“On a a chance we tried an important looking door, and walked into a high Gothic library, panelled with carved English oak, and probably transported complete from some ruin overseas.
A stout, middle-aged man, with enormous owl-eyed spectacles, was sitting somewhat drunk on the edge of a great table, staring with unsteady concentration at the shelves of book. As we entered he wheeled excitedly around and examined Jordan from head to foot.
Note: This is the first of a series of posts that will appear from time to time dealing with personal libraries, whether real or fictional.
In his short story, “The Jelly Bean,” which appears in the collection, Tales of the Jazz Age, F. Scott Fitzgerald describes Jim Powell’s bedroom above Tilly’s garage, where he works part-time, in a fictional Georgia city of 40,000 people.
“It was a cheerless square of a room, punctuated with a bed and a battered table on which lay half a dozen books—Joe Miller’s Slow Train Thru Arkansas, Lucille, in an old edition very much annotated in an old fashioned hand; The Eyes of the World by Harold Bell Wright, and an ancient prayer book of the Church of England with the name Alice Powell and the date 1831 written on the fly-leaf.” Continue reading “Jelly Bean’s Library”→