Bookshelves are the Criterion Closet for Book Lovers
- Brandi Bradley
- 3 days ago
- 6 min read
The Criterion Closet is a video series in serious rotation in my house. All the videos are around five minutes long and you get to see actors, writers, directors, and other personalities pick out movies they love, movies they have heard about that they want to watch, and movies they know are respected and have never seen and must own. They fill up their bags, as the great John Waters said, “like Supermarket Sweep” and explain why they are throwing it in their tote.
The thing about Criterion, the Criterion Channel, and the Criterion YouTube Channel is that the selection of films they have curated and packaged with special interviews, commentaries, and extras, are not what most people would say is the BEST–although most of them are– but also films that have something special to them. The collection has the best acting, directing, and cinematography, but the list also includes the cult, the campy, the innovative, and the strange. Which is what curated collections should be.
Book lovers adore our bookshelves. It’s a curated collection of our own making, and it won’t just have the classics, but all the books that appealed to them in some way or another.
I don’t really do intentional aesthetic things with my bookshelves. I’m a woman who hates to decorate, much to the chagrin of my best friend, Slone. I don’t hang photos; I hang whiteboards. I don’t own drapes. Every where I live is move in ready and I don’t change much when I get there except adding shelves and books. My dream house is a craftsman style home like Meredith Grey’s because I want every room to have built-in shelving ready for all my books.
And I’m no where near the book hoarder as many of my friends are. I’ve culled my collection. I’ve sold books. I’ve borrowed books. I’ve paid overdue library fees.
The question in my brain when it comes to books is always, “Do I love this enough to move with it again?”
My collection ranges most of the genres. I have an emphasis in mysteries, but my tastes cover the gamut: romance, sci-fi, fantasy, self-help, classic literature, memoir, biographies, crafts and hobbies. And some of the joy of these books are the strange places where I found them. I am always on the lookout for books when I go to Goodwill, flea markets, thrift shops, and also more traditional used book stores. Remembering where I got the book is often as good as having the book.
Here are some of the deep cuts from my personal bookshelf – the Criterion Closet for books! Unlike some of the visitors to the closet, I will keep my selections at five, and not include any box sets.
Geek Love by Katherine Dunn. I had just started reading this book when I was just entering my PhD program at Florida State. I remember laying on my temporary bed in my temporary living space away from my husband and kids, and reading this story of this traveling freak show family from the perspective of the daughter and her quest for vengeance and a desire to reconnect with her daughter. It’s full of pop up tents, moving from town to town, the hustle and everyone knowing their role in making money for the family, and a show that evolves from attracting voyeurs to attracting followers. It was released in the 90s, but it always felt like a book from the 80s, in conversation with Repo Man. I think about this story regularly.
Sleepless Nights by Elizabeth Hardwick Sleepless Nights by Elizabeth Hardwick. I had never heard of Elizabeth Hardwick until I was getting my MFA and sat in on an amazing lecture which focused on novellas. The instructor read from this novel, and I was so swept away by how tight the prose was, but it had this ethereal vibe to it. The NYRB Classics reprint of this is gorgeous, but I found this hardback from 1979 at a library sale in Lexington, Kentucky for $1.
Paint it Black by Janet Finch Paint it Black by Janet Finch. This isn’t a deep cut because I am always talking about this book. It has almost become an obsession for me. Josie Tyrell’s boyfriend committed suicide and his mother blames Josie for it. It’s a book about two women at odds with each other over their grief. It’s a glitter in the gutter LA story that’s totally 80s punk and high society art. I cannot even recall when I first read it because it’s like I’ve always known it. I just pick it up sometimes and flip to a section and read a passage. I got it signed by Finch in 2018 at a writers conference, and true to form, I cried in front of her.
Unspeakable Acts edited by Sarah Weinman Unspeakable Acts: True Tales of Crime, Murder, Deceit, and Obsession edited by Sarah Weinman. I picked up this collection of long form journalism true crime pieces which included an early article about Jennifer Pan, a young woman who lived a double life and conspired to murder her parents. I found it at Half-Priced books but I remember reading it in a hotel near Truist park in Atlanta while our kitchen was being repaired after a huge water leak. When I am given a collection of stories, I never read them in order, so I flipped back and forth through the book amazed at how solid each piece was.
Just Kids by Patti Smith. Whenever I have a crisis of imposter syndrome, I always grab this memoir. So much of the memoir is about Robert Mapplethorpe and their relationship, but their relationship is a mutual devotion to making art. I have never been so devoted to anything the way they were devoted to making art. And it didn’t matter that they were poor and alone and struggling with their sexuality. The only thing that mattered was making art. They made art like addicts. And they never floundered in their absolute confidence in what they were doing. They weren’t hoping to someday be artists, they claimed their title and created art.
Okay, maybe I cannot limit myself to five after all.
While making this list, I can see my bookshelf from where I am sitting. I can see the hardback copy of Anais Nin’s Little Birds which was a gift from a friend, and they said they found it in a used bookstore in Texas. I can see A Secret History by Donna Tartt, which is everyone’s first dark academia novel and I could talk about for days, but I can also see the absence of The Goldfinch, which I read in a record number of days because the library wanted it back. I never made the purchase, which I will need to resolve. I can spot at least four different Joyce Carol Oates novels, a woman who impresses me endlessly, and while she gets name checked as an author who is respected for her proliferation, I rarely read anyone speaking about her viciousness, her darkness, her cruelty. I can see Rubyfruit Jungle by Rita Mae Brown, which was gifted to me by a used bookstore owner because I did not have a dollar and they didn’t want me to run a card, which would cost them $3 in fees. I see Susan Minot’s Evening, which I purchased after I learned that Susan Minot wrote the script for Stealing Beauty, a movie I was obsessed with and when I fell hopelessly in love with Liv Tyler. I can see a pocket-sized copy of Elmore Leonard’s Rum Punch, a book I kept in my car and read on breaks when I was a reporter.
I am a very different reader, because as much as I want to be immersed in the book, I also want to capture the space and time where I read something. The story is not just the one I am readying, but also the story of my life at that time.
The time I was reading Beloved by Tony Morrison and it sent me into a panic attack because I was embarking on young person-hood at a new job in a new city and I knew I was not living the life I wanted. I don’t know why it dug into my soul, but I was physically overwhelmed by it.
The time I was freaking out about grad school applications, so I bought and quickly read Prozac Nation by Elizabeth Wurtzel and Wild by Cheryl Strayed because I needed to read stories about women who had problems way more psychologically complicated than my own.
When I read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix over and over again after my mother died.
Or when I passed the time waiting to see if I would serve on jury duty reading Attica Locke’s Bluebird, Bluebird.
When I purchase books, I place the receipt inside and use it as a bookmark, and book lovers everywhere are often scandalized. But that tacky faded receipt might remind me that I bought other books that day, that I was in a tiny books shop in Boston, Destin, or New Orleans. I’ve opened books to find post it notes with grocery lists, pictures my kids drew for me, or once a photo from a relative’s graduation.
Because books are experiences you have concurrent with your life experiences. It’s part of the archive of a person’s life.
XOXO,
B.
Don’t forget, you can support local authors my making purchases on their websites! Check out brandibradley.com shop and find something to read!
My latest novel Pretty Girls Get Away With Murder is available in both print and digital formats.