It would be hard to imagine a life without books. Yet, in the scope of human history, books are a fairly recent invention. While writing in some form has been around, it was the arrival of books that allowed mankind to surge ahead. Visual art in various forms has also been around and amazingly enough, it has managed to keep itself sort of consistent over the eons. It is not too hard to go from painting on smooth rock cave walls to canvas with acrylics. Music continues to be the most amorphous of our arts. It was only until the last century that we had the ability to hear what other singers sounded like. And perhaps it will continue along in some form as technology continues to move forward.
But a good book, thumb worn, cracked spine and pages with blots of coffee and crumbs of danish, is something that seems resilient. Yes, for a while, it appeared that even books would go the way of recorded music with the arrival of the Kindles and other electronic reading devices. Yet somehow it makes no sense to undo the amazing flexibility of books. It is the one bit of art we allow to fling onto the dash of a car, or stash in a beach bag. While efforts to change the idea of consuming a book has gone from books-on-tape to even blockbuster movies, the book still manages to remain an almost sacred repository of inspiration, aspiration and knowledge.
Perhaps that is why books continue to be in the news. Banning books that cause fear in some segments of society. Burning books when that fear literally catches fire. Those practices are still practiced. We used to burn people at the stake. Joan of Arc and other people who were considered dangerous. It wasn’t too long before those in charge realized that written thought was more dangerous. Music burning and art burning never caught on that much. Because the means of delivering such art is expensive to begin with. With a book, it continues to be plentiful and cheap.
That said, the smell of an old book is also something wonderful to experience. Walking into the great library of Trinity College in Dublin, with the level after level of old books is akin to walking into some great cathedral of candle wax and incense. The smell of the paper, some decaying, some decayed perhaps is an experience of smelling thought and knowledge.
We hold onto the books we love. And we have all done that odd ritual of lugging books with us wherever we go. It is difficult to throw away a book, even if it is a tattered paperback. And we have made the collection of books into some bit of art itself. We read them once or stared at the pictures once. But they will not depart our homes. The walls of our own library declaring that through these books, I became myself. By these books, I am myself. From time to time, we do part with a book. We give it to a friend to read and enjoy. We donate them to a library. The fact that little “book nook libraries” have popped up in urban yards is a testimony to how important they are. Along with the little grocery stands that some yards have, they are proof that feeding the mind is as important as feeding the body.
I still have books from when I was a child. “Marvin the Moose Goes to School.” I still have my first serious book I received for Christmas in 1968. “Charlotte’s Web” by E.B. White. It was the first time a character died in a book I read, a life-altering moment of sadness. That book now is with Áine. Yes, the cover jacket is way past repair and the hard bound spine split and pages creased. But it’s there on the shelf because it is a good book.
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