Dear Fiona,
My house is on the market but is not getting as many viewings as I would like. One of my friends says it’s because the estate agent’s photographs show that I keep books in the loo – which, she reckons, is disgusting.
Another friend told me that you’re not supposed to have fiction in the sitting room, especially not trashy fiction. Apparently, that should all be out of sight somewhere else - preferably, she suggested, on a kindle. Then she said that my shelves are too full and I should consider weeding them so that there’s more room for artful arrangements of vases and other decorative items.
Have either of them got a point? Are there rules as to which books should be where? Also, what’s wrong with having books in the loo? I’ve got a bath in there too, and I’ve always thought a good book is an essential accompaniment to a lengthy soak. Equally though, I want to sell my house, so – do I need to rearrange my library?
Love,
An Avid Reader-in-the-Bath XX
Dear Avid Reader,
You’ve hit upon what must be one of the most contentious issues of our times; whether books have a place in a loo being a question which divides society, friendship groups, and even family. And it really is a contemporary matter - firstly because reading for enjoyment didn’t catch on until the mid-17th century, secondly because indoor bathrooms didn’t become widespread in the UK until the 1950s, thirdly because sales of actual physical books are in decline (digital and audio, on the other hand, are on the up.) But, moving on, let us unpick your questions, which go beyond the loo.
Once upon a time, in the days before reading for pleasure, books weren’t on display at all but were kept hidden on account of their value. In the 16th century, Catherine de Medici kept her manuscripts - which Edith Wharton in The Decoration of Houses describes as “made sumptuous as church jewellery by the art of the painter and the goldsmith” - behind sliding panels in her famous Chamber of Secrets at Blois. When books did make it into public view (it was the French who led the fashion for reading) they underwent a metamorphosis from, describes Wharton, “a jewelled idol to a human companion,” and there were modifications in binding which made it possible for them to stand upright (previously, they’d have been stored on their side.) Thus the home library was born, and with it came books’ role as a signifier of sophisticated intellect (those Paris salons were nothing if not competitive) as well as the idea of books contributing to the decoration of a room.
Of course, the majority of homes are library-less, and our books are arranged according to possibility and convenience (most would endeavour to keep cookery books in the kitchen.) I don’t keep fiction in my sitting room, because it’s also my study and the shelves are packed with reference books, but others do it differently. If you examine the House & Garden archive, you’ll spot fiction on sitting room shelves in some very grand houses - such as Wolterton Hall in Norfolk. And Sarah Vanrenen, who, as the daughter of Penny Morrison grew up in the milieu of ideal interiors, says she has never heard of the rule regarding fiction’s misplace in public view, and, moreover, describes elements of her sitting room bookshelves as “not highbrow.” “I think there is charm to an unpretentious approach to book storage and display; I’m all for putting the romance novels next to the reference books,” agrees Brandon Schubert. Chances are that visitors will scour your shelves – but it’s not necessarily done critically, many are looking for points of common interest - and “if you’re worried about what people will think of you for your choice of books, then maybe relax a bit,” advises Brandon. “There’s nothing wrong with reading a bit of trash, and unless you are running a guesthouse or a public library, the books are there for you, not others.” (Though I must confess that my well-thumbed copies of Virginia Andrews’ Flowers in the Attic series are not immediately locatable; let’s pretend it’s because I don’t want my children to chance upon such utterly deranged – if compelling - swill.)
But there is also the previously mentioned element of aesthetics – and let’s start this by defending the existence of books themselves. It was Anthony Powell who titled one of his novels Books Do Furnish A Room (which I think we can all agree was a marketing masterstroke), and, despite the advent of the kindle, the idea has never entirely withered. Dorothy Draper reckoned that books are a means of making sure a room looks comfortable and as if it gets plenty of use, “for this reason, keep some of your books in the living room even if you have a separate library,” she wrote in Decorating is Fun! Sarah concurs: “books in a house are essential, much like flowers and plants. They make a room feel cosy and less strict,” and she reveals that she has bought books for clients who don’t have any to go in their bookshelves (to clarify, she did not buy faux books, which Brandon says “haunt my nightmares,” or books by the yard in languages her client couldn’t read. Should you find yourself book bare, know that a good, independent bookshop will delight in putting together a library to suit your taste.) Of course, it can get to a point where your shelves are overwhelmed (I’m gradually getting rid of art books published so long ago that the images are black and white, the one on the Scottish Colourists seems particularly pointless) but you don’t necessarily need to make space for vases and other decorative items, unless that’s your preference – they are, after all, ‘book’ shelves.
You might, however, want to think about the look of the books. “To be decorative, a bookcase need not contain the productions of the master-binders,” declared Wharton – which is a relief, as these days few of us have many of those, if indeed any. However, “some books are more lovely looking than others, so if you have a choice between beautiful Moroccan leather with gilt lettering, or a Barbara Cartland paperback, then by all means choose the nicer looking book for a more special room, and put the paperback elsewhere,” suggests Brandon. Then, there are varied methods of display: Rémy Mishon, House & Garden’s Assistant Decoration Editor, arranges her shelves by colour “but never in a rainbow order”, and both the Digital Director Virginia Clark and I enjoy the order of fiction arranged alphabetically by author, with poetry, drama and biography given their own sections.
Often, these sections – drama, biography, and whatever else - tend to be in other rooms, which brings us, finally, to the loo. My bathroom, which also has a loo in it, houses poetry – and, like you, I read in the bath (though not anything of age or value, for humidity is not kind to bindings.) Others read while sitting on the loo or provide books as an option in case others wish to do so. Sometimes, the books are there because shelves are there, and “if you have shelves, then you must put something on them,” says Brandon. The real question here is what about it do people think is revolting?
The answer, very simply, is faecal matter. Not, you understand (or rather, I now understand, having questioned members of the anti-books-in-a-loo brigade) because anybody thinks that we are going to confuse Philip Larkin with loo paper, or that we’re so inept as to get anything on our hands, but because, I’m told, flushing a loo creates a particle cloud that can contain so-minute-as-to-be-negligible-but-none-the-less-it-might-be-there quantities of poo. Closing the lid of the loo before flushing can help, but “paper is porous! And books are made of paper!” one brigade member tells me, before explaining that he doesn’t borrow books from certain people, because he doesn’t know “where they’ve been.” He also doesn’t use public libraries, or buy second-hand books, which is his prerogative, but not something I’m prepared to give up (charity shops being an excellent source of further titles from Virginia Andrews’s back catalogue.)
But, you’re trying to sell your house. Do you want to immediately rule out whatever percentage of the population is repulsed by the view of books in a loo? If the answer to this is no, then I recommend either channelling the spirit of Catherine de Medici and hiding the books in a cupboard, or simply putting them somewhere else for the time being. Oh, and maybe ask the estate agent to take down that photograph.
