THE FORTY-NINTH PAGE

Books do more than furnish the room. Take insulation, for example. The house is twice, or perhaps thrice insulated. First, by the pink spun glass cotton candy batting lodged between inner and outer walls. Then by the bookcases described on page 50. And then by the books, themselves. The books stacked on the floor in front of the cases provide additional, partial insulation.

And there are many other uses for books in the home:

Doors with unreliable hinges can be held open or shut with epic novels. Bulky religious novels are my choice.

Loose windows can be propped up with used non-fiction; an out-of-date computer instruction book works very well.

Most nightstands of the literate are constructed of stacks of novels at bedside.

A table’s wobbles can be corrected with a volume of bad verse or a short instructional manual placed under the offending leg.

If the book is utterly useless--if that could possibly be--it can be lobbed against marauding deer.

Books in a bathroom are as essential as soap, towels, and toilet paper.

This probably is not what Amy Lowell meant when she said, “Books are more than books, they are the life, the very heart and core of ages past.”