My daughter was telling me the other day that our 18-month old grandson has determined that reading is a shared activity. He wants his mom and dad to read a page to him and then he wants to “read” a page to them. What he hasn’t figured out yet is that reading is also a gentle pleasure. When he wants the book back – wham! – he slams it shut on your finger. I was thinking this morning as I perused the nonsensical listings on ABE to determine a price for some new books I just got that it would be truly sublime if books did exactly the same thing to the fingers of sellers who don’t love them. No, I’m not going off on a rant here – don’t worry. It’s just an observation that the number of sellers who regard books as commodities may have hit critical mass and that a little self-protective aggression on the part of the books might actually trim the herd.
What also gave rise to this thought was a treasure I resurrected yesterday. I know I’ve mentioned Lillian in the past and how a couple years ago we bought from her estate so many lovely books from which fell photographs, letters, and memorabilia that I wound up with a strong connection to her which I have never before, or since, felt for a previous owner. I bring this up again now because very soon after we got the books I’d found an essay written by Lillian’s mother about books and her love of them. I had put it aside so as not to lose it and somehow still managed to lose it. But during the ongoing Great Book Purge I found it again standing upright on a shelf behind a row of books. Had you peeked through the basement window at that precise moment yesterday afternoon you would have seen a crazy woman twirling and whirling around the basement hugging the manuscript as though it were the Dead Sea Scrolls.
On the cover of the envelope in which I originally got it one of her children had written “Mama’s essay on collecting her library”. Sadly, I don’t recall seeing a single book mentioned in it, but I know that the best of the collection had been donated to the University of Akron to which the family had strong ties. This of course is a good thing and the “second tier” books I got pleased me so much that more, or better, would have been superfluous to the intense joy and wonder I felt that day. Of the many boxes of books I got, I kept just one volume – the architectural drawings of Stanford White -- chosen because his story is one of such unbelievable drama and because I have a soft spot for architecture. It has joined the collection in our formal living room which is used only for company and for sitting quietly at the end of the day with a glass of wine watching as the light that inspired Monet tenderly bathes the books we love in an indirect wash of streaming gold.
Of her own collection Lillian’s mother waxed equally poetic"
"It is an interesting and reminiscent job the dusting and arranging of one’s books, old in the sense of being possessed, and let us hope, used. Here is the corner for my English authors: a very fine set of Scott, the earliest of one’s loves, bound in dark green half leather, gilt edged and gilt lettered, the paper ivory in color with a large clear text and beautifully engraved illustrations. A book agent – he lives no longer – taught me the distinguishing features of a good book. He was familiar with publishers and editions, and knew the art of bookbinding. He introduced one into the select circle of the limited and rare editions. He satisfied one’s taste and stimulated one’s interest in all books, and taught me how to appreciate and value books as well as how to choose and buy ….Good books are a luxury, but after one has acquired them, they do not bear false witness.”
On reading she had this to say:
“How then shall I estimate the effect of my first reading of Anna Karenina? Its realism was a revelation; it’s vital passion and tragedy not so much a lesson as a warning, an echo of the inner longing, the secret conflicts that evolve a destiny. Have we not all suffered vicariously in some contemplated future? Love was ever a certain obsession with me, though never have I in a dream world forgotten the real world, nor confused the inner with the outside tangible. Books have never misled, never harmed me, never distracted, nor deluded. They have only given me vision and the power of reason.”
Perhaps now, having heard the words of a true bibliophile who was at once collector and reader, you will forgive my earlier fantasy of books as snapping turtles.
I remain, however, wholly unrepentant.
1 comment:
What a very beautiful posting. I loved the wrods you wrote on your grandson, and his style of reading. And Lillian, and her precious mother's collection. She was quite a writer. It took me to my own first reading of Anna Karenina, and I thought at the time that all women MUST read it...definitely as she stated as a warning. So glad you found it and shared it with us. These treasures are meant to be shared!
Elmer Follower
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