"This is I Married a Communist by Philip Roth. It's a funny book. I mean really hilarious."
"And this one?"
"That's Also sprach Zarathustra. People say it's Nietzsche's easiest book because it's the most readable, but actually it's so poetic that it's easy to misunderstand. It's also in German."
I spent a long time trying to set up a desk lamp. The shade had been packed full of yellow beeswax, which was supposed to make its light look like candlelight. The jointed arm wouldn't stand up because all the joints were too loose, until I found a tiny button on the base of the lamp that locked the joints.
I read Zarathustra in 2001 and I Married a Communist in 2006. I have no idea why those titles would suddenly appear in a dream after all those years, or why they would recommend themselves to my subconscious as suitable accoutrements for a "Jeremiah room," but the juxtaposition feels potentially significant, so I note it.