In
a recent issue of the e-mail book world newsletter “Shelf Awareness,” the
“Quotation of the Day” came from a bookseller opening a new shop on September
1, who said he thought of a bookstore as a “cultural anachronism.” He meant it
(as one would have hoped) in the best possible way:
... A place where time itself seems to slow. People linger. Few are ever in much of a rush or put out by a line. We've all made a decision about what we value more than a discount.
Maybe this is what people really mean when they talk about their love of the smell of a bookstore. The anachronism of ink and pulp amidst the daily sterility of point and click.
If
you are interested in more of what Brad had to say, follow this link.
My
own experience (24+ years of running my own indie bookstore in northern
Michigan) tells me that many people my age who deserted print books are coming
back to them and, moreover, that much younger people, who grew up with
electronics and take them for granted, are discovering physical books with
wonder and awe. One lovely day near the end of summer three girls in their
early teens were combing my shelves for the oldest books they could find that
would fit their budgets. Their eager questions about copyright and printing dates
or lack thereof led me to point out differences in paper quality, binding, and
illustration. They could not have been more attentive. They purchased their
treasures and came back in the afternoon for Round 2, eagerly shopping the
past. A couple of weeks before that a young father had earnestly impressed on
his child that “This book was published when Thomas Jefferson was alive!” Yes,
he bought that book, too.
Some
scholars and commentators have remarked, in loving, neutral, or derogatory
language, depending on their own perspectives and purposes, on books as “fetish
objects.” (Here is a sampling of articles—x, y, z—and you can easily find more
yourself.) I would remind those who look down on our love for physical books
that we ourselves are physical creatures, not immaterial angels but living, breathing
animals, borne of earth, mortal, gravity-bound, and conscious of our ultimate
earthly destiny, death. Is it any wonder, facing our own time limits, that we
are fascinated by objects that predated our births and can easily live far
beyond us? The added attraction of these artifacts, of course, is that they
contain thoughts – dreams – ideas – memories – which means that human minds can
outlive human bodies and speak beyond the grave to later generations.
Part
of my life-long fascination with Modern Library books is their hand-friendly
size, and there is something quite endearing about books that size or smaller
to many book-lovers, so you can easily see how this tiny volume, printed in
Glasgow in 1836, charms me for its size and its binding. The ninth edition of The
National Minstrel: A Collection of Popular Songs, containing only
lyrics, no music, you might expect as I did to find numerous copies available,
but I found the work only in libraries. (All the photos in today's post are of this little book.) Doubtless because it was so common and
widely printed and purchased, the little book was not considered valuable in
its time and so was not carefully preserved. As with those once-ubiquitous
Dick-and-Jane readers, however, its survival intact is what today gives value
to The National Minstrel. Its rarity – and its charm.
