A lot of our house looks like this. We love books. The smell of them, the feel of them, the history of them. All those bent corners and worn spines have a story to tell. Kindle has no place in our lives as yet.
We have books. Lots of them. I can find most of them with some ease. My memory works like that. So is it disorganised? If the aim of organisation is to allow someone else to find things with ease, then yes, clearly it is. But for us, it works. Very, very rarely have I been unable to find something I wanted at the time I wanted it.
Want volume two of the Belgariad? It's on the top shelf in the library to the right above the radiator between a Spanish dictionary and a book about molecular biology. Need that elusive Asterix book? Downstairs bathroom corridor, three shelves down, in among the Tintin. Have to look up the pedigree of the 1835 Oaks winner? Be my guest, far left, fifth shelf down, propped up bookcase to the left of the lavatory.
I think this might be a kind of map of my entire brain.