For nearly 13 years, I was possessed by a fantasy so unrelenting that it almost amounted to a mission statement for my entire life. The fantasy was this: A slightly thicker-haired version of me leans back in her chair after a dinner of roast chicken which she’s just enjoyed with a varied and beautiful group of well-read friends, none of whom is more beautiful or well-read than she is. Behind her, an entire wall of books, arranged with no fuss on a chorus of white shelves, stretches from the floor to the ceiling. Her guests, licking their fingers and refilling their glasses, admire not just the collection, but the shelves themselves.

My heart’s deepest desire was for the sleekness and continental flavor of Vitsœ’s 606 Universal Shelving System, designed by Dieter Rams in the 1960s, which true heads know to be the Grand Poobah of modular track shelves, but I’m not in that kind of tax bracket. And while I can drill holes without having a panic attack, I’m nowhere near handy enough to buy individual Rubbermaid shelving components from the hardware store and design a book wall from scratch. There is, blessedly, a middle ground that would work for me: the Elfa system, from The Container Store.

The “system” is a rail that runs along the top of your wall, to which you’re supposed to attach vertical runners that run perpendicular to the top rail. Those are also attached to the wall. Then, you can click the shelves into place on a bunch of brackets, and you’re off. Their look is no-nonsense, the type of storage solution one might expect to see in the home of an architecture student in the 1980s. The whole setup somehow manages to produce a “status bookshelf” without making the owner look like the type of person who cares about such a thing.

When I moved into a new apartment this winter that had a big old empty wall off the kitchen, I finally went for it and bought myself a bunch of Elfas. The Container Store offers a service where they’ll come to your house and plan and install the thing so that the shelves look good and function correctly, but money was tight after first month’s, last month’s, and a broker’s fee the size of Luxembourg’s national debt. So I attempted what I’d previously thought impossible: installing these babies myself.

I figured, Hey I can use a tape measure, a stud finder, a power drill, and a level. What else would I really need? I also had something that can substitute for handiness in a pinch: the willingness to plan everything out with a pencil and revise as necessary. I drew the layout on paper first, then drew it on the wall. This was fine until I whipped out the level. My apartment floor itself turns out not to be level, so I was forced to choose between a cattywampus look or a cattywampus function. I decided function is paramount, so I had to run the top rail at a barely detectable angle. It’s fine.

Twelve drywall anchors and screws later, the rail was in. The pilot holes I drilled were enormous; I could basically fit my thumb in there, so there was no going back. Next came spacing the vertical rails. This presented another choice: better to have them evenly spaced or in front of a wall stud? For this one, I chose aesthetics because gravity does a huge amount of steadying on this system, and since the vertical rails are exposed, it’s nice to have them look, well, nice. From there, it was a matter of clicking brackets and shelves together while Harry Belafonte played at high volume. The shelves look fantastic. I look well-read. Now I just have to learn to make a decent roast chicken.

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