FBR 86: Talismans, the library of self . . .

Deadlines coagulated lately; November 1st and 8th for two different books. The past few weeks were a clever episode of plate-spinning, the upshot being a few missed Reports, for which my apologies. I know how you can't sleep. Well, none of us can, lately, reminding me of the Thurber caption:

"You're disillusioned? We're all disillusioned!"

The library has gained a few volumes recently and, as disillusioned as I am, I'll take a minute to describe what may have started this latest flow. A few weeks ago under no more compulsion than a slight love of technology, I ordered a Kindle 3. It arrived, and I began to read samples on it. I'd previously just started The Member of the Wedding in a paperback Collected Stories I have, and took it up on the Kindle to press farther.

Now, I know I didn't give it enough time, but reading this particular story on a screen only yelled "SCREEN!" at me. The story was secondary to the device and Frankie's tender, twisted yearning put off at arm's length. So, a fail. I went back to the paperback. The physical object was better in every way. But reading on the device had alerted me to one failure of this edition, too. Because it had crabbed the short novel into a format denser and shorter than the story was meant to be read in, it was made functional, nearly as "functional" as the Kindle, but it was not the story she wrote.

I'd checked the available in print versions (those I could find), and they were no better. What reading on the Kindle had taught me is that there is a priority in print, particularly in books written before the electronic age, and more particularly classics. A book of this kind is in the nature of an artifact indivisible from the story it tells. What I needed to do to read The Member of the Wedding was to obtain an early edition.

I found one, a 1946 cloth bound in fairly good shape, a solid reading copy, for $6.00. With $3.95 shipping it was less than a sandwich with fries and coffee. And this I am now going through a slow paragraph at a time. And that's how reading is meant to be done.

Another book has similarly made its way into my stacks. A 1928 Hemingway (of all people). A bit more, but not at all outrageous; a lunch for two, and again a solid reading copy.

These old books, these real books, become talismans, touchstones, and proof in your hands that the past is never dead.

On the other side of the spectrum are the two splendid just published volumes of Lynd Ward's woodcut novels assembled in a boxed set by the Library of America. A birthday present, and proof of another thing. That good and great publishing still happens among us.