Marty Reeder

The time has come for my annual American Novel assignment. (It is actually more than just annual, but tri-annual just doesn't have quite the same ring to it.) And as you are all such prestigious readers, I invite you to participate. The rules and explanation are found at my blog: www.mart-ology.blogspot.com.

Now, having said that, I retract my statement that you are invited. Nay, you are commanded. Get going and join the fun.

I thought that I might as well comment on myself (I've got a big enough ego, why not?). So I'm taking the time to explain my bookshelves. My goodreads bookshelves, though they do match up with real life bookshelves, are more metaphorical than anything, and they correspond with the star rating given to the book. Here is my explanation, for what it's worth (a lot).

Front Room Bookshelf-This public place in my home is reserved for only the best books that I have to offer as a recommendation. Books that have touched me or moved me in ways that are exceptional in literature, and are therefore placed in the room that I often sit in to read and also where I can proudly display the best I've read to my family and guests.

Bedroom Bookshelf-This is for the books that I thoroughly enjoy, but that I wouldn't mark as immediate classics or wouldn't necessarily recommend to everyone. In other words, I like having them close to me, where I can see them often, but I wouldn't showcase them to the world as the best I've read.

School Bookshelf-Books that are passable, but I don't really mind if they aren't nearby, nor do I mind if students use and abuse them.

Attic Bookshelf-Out of sight, out of mind. Not really a terrible book, but something about it didn't fit, and I wouldn't put it somewhere I have to be reminded of it too often. I don't throw it away because I don't generally throw books away on principle (and I'm lazy). Someday, however, they will meet an ignonimous end and find themselves in a box going to a thrift store.

Big Black Garbage Can Bookshelf-This book has managed to force me past my natural tendency to preserve all literature; instead I have no choice but to place it and its contents into a bookshelf where I and no one else will ever be able to access it again.