I sat down in my usual aisle seat on one of my infrequent airplane flights not long ago, and immediately dug out one of the half-dozen books in the backpack containing my current reading obsessions. This is my custom when flying, because I want to let my neighbors know that I am busy, I am deep in thought, and I am not the least bit interested in striking up a conversation with a stranger, just one of the many effective tricks of the introvert trade. This behavior, along with the fact that the book I am reading is by some obscure author and the fact that I have a gray ponytail, usually provide sufficient clues that one tries to engage me in conversation at their peril.
On this particular day, however, the window seat to my left was occupied by a guy my age who apparently never got past the class clown stage. At the conclusion of the stewardessโs usual spiel about what to do if we have to land in water or lose cabin pressure, we were asked to turn off all electronic devices for takeoff. I, of course, read all of the way through the stewardessโs instructions and continued to read as people all around me turned off their phones, I-pods, and other electronic paraphernalia. โHey!โ my neighbor shouted down the aisle at the retreating stewardess while pointing at me. โMake him turn his book off too!โ He repeated the exact same routine at the end of the flight when we were instructed to turn our electronic devices off for landing. Very funnyโbut he had a point. Of the two dozen or so fellow passengers within my field of vision throughout the flight, I was the only one reading a book.
Which reminds me of another flight several months earlier. This time in the middle of the flight I was deeply engrossed in reading Hilary Mantelโs Booker Prize-winning novel Wolf Hall. As the woman seated in the seat across the aisle one row in front of me returned from a journey to the facilities, she noticed what I was reading. โDo you like it?โ she asked. โI love it,โ I replied. โSo do I!โ she exclaimed as she pulled her Kindle
out of her purse.โ โIโm reading it too! Isnโt that weird?โ I thought something that an extrovert or a rude person might have said out loud: โIt would be a weird coincidence if you were actually reading, but looking at words on a screen is not the same thing as reading.โ As Iโve said many times to many people over the past several years, when they invent a Kindle (or whatever) that feels and smells like a real book, Iโll buy one.
On occasion in our early years of being together, Jeanne would observe how few close friends I had (and have). This, coming from a person who is in the 1% most extroverted beings in the universe, was not an entirely fair comment. But one time she added โit doesnโt matter, though, because your books are your friends.โ That not only is a fair comment, but it is entirely true. Itโs too bad you canโt be friends with a book on Facebook, because that would increase my Facebook friend count from its currentย 568 well into the thousands. Several years ago I assisted my carpenter/general contractor uncle (actually I was more like his indentured servant)ย at my house as he tore out a wall in a corner-bedroom-soon-to-hopefully-be-a-library for the purposes of building a wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcase in its place. โThatโs a hell of a lot of books!โ he laughed as he looked at the stacks of dozens and dozens of books on the floor for whom the bookcase would be a new home. โHave you actually read all of them?โ (haw, haw, haw). โActually I have,โ I truthfully answered. โAnd these are less than a quarter of the books we have, plus an equal number or more in my office at school.โ End of that conversation.
I suppose there is something to be said for the inevitable move from the printed word to the e-word, but whatever that something is, Iโm not going to say it. There are few activities I enjoy more than organizing books on a bookshelf, roughly categorizing them according to an intuitive scheme that I am only partially conscious of. But when Jeanne is looking for a book that she read several months ago, prior to the last two book reorganizations, I can zero in at least on which two shelves of our multiple bookcases at home the book lives. When our basement, after two and a half years of sucking money out of our checking account, was finally finished the first furniture event was deciding which books should go on the bookcase in the new reading corner. I decided on the category โDuring- and post-sabbatical books roughly in the spirituality range that have beenย meaningful to me (and occasionally to Jeanne) over the pastย six years.โ
Moving those books downstairs opened up various possibilities for new groupings upstairs, more or less like planning the seating arrangement at a sit-down party with well over a thousand attendees. Who would like to talk with whom? Will Charles Dickens mind sitting next to Jodi Picoult? (Charles probably would mind. He can sit next to George Eliot and Jodi can hang out with Pat Conroy). Would Episcopal Bishop Jack Spong get
ย along with Benedictine Sr. Joan Chittister?
ย (Yes). Who might the Pope like to sit next to?โI havenโt decided yet, but Iโm thinking perhaps either Marcus Borg or Rowan Williams. Would it make more sense to seat Doris Kearns Goodwin next to David McCullough, or would the party benefit more by having the historians on different shelves? (Separate them).There is a distinct visual attractiveness and interest to a well-arrangedย bookcase. Tall and short, thick and thinโthe appearance of books is as varied as their contents.
My planning of the party in my philosophy department office has always been less creative, with chronology the order of the day across the shelves of my four large bookcases. But as I move inย four years worth of accumulated books from my former directorโs office, Iโm rearranging the shelves to make roomย and amย thinking that itโs time to mix things up. Plato must be sick of talking only to Aristotle by now (theyโve been disagreeing for over two thousand years) and would probably enjoy conversing with William James
ย or Richard Rorty.
ย Iโm pretty sure Aristotle would have a great time sitting down with Friedrich Nietzsche. And if Aquinasย or Augustine sits down with Richard Dawkins or Daniel Dennett, all bets are off!
Many years ago, shortly after we met, Jeanne bought me a paperweight that occupies a prominent place on the desk in my philosophy department office. It contains the following attributed to Descartes: โReading books is like having a conversation with the great minds of the past.โ Indeed it is. Which brings me back to where I started. I cannot enter the world of electronic books because real friendshipโwith books and with peopleโis a multi-sense experience. Visual, olfactory, tactile. I can be friends with a book, but I cannot be friends with a digital screen. I could, presumably, load every book I own into a Kindle and carry my friends with me wherever I go. But my Kindle-books would no more be my friends than the 10,328 โfriendsโ that an acquaintance of mine has on Facebook are really his friends. I donโt know what will happen to my books when I die; amazingly my sons are not competing to get them. But in my version of heaven my friends will be with me. No friend left behind.
