Novel Organizer Novels & Stories

Below both hung a laminated copy of Noah's cedar waxwing reference chart, retired now from active seminar use but kept, apparently, for its historical significance. The bookshelf sat arranged in Noah's order rather than any adult's — an order Adrian had stopped questioning months ago, having noticed it made a strange, private sense once you understood the logic: books grouped not by size or subject but by what Noah called "how much they know," field guides and encyclopedias occupying pride of place at eye level, everything else arranged in loose descending order of usefulness. The kitchen held a third arrangement entirely, different again from Sophia's, the coexistence of the two households'

“How can you understand this in just one look? Are you a librarian before?” “No.” “What do these lines mean? And before and after?” “Aren’t you an Owusu? Harbin says you have a massive collection of books.” “I’m not so fond of books, and besides we have someone who takes care of the organizing.” I roll my eyes. “At least you are willing to help.” I move closer to him and point at the lines. “This is the subject, the author’s last name and date of publication.” “Then?” he asks. And in great lengths, I start to explain how to do the organization. I even gave him examples so it will be easier. Once I am done, I look up at him, instead of the instructions, he is staring at my face.

The lunch dishes had been washed, visitors rested in the lounge overlooking the lake, and a gentle breeze drifted through the open windows carrying the scent of summer flowers from the memorial garden. Adrian found Ava arranging fresh books on a display table in the library. “You reorganized everything.” “I did.” “Again.” She smiled without looking up. “I like people discovering books they were not searching for.” He picked up one of the novels from the display. “You have a system.” “I always have a system.” “I have never understood it.” “You are not supposed to.” She slid another book into place before stepping back to admire the arrangement. “I organize them according to conversations.” He

“I’ve only gotten a bit over halfway through them. But yes, the ones I own I have read at least once, too.” She ran a loving hand lightly across the spines. “I was just admiring the way you organized them. Every other bookstore I’ve been in insists on displaying them in alphabetical order. It’s maddening. Don’t they know there’s a reading sequence involved here?” “I know, right?” Rick exclaimed. “You can’t read book one, then skip ahead to book twenty-three, you won’t know what the hell’s going on.” “Yes! Someone besides me gets it!” she smiled in triumph.

This was a shared space and deserved more respect. The problem is I don’t know much about library science. It’s a dying art, but it would be helpful. Without this knowledge, I decided to do the most genius thing I could think of. Organize first by genre and then by author alphabetically, since I didn’t see numbers on the books. Or labels of any kind. I noted that in the back of my head. We should get on it. Plus, that means I have a good reason to buy a label maker. I missed mine. It got lost when they moved my things.

"That is a good phrase." Don looked at him. "You have been writing in the journal," he said. "The journal is also a record. The journal is the mind's record, not the body's. The journal organizes. It narrates. It makes sense of things. The notebook is different. The notebook is the body's record. The notebook does not organize. It collects."