One Writer’s Bookshelf

Like most writers and avid readers, I’ve got bookshelves straining under the weight of my happiness. Being a hunter-gatherer, I hunt and gather books. I rarely get rid of them. Under great duress I might loan one out, but I’ll require bank account information and a chip implanted in the borrower’s skull. I will track you down.

But let’s zero in on those books about the act of writing. I’ve got thirty-something. Books on the art and craft. Style manuals. Grammar and usage references. Some of them, particularly dull old college textbooks, I’ve found not much help except perhaps as tonics for insomnia. Others I’ve found lively, indispensable, and a joy to read, like Strunk & White’s The Elements of Style. My new favorite is On Writing Well, by William Zinsser.

There are many more that weren’t written specifically as books on the craft of writing but I treat them that way. I’ll thumb the works of Thoreau to see how to construct and hone an argument. I’ll study Stephen King to see how to write with a cinematic, visual quality. I’ll dig into Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon for a refresher course on concise dialogue, and mull over Martin Cruz Smith’s Gorky Park for dialogue freighted with multiple meanings. I’ll delight in Daphne du Maurier for elegant suspense.

Who else? Tom Wolfe, for The Right Stuff, so I can see him wring an unexpected thought or clever phrase on almost any given page. Ray Bradbury, to see how to construct a moving short story in just a few pages.

Then there are my generalized science, technology, and history books. Among my favorites is The Five Biggest Ideas in Science, by Charles M. Winn and Arthur W. Wiggins. I browse it at least once a year to reacquaint myself with the big theories explained in layman’s terms in logical, linear fashion. And with cartoons!

What if I feel the urge to write about 16th century cannon in Ireland? I did, a couple of years ago. The MacMillan Visual Dictionary showed me what the actual parts of a cannon look like. And the defensive features of medieval fortifications, those crenellations and arrow loops and murder holes. I pluck History’s Timeline off the shelf to see what else was going on in the world at the time.

Then, I have my cheat books. Not the thesaurus; I have several but almost never open them. No, my most valued cheat would be the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations. A thousand pages brimming with pithy, pointed, and powerful quotations. I can insert quotes by Milton, Shakespeare, and Austen on almost any topic into what I’m writing. Or discover the perfect story title. I’ll find that perfect, shining quotation to fit what I’m writing, plug it in, and people will think I’m a lot smarter than I am.

Reference books for good writing are where you find them, and aren’t always the ones specifically about writing. And the best references are still the great works of great writers.