Books, Glorious Books

"[R]eading makes a full man, conversation a ready man, and writing an exact man."

~Sir Francis Bacon

How beautiful to a genuine lover of reading are the sullied leaves, and worn out appearance, nay, the very odour (beyond Russia), if we would not forget kind feelings in fastidiousness, of an old "Circulating Library" Tom Jones, or Vicar of Wakefield! How they speak of the thousand thumbs, that have turned over their pages with delight! -- of the lone sempstress, whom they may have cheered (milliner, or harder-working mantuamaker) after her long day's needle-toil, running far into midnight, when she has snatched an hour, ill spared from sleep, to steep her cares, as in some Lethean cup, in spelling out their enchanting contents! Who would have them a whit less soiled? What better condition could we desire to see them in?         
 ~Lamb, "Detached Thoughts on Books and Reading"

         For the first time in this class, I find myself wholly supportive of one of our writers.  My feelings about books and reading much resemble those of Charles Lamb.  Books can be friends, companions, escapes, immersive worlds.  Different kinds of books are suitable for different times and situations:  glancing over the newspaper as you eat breakfast, or losing yourself in a novel on a dreary November day.  But the real connection came as he began to talk about bindings and the outward state of books.  I believe, like Lamb, that worn and tattered books show that they have been loved, while pristine gold-leaf edges and immaculate leather covers only serve to intimidate and discourage the eager touch of the reader.  Many of the books I have personally known and loved show such signs of devotion and treasured schlepping.  The spine of my copy of The Westing Game is broken in multiple places from fevered re-readings and lunchtime proppings-open.  My sister's Goblet of Fire has a cover reconstructed and retained via Scotch tape.  Both of our copies of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix bear punch stains from my grandparents' fiftieth wedding anniversary party.  Les Miserables has Dutch lavender and a French rose pressed within the pages from a three-week bus trip.  And one of my all-time favorites, Sharon Creech's Chasing Redbird, will always show the rippled-page battle scars of being rescued from the lake one summer.  The states of these volumes and all the rest of my favorites bear witness to the love I have for them, joy not of Lamb's "thousand thumbs", but of two thumbs a thousand times over.  Books leave their marks on us, and we on them.  They give us new ideas and in turn store the memories of each reading.
          At the very beginning of his essay, Lamb quotes a contemporary of his and mentions an acquaintance who has left off all reading in hopes of being more "original," not digesting the "forced product of another man's brain."  My mind immediately leapt to Walter Shandy and his dictum that all of a man's reasoning must be his own.  Lamb, however, delights in this feature of books.  To read is the one of the only ways to know what another person's thought process is like.  I, like Lamb, "love to lose myself in other men's minds."  Reading not only gives you insight with regard to the mind of a character, but to the author as well.  In reading someone's writing, you can gain an insider knowledge of how their mind works, of what they value and esteem.  No other technology or form of entertainment yet conceived allows a person to peer so deeply into the consciousness of another.  And now it's time to change topics before I become paranoid about what my writing style says about me.          
          Samuel Johnson, from whose essay comes the above Bacon quote, also makes reference to the popular eighteenth-century notion that libraries were filled with so much "useless lumber," and also refutes this view.  He uses Bacon as a springboard to launch into a discussion of what makes a balanced wise man.  Johnson focuses on three main actions that should be practiced in equal measures: reading, writing, and conversation.  Reading exposes a person to new ideas and different points of view, conversation allows a person to explore these ideas and perpectives, reason about them, and draw conclusions, and in writing these new conclusions and reasonings are recorded for later knowledge-seekers to discover.  Keeping these three in balance prevents intellectual stagnation and promotes progress: if a scholar is engaged in each in turn, he cannot help but learn and grow.  Advice on the academic profession that still rings true today.  I wonder how many modern researchers and professors still practice Bacon's model, whether consciously or not.