A Paean to Painted Libraries

I have a dilemma. It's to do with the trend of colour co-ordinating your library. We've all seen them. The private libraries where the red spines are filed together, the green ones are in another shelf, and the pink ones beyond that. I might even be guilty of it. (Shhh, I didn't say that.)

Even since it appeared, this design trend has caused an uproar among Dewey purists, who believe that books should be categorised according to their subject matter, not the shade of their jackets. My partner's sister is outraged that books are being filed according to colour. She thinks its bibliophilia heresy. (By the way, she and her husband are lawyers and have THE most enormous library. Whenever we visit they always ask me what I'm reading. And whenever I hear this question I always feel like a criminal on trial for reading misdemeanors. Often I feel compelled to invent something. High-brow, literary titles. But I'm a terrible liar and so my literary fibs show. Once, I said "Churchill's biography". To which they immediately replied: "Which one?" Barristers! You can't fool them, can you?)

The thing is, if you're going to file your books according to colour, you'd better remember what the jackets looked like if you want to find anything again. I have a vague idea of what most of mine look like. But it's very easy. Garden books are often jacketed in green or purple covers. Architecture and fashion titles are quite often black. Books about the coast are often blue. And whimsical books are often white (The White Jacket was a big publishing trend five years ago.)

But now I'm changing allegiances. I'm starting to think books should be filed according to subject matter. I mean, Lily Brett may not want to sit next to A.S. Byatt. Lily probably wants to be in the New York section. Where she belongs.

And so I have a solution for all you design perfectionists who feel that libraries should match a room. PAINT YOUR LIBRARIES! It's so simple, I'm surprised Mr Dewey didn't think of it. I'm leaning towards navy blue bookshelves, which would be very sophisticated, but I've seen green and pink ones too. Here. I'll show you. (NB Library purists look away NOW.)

{Top image of a traditional library from a mansion in Maine via Peter Pennoyer Architects and House of Turquoise}

The emerald green library of Tony Duquette's legendary home. LOVE that leopard print carpet! {Via Christopher Sturman for Harper's Bazaar and Habitually Chic}

The whimsical and artistic library of Anne Gridley and Gary Graves, which has been painted in Benjamin Moore's Prairie Green. Located in the countryside, this is one of my all-time favourite libraries. So courageous, and yet so inviting. {Via Country Living}

And another green library, this time by rising designer Ken Fulk. {Via California Home + Design}

One of the most beautiful libraries I've ever seen, this enthralling, pale sea-green space is delicate and yet grand at the same time. It belongs to the Duchess of Alba in Madrid, and was featured in W magazine. {Via W Magazine. Photographed by Simon Watson}

You may not think turquoise bookshelves would work, but this library shows that even pretty tones can look stylish and distinguished, especially when the shelves are filled with much-loved old books. Personally I think the turquoise looks beautiful with the vintage beige covers. It makes the whole room seem very modern, without detracting from the fact that these are old books. {Via Sköna Hem and Apartment Therapy}

A poem in navy blue, this library is part of a trend of darker-toned book rooms, many of which are being painted in rich hues of blue. {Via House Beautiful}

What about a red library? Red is often used in dining rooms to provide a theatrical backdrop, but it's rare to see it in libraries. I'm not sure I'd be brave enough to try it, but it's certainly dramatic. {Via Elle Decor}

Here's another one. I have to say, it's growing on me. It's such a delicious red. {Via The Decorista}

And another one. {Via Yatzer}

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The Words Of Your Life

I've been told this blog isn't very personal. I've been told this blog is about as friendly "as a German bouncer at a North Korean nightclub".

There is a reason for this. A writer's life is very dull. I tried to explain this fact to said critic but he wouldn't have it. He said blogs need personality. He said blogs need to show something of their author. Mine doesn't, apparently. German bouncer and all that.

The thing is, we're all short on time and concentration spans. So rather than post a bio that might make your heads spin sideways from boredom, I thought I would follow my friend Jeanne's lead at her lovely College of Life blog (collageoflife-henrqs.blogspot.com). Jeanne, you see, suggests we all write a Word List. What an inspirational idea.

A Word List is a writing exercise where you imagine your life as a game of scrabble. You simply jot down words that you associate with your life. No punctuation. No upper case. Just words. Your life in a list. Think of it as an abbreviated memoir. I love it. So brilliant.

So do try it. Find the words of your own life. I have. You might just find (like me) that the answers are quite enlightening. (Oh – and because I like pictures, I've inserted some of those too.)

A LIFE IN A LIST

writing, books, journals, lists and libraries (a house is not a house without a library) 

photography, leicas, the iphone instamatic app

bookstores –waterstone's, rizzoli, the second-hand treasures of the strand

midtown new york – henri bendel, bergdorf goodman, bryant park, central park, the NY public library

shelter island, tybee island, harbour island, martha's vineyard
lord howe, key west, lake como, bellagio, (and italian villas sleeping in the sun)

london in summer

paris in autumn

our garden in spring

peonies, tea roses, hydrangeas and purple wisteria

villandry, versailles and the luxembourg gardens in summer

the v&a (oh, the v&a!)

cecil beaton, collages, creativity in all shapes and forms

pink and red (together or apart)

architecture, property, floorplans, country cottages and grand english mansions

 any television series with architectural eye candy, gorgeous costumes, and sexy and humorous characters doing unmentionable things with people they shouldn't be doing unmentionable things with

french handkerchief linen, preferably in white

ceylon sapphires, pink diamonds, pale blue tanzanite

jack nicholson and diane keaton – any movie, any plot, no matter how bad
mr winston churchill
mr robert redford

savannah, georgia, or any song with it in the title (midnight train to georgia, georgia on my mind...)

mr ray charles
ms diana krall
ms barbra streisand

lemon, lime and bitter drinks

freshly made key lime pie (although best eaten in the florida keys)

cavalier king charles spaniels, and okay, jack russells too

chocolate

chanel

biographies

black and white

hermés faubourg 24 fragrance (okay, hermés anything)

houndstooth

ms audrey hepburn
sir sidney poitier

quirky films – midnight in paris, the darjeeling limited, you've got mail, the lake house

the great barrier reef

writers, artists, people with humour, and stories to tell

men in cufflinks

people with manners

my long-suffering fiancé

cycling (best done on old-fashioned cruisers with wicker baskets)

swimming (best done on tropical islands)

laughing (best done with people you love)

And lastly, family and friends, wherever they may be
(Pictured above, my father with his, er, friend in the wilds of Alaska)

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Scenes From Village Life

John Hillaby once wrote "Few things are more pleasant than a village graced with a good church, a good priest and a good pub.” I would add to that a labyrinth of lovely walking trails, a little town square with a enchanting cluster of shops and perhaps also a decent newsagent, cafe and grocery store (although my partner would add a good wine/beer store), and finally, a hamlet of gorgeous houses of all shapes and size, each with their own unique style and their unique garden, so you could walk a different route each day and never tire of the architecture and charm.

We are getting ready to leave our idyllic little village. It will be a shock to move to a city of 20 million people. I'm sure we'll miss walking our dogs down the middle of the road knowing there are no cars in sight, or waving to our neighbours over the garden gate, and stopping for a chat about the best way to cultivate peonies, or care for espaliered pears. So, as a small photographic tribute to the delights of village life, I thought I'd post some of my favourite scenes here.

Even the village church takes its gardens seriously. 

Our road dressed in the bright green of new spring leaves.

Our kitchen garden, with the leaves burning in the sun behind it.

Our pitiful harvest from the kitchen garden last year.

Our neighbour's house, 'Longacre'. This was once the home of the famous Australian painter Arthur Streeton. It's now owned by his grandson. The driveway is lined with blue hydrangeas, which look glorious in high summer. You can't see the house but it's an Arts and Crafts-style cottage and still has Streeton's old studio in the rear.

Walking the dogs through the forest.

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Are Books Dead?

I apologise. Yesterday I did a funny little Style Icons post about two of our leading political ladies, Julia Gillard and Carla Bruni, and what they do and don't have in common. (Both favour form-fitting suits. Both eschew sartorial fussiness. And Carla is reportedly a big proponent of the power of pelvic exercises. However, I can't say for sure whether our Jules is. Only her partner Tim and possibly her sexy personal bodyguard know that secret.) Anyhow, after downloading a particularly intriguing image of our Jules, strange things started happing on my laptop. Files disappeared. Entire paragraphs flashed like lights on Times Square. Terrified of the dreaded 'V' word (and passing it onto you lovely readers), I immediately deleted the post. It was too late. The laptop is now in the Apple hospital having a triple heart bypass, and I am using an old MacBook and an archaic Safari browser. Which doesn't support Blogger.

But I'm persevering because I want to tell you about the significance of this week. March 1st  is World Book Day. It's the biggest literary celebration of its kind, and is designated by UNESCO as a world-wide celebration of books, reading and stories of all forms. More than 100 countries mark the date. I'm very proud of those countries. More should do it.

I grew up in a house full of books. Because my brother and I read so fast my frugal parents (who were both teachers) thought it a waste to buy books for us and told us to go and get a library card. We duly did what we were told. It was the start of a love affair with books, bookshops and libraries that has lasted 30 years. Last night I told my partner that if a bushfire came up the mountain, I would leave everything except my beloved books. Books are the one thing you should always save.

I spent most of last year lamenting the slow death of books in this, the iPad-and-Kindle age. Judging by the number of Google hits on the phrase "Are books dead?" (11 million and counting), many others did too. During a moment of literary lamentation, a wise and famous writer challenged me by asking "Well, what is a book anyway? Is it its body? Or its soul?"Well, I'm old-fashioned girl and I think books need a body. Just as humans need their spines to live and move, so, too, do books. An e-book can still be a great read (and like many I love the convenience of iPads), but a book with a jacket and pages and that papery smell of promise... now that is a beautiful thing. That, my dear friends, is a book. A soul without a body is a mere ghost of its former self.

Curiously, many people seem to think the same way. Last Christmas, many bookshops had their best sales season ever. My favourite bookshop, Avenue in Albert Park, sold more copies of my books than at any other time. I was as puzzled as you are. What does it possibly all mean? Well, I think it means that many of us are trying to save books from being endangered. From sinking into oblivion. We are stock-piling our stories – just like Carlos Ruiz Zafon's celebrated library in The Shadow of the Wind.

Sadly I fear it's too little, too late. The end of the book might be nearer than we think. One newspaper believes there will be no books left at all by 2020. None. And I admit that it's easy to see how e-books will win the reading war. 

And so I say this to you all. Read. Read. Read. Or as my Italian teacher used to say "Leggi! Leggi! Leggi!" Buy books. Download the e version if you have to, but don't discount the paper versions either. Embrace books. Remember how wonderful they are. For I am afraid there will come a time when most of us will stop reading them completely. When we will be distracted by other things. Such as Twitter. And gossip sites. And the Oscars. And life. Left for dead, books will disappear. And some of the world's greatest stories will then be lost forever.

"The art of reading is slowly dying. Great readers are becoming more scarce by the day..." 

– Carlos Ruiz Zafon, Shadow of the Wind.

There is a wonderful game lots of people are now playing called Page 61. You pick up a book, flick to page 61 and read the fifth sentence down. I loved reading some of the discoveries, such as:

"Great elephants!" said Gandalf. "You are not yourself this morning! You have not dusted the mantelpiece!" (From The Annotated Hobbit)

and

In later life, Dottie had a dog called Woodrow Wilson." (From The Uncollected Dorothy Parker)

I was quietly thrilled to see one of my books mentioned on a Page 61 website. The Page 61/Fifth Line was: "And, perhaps, also for their souls". It made me quiet for a moment or two. But then when I picked up my nearest book a few minutes ago – an old, much-loved dictionary that I still refer to – and saw what the fifth line on page 61 was – 

bibliophile   n. book lover 

I was moved beyond words.

"To add a library to a house is to give that house a soul" – Cicero

I agree Cicero. I agree.

The above images are from one of my favourite libraries, a private library on the island of Nantucket in the US. Designed by my favourite book-loving architect Hugh Newell Jacobsen, the entire house is white – and I mean everything is white, from the stairs to the living room. The blank canvas was an intentional design move. Jacobsen and the owner felt that the books were the most important things in the house, and as such they were given first priority. The minimalist, all-white backdrop offered a kind of gallery for their literary beauty. Now, the only colours in the house are the bright tones of all the spines. Truly lovely, don't you think? 

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