Arts Vanity: Items On My Harvard-issue Bookshelf and their Friend Archetype

Though it’s only seven panels of wood haphazardly stapled, glued, taped, and otherwise forced together, the Harvard-issue bookshelf may be one of the greatest cultural phenomena of our lifetime. The knick knacks, decorations, tools, dishware, and — rarely — books that grace these shelves say more about a person than a lifetime of coffee chats or “we should grab a meal sometime” meals that never happen.

My Harvard-Issue Bookshelf (this definitely needs a trademark) is unburdened of dishware, cleaning supplies, or any items that otherwise bare utility, mostly by virtue of my kitchen — a massive perk of some of the overflow housing on this campus. This has left me with plenty of room for creative expression.

Thus, my bookshelf means more to me than an extra set of drawers or a place to store my spoons. It is my canvas, my magnum opus, and — most importantly — my trusted friend. Of course, as no two friends are alike, neither are two items on my bookshelf. To shed light on the inner workings of my addled mind, and the social dynamics of the literary ecosystem in my common room, here are each item on my Harvard-issue bookshelf and their Friend Archetype. Feel free to tag yourself below.

The Joker: My To-Read Shelf

It’s more laughing at me than with me, because this shelf has only grown since arriving here and I have yet to make any progress. It started as a few books I wanted to read that I brought from home Freshman fall — some Stephen King, miscellaneous fiction — and ended up full of random books that get handed to me while I’m trying to get into the Science Center. I was tempted to assign these books “The Flirt” archetype, but if they’re flirting with me it’s only in the middle-school-I’m-going-to-be-mean-to–you fashion. The jokes are all at my expense. I guess that makes me the Sad One. Honestly, “To-Read” is generous. At this point, let’s just call it unread. Maybe then they’ll stop laughing at me.

The Overachiever: The Crimson Reviews Section

A little below and to the right of the “Unread” section is a small row of books I’ve reviewed for The Crimson. Much like an Overachiever friend, these books have been here for me in my busiest hours, pushing me to be better — despite being occasionally overwhelming. They invoke a sense of pride that only an overachiever friend can, and provide a sort of timeline for my life here at Harvard thus far — unlike the rest of the shelf, these are organized by date reviewed. This friend is the last line of defense against burnout.

The Maverick, or The Party Animal: The Single YouthPlays Script I Own

Here for a good time, not a long time, this script is a whopping 13 pages. “Ashes,” by Arthur M. Jolly is the kind of play that you pick up at Arizona Thespian Festival at the end of 2021 and it’s just so striking you have to purchase. Or so I’ve heard. Like a true Maverick, this play is not here to stay, nor to provide comfort — it’s rather jarring — but will fascinate and excite to no end. I always carry this play around with me when I go to parties (I’ll let you decide if that’s a joke).

The Chill One: The Vintage-Style Radio

This radio is cooler than me. Hell, this radio is cooler than anyone I know. It’s got a retro feel, it’s battery powered, and it mostly gets used to play alt rock or WHRB (or the overlap of the two, which happens quite frequently). The crisp static that underlies everything it plays (which has worsened since I knocked it off my desk last spring) really adds a sort of unapproachable, aloof flair to its character that cements its spot as the coolest thing on my bookshelf. We’re all just lucky to have him here.

The Depressed, Artsy One: The Mather House Water Bottle Full of Dead Flowers

Picture it: Housing Day 2023. You’re an eager Freshman placed into Mather House. You get a water bottle with the crest on it. You don’t use it because it might just be the most poorly insulated water bottle ever placed on the market. Naturally, it’s better for flowers than for drinking. Unfortunately, these flowers are long dead, the water yellowed, and the water bottle wishing it was given to someone else. This experience will be good for its art. Much like the human version of the depressed, artsy friend, these long-dead flowers make the perfect companion to read gothic fiction with or watch “The Notebook”. Anything goes as long as it’s tragic. After all, who doesn’t need a good cry every once in a while?

The Mom Friend: The Anthologies

The mom friend is a watchful guardian, a safe place to land, and often doubles as a therapist. My complete collections of E. E. Cummings and Edgar Allan Poe are there for me in times of dire need. They’re reliable: You don’t need to dedicate hours to sitting down with them, they know you’re busy. Still, sometimes you need an emotional support poem, and they are eager to supply. My love of E. E. Cummings is an entire separate article, but, needless to say, these collections are a light in dark times.

The Mess: Half-Eaten Bag of Chewy Watermelon Candy from Three Weeks Ago

I don’t know where these came from. I am eating them as I write this. They’re surprisingly still soft — some of them are melted into one giant wad. This bag of candy and I are actually competing for this role, because the gummy conglomerate is at least still doing its job — being sweet and delicious — and that's more than can be said about myself at this point. I find this candy to be a sort of metaphor for life: Originally found in the bottom of my backpack, smashed beneath my iPad, it’s a reminder that beauty can come from unexpected places. Reach out to the mess of your friend group — they, too, are a diamond in the rough.

The Planner: The Stack of Neuro Books

Last but certainly not least, the neuro books on my shelf — one textbook, one piece of medical nonfiction, and one encyclopedia — are not ones for spontaneity. If you’re wondering what it’s like to only have three free courses in your four-year plan, give me a call. Representing the most organized, grounded part of my life, they keep things planned for the group (me) and keep me on track as a Neuroscience concentrator. Of course, they are my passion and my rock to keep academically focused. These books are steady and reliable, if a bit stubborn.

The moral of the story here is that maybe the real friends are the miscellany we acquired along the way. Let this article be a reminder to appreciate your friends — animate or otherwise — and occasionally psychoanalyze them. Clearly I do.

—For tips on best ways to organize a bookshelf, psychologically analyzing inanimate objects, or making friends, please reach out to Aiden at aiden.bowers@thecrimson.com.