Building A Home Library: Part 2
The works of Sophocles, Socrates and Plato sat together on the dusty bottom shelf, concealed in a cramped corner, of our small town, public school library. Cobwebs covered Plato’s Republic adding irony to his allegory of “The Cave.” I slouched under the study tables, reading these seemingly neglected works, discovering these old, wizened minds, realizing new ideas: ones that rejuvenate, invigorate and perpetuate the best of life and culture. This moment transformed the way I thought about books.
At the time, I was the average teen, reading mediocre story lines that fostered timely trends, forced emotional drama, and fueled rebelliousness and licentiousness of every kind. But the dusty authors were different. They said something, taught something, and whether I embraced the truths or not, I was thinking thoughts that made me wonder. Their wisdom plucked me up from the teenage rut that I was stuck in.
Sophocles said, “Wise thinkers prevail everywhere,” and for me, this justifies the wide variety of books in my living library. For example, my son’s section snares books on toughing it out in the wilderness, of catching, cleaning and cooking his own food, of using flint and finding fire. All the blood-n-guts survival skills are kept in Litriocht bhrea Cainnech (which is to say “Kenneth’s Fine Literature”).
Walls are lined with books on wine making and happy garden harvesting, outdated encyclopedias with fixed histories, and a series on classical masters such as Giotto, Michelangelo and Leonardo. Tried and true catechisms and encyclicals, Douay-Rheims and Divine Office, the Summa and choirs of saints and scholars, offer a chance to discover the Creator and to know thyself. (Socrates)
Fact, fiction and philosophy fill the room with wonder. Aristotle and Aquinas, Plato and Augustine, begin it, but Belloc, Chesterton, CS Lewis, Tolkien, keep it coming, supported by Kreeft, Esolen, Pieper, Pearce and more.
The collected work of Dickens and Shakespeare, and many of Hemingway, Undset, Doyle and Dostoevsky, add to the core.
And there are slim books, specifically chosen for one-night-read-alouds with family, such as The Loved One, Beowulf, and Brave New World.
My living library has some special features. The book catalog resembles a treasure chest; the TV and DVD player are tucked away behind a glitzy curtain that showcases a St. Francis triptych from Assisi; the turntable is flanked by Bach and Burl Ives, classical jazz and big band, opera and old folk-country. When not in use it’s covered with the same flashy fabric, highlighting the icon of Christ the Teacher.
The shelves have room for small statues of big saints, and special keepsakes, such as my Holy Land pilgrimage-in-a-jar, and a few acorns that one of my boys brought home from a camping trip. Latin plaques of Tolle et Lege and Lex Vivendi, Lex Credendi, Lex Orandi, remind me to dig into my Henle Latin series.
Closing the French Doors makes this place an oasis, doubling as a research and writing room, creating a quiet space conducive to study and leisure.
Yes – a perfect setting for wine and charcuterie with bookish buddies.
My living library includes a very comfy reading chair — a thrift store find reupholstered in red. Why? Because every library needs a well-read chair.
Build a world view, one classic at a time.
