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4.05 AVERAGE
4.05 AVERAGE
A friend recommended this book and it is certainly a gem. Fadiman is an essayist and this book is a collection of essays that she wrote on the topic of books and reading. She is a gifted writer and very humorous. I loved it.
(Catching up on reviews for books read before blogging/Goodreads days, made from notes made at the time the book was read. Written on 7/27/21.)
(Catching up on reviews for books read before blogging/Goodreads days, made from notes made at the time the book was read. Written on 7/27/21.)
my friend lindsay always recommends the loveliest little reads. this is a collection of tightly written (every single word, sentence, is perfect), dryly funny little essays about anne fadiman's love of books. among my favorites: she and her husband combining libraries (although i couldn't relate- beloved and i only had one overlap- "the lion, the witch & the wardrobe") the one about "his'er" (especially wallace shawn NOT making fun of her for mispronouncing "ms.") and all mentions of her wonderfully nerdy family.
i don't remember which essay mentioned this, but she talks about friends who work in bookstores who get tired of books and stop being excited about being surrounded by them. she says something along the lines of books without owners not really being books. i was surprised by this. i've spend the last 8 years working in libraries, and when i see all those books (which technically don't have owners except for The Community) all i see is lovely, endless possibility. maybe it's different in a bookstore.
anyways. i'm sure i'll be picking this one up again.
i don't remember which essay mentioned this, but she talks about friends who work in bookstores who get tired of books and stop being excited about being surrounded by them. she says something along the lines of books without owners not really being books. i was surprised by this. i've spend the last 8 years working in libraries, and when i see all those books (which technically don't have owners except for The Community) all i see is lovely, endless possibility. maybe it's different in a bookstore.
anyways. i'm sure i'll be picking this one up again.
I'm reading in English as a second language and always have a dictionary near me, but no book made use it for 5 or 6 words in the same freaking line. I didn't thing the writing style was exceptionally superior with all these unused-in-day-to-day-words.
When I first started reading in English I read A Series of Unfortunate Events, and I loved how I found new words that I've never heard or seen before (Not that I ever had a chance to use the word "Austere" yet, mind you). I even liked the way he defined words to fit only the current situation. But Anne just shoves word after word until I have no idea what she is trying to say.
She's no common reader, that's for sure. Unless reading in a dead language is a thing in the USA. (Is it? asking for a friend.)
And what kind of people doesn't know what's a grimoire? Has she never read/seen a horror movie in her life?
I hate this book so much.
When I first started reading in English I read A Series of Unfortunate Events, and I loved how I found new words that I've never heard or seen before (Not that I ever had a chance to use the word "Austere" yet, mind you). I even liked the way he defined words to fit only the current situation. But Anne just shoves word after word until I have no idea what she is trying to say.
She's no common reader, that's for sure. Unless reading in a dead language is a thing in the USA. (Is it? asking for a friend.)
And what kind of people doesn't know what's a grimoire? Has she never read/seen a horror movie in her life?
I hate this book so much.
I’m a firm believer in the saying ‘you are what you read,’ especially after reading a book about the neural networks that are created when you read a novel. Books are a language and people who read deliberately, widely, and often, we all speak the same language and can carry on endless conversations about authors, books, words, ideas, places, and characters that non-readers simply cannot participate in. When you find another ‘brain on books’ you can’t help but gravitate towards it and pry apart the folds to see what else they’ve read / who they are. Reading Ex Libris is like having one of the best conversations ever with a kindred, bookish brain.
In Fadiman’s collection of essays she has managed to put into words things readers think, feel, and do: the horror of coming home to a library rearranged by spine color, a favorite writing instrument, the conversations one carries on with authors be in your mind or margins, the shock (and sometimes joy) of finding a spelling error in printed form, or the excitement of discovering a word you haven’t seen before and then the sadness of realizing that it’s somewhat archaic and becoming lost to modernity.
I particularly loved her essay titled ‘Words on a Flyleaf’ concerning inscriptions. Is there really anything more intimate than gifting a books to someone? I don’t think so. I mean, think about the time investment involved in reading a book and then think about those new brain connections being made… it’s like 100x more intimate than cooking someone a meal and a meal physically becomes a part of their body at some cellular level. A book makes changes in your brain. And then to be given a book with an inscription (and as a ‘courtly’ lover of books, any other form of writing in a book would horrify me) – to assume that whatever book you’ve given will be so treasured as to not be sold, re-gifted, or loaned? Buying someone a book, writing in it, and then giving it to them is SUCH a bold move. That’s my definition of literary eroticism.
In Fadiman’s collection of essays she has managed to put into words things readers think, feel, and do: the horror of coming home to a library rearranged by spine color, a favorite writing instrument, the conversations one carries on with authors be in your mind or margins, the shock (and sometimes joy) of finding a spelling error in printed form, or the excitement of discovering a word you haven’t seen before and then the sadness of realizing that it’s somewhat archaic and becoming lost to modernity.
I particularly loved her essay titled ‘Words on a Flyleaf’ concerning inscriptions. Is there really anything more intimate than gifting a books to someone? I don’t think so. I mean, think about the time investment involved in reading a book and then think about those new brain connections being made… it’s like 100x more intimate than cooking someone a meal and a meal physically becomes a part of their body at some cellular level. A book makes changes in your brain. And then to be given a book with an inscription (and as a ‘courtly’ lover of books, any other form of writing in a book would horrify me) – to assume that whatever book you’ve given will be so treasured as to not be sold, re-gifted, or loaned? Buying someone a book, writing in it, and then giving it to them is SUCH a bold move. That’s my definition of literary eroticism.
I liked this little, easy read. I say "easy," but there are lots of words I should have looked up in the dictionary! It's a tad lofty, but not such that it's uppity - make sense? I loved reading all about her various relationships with books and reading. Some very different than mine, some pretty similar. It made me want to write several essays on my own life with books. See all the quotes for [a:Anne Fadiman|7982|Anne Fadiman|http://photo.goodreads.com/authors/1202836366p2/7982.jpg], many are from this book and will give you a taste of the essays.
A great book club book for prompting discussions. I'd love to reread it for a group discussion, if anyone's interested.
A great book club book for prompting discussions. I'd love to reread it for a group discussion, if anyone's interested.
A truly excellent collection of essays on the virtues of reading and books in general. I was pleasantly surprised that I've already read a book by this author (The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down- which was a less pleasant reading experience than this book because it's infuriating, but that's a different subject) and just didn't know it, but I infinitely prefer this one to that one. This might have just found me at the right time in my life, but I just related to this and enjoyed it so much.
word vomit straight out from a dictionary. typically a text for nerds. im not one of them.
I liked the parts where the author talked about literature and fun history facts, but not the parts where she talked about her family. The Fadimans are extremely pretentious people and this quote by the author sums it up nicely
"... they were not Fadimans and would therefore not wish to be improved."
so some essays are a 4, maybe even 5, and some are barely a 2
proof that not all books-about-books are good
"... they were not Fadimans and would therefore not wish to be improved."
so some essays are a 4, maybe even 5, and some are barely a 2
proof that not all books-about-books are good
"My books and his books had become our books. We were really married" (10).
My professor had given us a few essays by Anne Fadiman: "Marrying Libraries" and "Scorn Not the Sonnet," the latter undoubtedly because this was a poetry workshop and so few of us actually bothered to write sonnets. I had never read a book about reading books and was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed Fadiman's essays. Her wit, her erudition, her wide range of readership, and her contagious thrill for reading all lured me to the university library to locate Ex Libris and read everything she had to say on this given topic.
As an avid reader myself who can chronicle the stages of my life through the books I read, I relate to Fadiman's essays, sometimes laughing at her, sometimes laughing at myself through her words, occasionally cringing (I, too, have proofread billboards and menus). Fadiman's book not only accesses common ground among readers and writers, but it also gives permission to readers with otherwise embarrassing vices. Yes, it is not only permissible but completely understandable to be a book-hoarder. Yes, you can engage in "carnal love" of books by annotating, dog-earing, and highlighting (as opposed to the "courtly love" of keeping a book in pristine condition, as Fadiman documents in "Never Do That to a Book").
By uncovering Fadiman's books, I constructed a crisper image and idea of the author than had I read a memoir or autobiography. As she puts it, "My brother and I were able to fantasize far more extravagantly about our parents' tastes and desires, their aspirations and their vices, by scanning their bookshelves than by snooping in their closets. Their selves were on their shelves" (124).
My professor had given us a few essays by Anne Fadiman: "Marrying Libraries" and "Scorn Not the Sonnet," the latter undoubtedly because this was a poetry workshop and so few of us actually bothered to write sonnets. I had never read a book about reading books and was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed Fadiman's essays. Her wit, her erudition, her wide range of readership, and her contagious thrill for reading all lured me to the university library to locate Ex Libris and read everything she had to say on this given topic.
As an avid reader myself who can chronicle the stages of my life through the books I read, I relate to Fadiman's essays, sometimes laughing at her, sometimes laughing at myself through her words, occasionally cringing (I, too, have proofread billboards and menus). Fadiman's book not only accesses common ground among readers and writers, but it also gives permission to readers with otherwise embarrassing vices. Yes, it is not only permissible but completely understandable to be a book-hoarder. Yes, you can engage in "carnal love" of books by annotating, dog-earing, and highlighting (as opposed to the "courtly love" of keeping a book in pristine condition, as Fadiman documents in "Never Do That to a Book").
By uncovering Fadiman's books, I constructed a crisper image and idea of the author than had I read a memoir or autobiography. As she puts it, "My brother and I were able to fantasize far more extravagantly about our parents' tastes and desires, their aspirations and their vices, by scanning their bookshelves than by snooping in their closets. Their selves were on their shelves" (124).