Take a photo of a barcode or cover
4.05 AVERAGE
4.05 AVERAGE
In these 18 short essays, Ms. Fadiman touches on a myriad of facets of bibliophilia in both humorous and heartfelt ways. Opening her book with the hilarious “Marrying Libraries,” she documents how, after five years of marriage, she and her husband had finally decided to take the truly intimate step of combining their book collections. Complicating the process, she explains, were “some essential differences in our characters.” Whereas George, her husband, had his books “commingled democratically,” Ms. Fadiman's were “balkanized by nationality and subject matter...rigidly regimented.” She describes these differences delightfully as “his English-garden approach and my French-garden one” and attributes them to the varying levels of trust they each place in inanimate objects. “George maintains a basic trust in three-dimensional objects. If he wants something, he believes it will present itself, and therefore it usually does. I, on the other hand, believe that books, maps, scissors, and Scotch tape dispensers are all unreliable vagrants, likely to take off for parts unknown unless strictly confined.” Can these two widely divergent worldviews ever truly harmoniously co-exist in a single library? I wouldn't dream of spoiling the end for you, but I chuckled all through it and read aloud portions to my husband - whose sympathies definitely lie with George.
Ms. Fadiman writes of growing up in a “bibliolatrous family,” which term I immediately filed away to use when describing my own family, and “an obnoxious family” full of “compulsive proofreaders.” One essay is devoted entirely to relating the joy she, her brother, and their parents take in identifying typos, misspellings, and other errors on menus, in newspapers, and even in library books. (If you are likewise affected by this affliction and missed my last column, “Sticklers, Unite!” this would be an excellent time to go catch up and discover more books written by kindred spirits.)
There are apparently at least two differing approaches to bibliolatry, quite at odds with each other. In “Never Do That to a Book,” Ms. Fadiman illustrates this difference between “courtly love” and “carnal love.” Those who have “courtly love” for books find “its form inseparable from its content.” A book cannot be laid face down, its pages folded over, or any marks made inside, however erasable. Rather, the book should be preserved as near to the state in which it was purchased as possible to maintain its sanctity. Carnal lovers of books, on the other hand, find “a book's words...holy, but the paper, cloth, cardboard, glue, thread and ink that contained them...a mere vessel.” In this view, “hard use was a sign not of disrespect but of intimacy.” These more romantically-inclined readers (in the classical sense) turn “monologues into dialogues” by commenting in the margins. They savor the mementos of use, like the batter splattered on the blueberry muffin page of the cookbook, or the pressed flower from their secret reading spot under the tree out back. Ms. Fadiman, in case you have any doubt, comes down firmly on the side of romantic love.
Other essays cover literary references to food, Ms. Fadiman's favorite pen, the virtues of allowing children to build castles and forts with books, the minefield of gender-inclusive language, sonnets, inscriptions, and plagiarism (appropriately documented with footnotes galore). There is truly something for every reader here.
In Ms. Fadiman, I found a kindred spirit. Her witty and accurate observations, gentle self-mocking, and unadulterated love of reading have drawn me back to Ex Libris again and again and will continue to do so.
For more book reviews, come visit my blog, Build Enough Bookshelves.
Ms. Fadiman writes of growing up in a “bibliolatrous family,” which term I immediately filed away to use when describing my own family, and “an obnoxious family” full of “compulsive proofreaders.” One essay is devoted entirely to relating the joy she, her brother, and their parents take in identifying typos, misspellings, and other errors on menus, in newspapers, and even in library books. (If you are likewise affected by this affliction and missed my last column, “Sticklers, Unite!” this would be an excellent time to go catch up and discover more books written by kindred spirits.)
There are apparently at least two differing approaches to bibliolatry, quite at odds with each other. In “Never Do That to a Book,” Ms. Fadiman illustrates this difference between “courtly love” and “carnal love.” Those who have “courtly love” for books find “its form inseparable from its content.” A book cannot be laid face down, its pages folded over, or any marks made inside, however erasable. Rather, the book should be preserved as near to the state in which it was purchased as possible to maintain its sanctity. Carnal lovers of books, on the other hand, find “a book's words...holy, but the paper, cloth, cardboard, glue, thread and ink that contained them...a mere vessel.” In this view, “hard use was a sign not of disrespect but of intimacy.” These more romantically-inclined readers (in the classical sense) turn “monologues into dialogues” by commenting in the margins. They savor the mementos of use, like the batter splattered on the blueberry muffin page of the cookbook, or the pressed flower from their secret reading spot under the tree out back. Ms. Fadiman, in case you have any doubt, comes down firmly on the side of romantic love.
Other essays cover literary references to food, Ms. Fadiman's favorite pen, the virtues of allowing children to build castles and forts with books, the minefield of gender-inclusive language, sonnets, inscriptions, and plagiarism (appropriately documented with footnotes galore). There is truly something for every reader here.
In Ms. Fadiman, I found a kindred spirit. Her witty and accurate observations, gentle self-mocking, and unadulterated love of reading have drawn me back to Ex Libris again and again and will continue to do so.
For more book reviews, come visit my blog, Build Enough Bookshelves.
I loved this book. It was a gift from my first student teacher and I am embarrassed that it took me over 3 years to get around to reading it. I, too, am a common reader. Check out this book to see if you are also.
I'm a sucker for books about books. So is Fadiman, apparently, because she gives me a whole list of her recommends from the genre at the end of this collection of essays. That alone is enough to give Ex Libris five stars. Looking past the excellent recommendations, each essay in this book is beautiful and optimistic. Living in a world that Fadiman recognizes as imaginary and a little "pathological," she is both delightfully self-depricating and completely indulgent. This will be a piece of my library that I will wear thin.
I don't read many non-fiction books, let alone books about books, but Anne Fadiman has a way with words that I think a few authors can pull off on a subject so common and almost mundane, and turn it into an invitation to the joys of reading. The essays are endearing, funny and open as a confession ought to be. Though I don't think I'll ever be quite the reader the Fadiman family is written here, reading these essays made me yearn for the hunger and greed with which I read as a child, a hunger I hope to return to one day.
This is a great collection of stories for the avid reader. Great to pick up and read a story here and there.
funny
hopeful
informative
lighthearted
reflective
relaxing
medium-paced
Anyone who loves books (even a tiny bit) needs to read this book. What a gem of a book for bibliophiles!
Bibliophiles, finicky editors and sesquipedalianists will love this one.
"The His'er Problem" holds up as especially relevant to the challenge writers' face: What are the best neutral gender pronouns?
"The His'er Problem" holds up as especially relevant to the challenge writers' face: What are the best neutral gender pronouns?
funny
informative
lighthearted
relaxing
fast-paced
Witty and diverting. Best read at 3 a.m. under range hood while eating chunks of cheddar cheese like a goblin. Store on top of microwave or between cans of minestrone soup.
3.5
This book had undeniably some of the most interesting essays I've read. And yet, some I didn't care that much about, as often happens with collections of essays. My favorite was, by far, "Never do that to a book" and the author's passion for the cold north is something I can understand.
This book had undeniably some of the most interesting essays I've read. And yet, some I didn't care that much about, as often happens with collections of essays. My favorite was, by far, "Never do that to a book" and the author's passion for the cold north is something I can understand.