behind my work as a critic, reader, and writer.
What book nut hasn't dreamed of having a wall with a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf? When my wife and I bought and moved into our home in Central Vermont, we had this extra space on the main level, a sort of corner extension of the living room that a chair and my assortment of bookshelves were relegated to. At some point, I realized that it was perfect for a permanent set of shelves, which a local builder installed for us. When my newborn daughter kicked me out of my home office in 2019, I bought a set of dividers and a pair of metal bookshelves (I keep the piles of review copies and piles that I'd like to read) to form a wall, and that random library corner became my new workspace.
I've been writing about speculative fiction books for a long time, and my collection has grown around that work. There are the books that I've reviewed, studied, and written about, ones of historical significance (the book and sometimes the edition), ones written by friends, and ones with personal reverence and sentiment. And then there are the aspirational reads, ones that I'll get to ... someday.
Something that I've grown to love about this shelf is its chaos and riot of colors. I find shelves of perfectly aligned, perfectly squared, and perfectly sized editions boring and sanitized. I like my shelves to feel like they've grown organically, with titles added with little regard to how they look on the shelf.
The top shelf (just out of frame) has been reserved for stacks of fat anthologies, and the rest are sorted by author. I've stacked them to preserve space, and I reluctantly weed the shelf out every now and again, when I find something that I really want to refer back to later. I'll trade out editions when I find a particularly good-looking one (I have an affinity for The Folio Society's work, but there are others) or a first/early edition. They sit alongside advanced readers copies, thin novellas, movie tie-ins. The newfangled sprayed-edge / deluxe editions are starting to muscle their way in..
Because it's part of my office, I've accumulated a small pile of knickknacks to add some flavor. A squad of Sand Trooper action figures patrol the top shelf, while another group represent the various costumes I've made for myself. I saved a trio of toys made from paper towel rolls made by my son from a trash bin, a mech was a reward to myself for finishing a story, and the Lego sets and small statues enjoy a perilous existence perched on the edges. They're often a reminder that these books are only part of the genre I love, and that fun, joy, and play are integral parts of what I love about it.
There's a practical element for all of this: it makes for a great backdrop when I need to photograph a book for a review, or if I ever need a stock image for an author's body of work for a feature. But there's a bigger practical use: this shelf is a constant source of inspiration. I often turn to it while I'm writing about the genre, to pull a book or ten off the shelf to consult with something: an author's approach to planetary science, how these authors have depicted the future of warfare, or what books I might want to recommend if someone wants something else to read along a specific focus. And many times, I've been struck by an idea by letting my eyes wander across the titles or by pulling off a copy to get reacquainted with it.
Looking over the shelves brings back a ton of memories of the discoveries, conventions, conversations, and friendships, but here are a couple that stand out:
Hidden Empire by Kevin J. Anderson. I was a library kid when I was in high school, and being very familiar with my love of science fiction, Sylvia Allen, the school librarian, gifted me an ARC of this copy. I read it, but it didn't leave much of an impression, but I've held onto it all these years because it's a good memory of her friendship.
The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers. Every now and again, I'll get a book in the mail from a publisher that I've not come across, but which utterly captures me. That was the case with Becky Chambers' debut novel, which came in a beautifully minimal ARC when Hodder & Stoughton republished it. As the rest of the series came out, I made sure to pester her publicist for the other ARCs, not only because I fell in love with the stories, but because their advance copies just looked gorgeous.
The Lifecycle of Software Objects by Ted Chiang. I picked up this book from a vendor's table at Reader Con when I was getting into reading and writing science fiction more seriously. I'd heard about Chiang's work but hadn't yet read him, and when I turned away from the table with my new purchase in hand, he happened to be walking by, and graciously signed it for me.
A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin. I enjoyed Le Guin's A Wizard of Earthsea when I first read it in high school, but I was reintroduced years later when The Folio Society produced a beautiful edition in 2015: it featured some outstanding original artwork by David Lupton (who illustrated a number of other editions of her books for the publisher), and I loved how they complemented the story and brought a very different feel to the world for me when I re-read it.
On one level, it's a snapshot of the way I see the genre: a clash of voices from the depths of history to the newest storytellers. But on another, it's a biography: stories and memories of me as a reader and writer. I'm looking forward to seeing what else I'll get to add to it.
Andrew Liptak is a writer and historian from Vermont. He is the author of Cosplay: A History (Saga Press, 2022), co-edited War Stories: New Military Science Fiction with Jaym Gates in 2014 , and writes a newsletter about reading, science fiction, technology, and writing, Transfer Orbit. His fiction has appeared in Galaxy’s Edge Magazine, Horizon 2045’s Far Futures, and Future Tense Fiction.
Shelfies is edited by Lavie Tidhar and Jared Shurin.
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