Is My Luddism Showing?

I work in a library, and in general, find that the jobs suits me very well indeed. There are a lot of benefits to it, for a bookworm like myself, not the least of which is that I am able to indulge my reading-addiction on a whim without bankrupting myself while I am at it. However, as with most things, there is also a side to modern librarianship, that annoys me exceedingly. To whit, the rather appalling tendency of certain Powers That Be within the public library structure, to talk about "making the library relevant to our times".

Perhaps I am even more old-fashioned than I generally give myself credit for, but libraries have always seemed to me to be rather above the need of re-invention. There primary function is educational. They are repositories of knowledge and literature. A really good library will have an extensive, and well-maintained non-fiction section, which will contain everything from works of the major philosophers, to study books for obtaining one's contractor's license. There will be plays, and poetry, the maths and sciences, books on languages, geography and geology. There should be fiction too, but in keeping with the educational function of a library, it should be good fiction, well written and of the sort that will be as worth reading 100 years from now as it is today. At least, that is how I have always thought of a library should be.

In practice, however, the relentless drive towards "making the library relevant" has meant that there is an emphasis on novelty, and that the novelties tend to have less and less bearing on the purpose of a library. This shows up in various ways: an unnecessarily generous portion of the book budget going towards shiny, new best sellers, even if works of classical (and therefore, enduring) literature must be deleted to make room for them. Or the introduction of clubs or programs, whose sole purpose is to get people through the doors (therefore proclaiming the library's relevancy) rather than promoting education. Fortunately, the library I work for, tends to be fairly restrained in this regard. Our librarian is very good at finding the balance between the new and shiny, and the old and worthwhile. The programs we offer, tend, for the most part, to both be educational, and entertaining. Every once and a while, though, some new trend comes along, and our library jumps at it. The most recent is the addition of e-books and online audio books to the system, and, much to my irritation, I was required, last week, to learn how to set up the software and use the vile things.

I shall now freely admit that I am very resistant to change. I am the sort of person who has to believe that the good coming out of a change is so great as to make up for the bother of changing at all. No, I am not afraid of change. If something is not working, it is not working, and the sooner we get that sorted, the better. However, change, in our present society, does not usually mean fixing something that is not working. More often than not, it is some clever individual's chance to re-design the wheel. And there is the problem that I tend to have with technology, especially when technology encroaches upon my personal indulgences. Not that technology does not have a place. I am not a complete Luddite. I have a blog, after all.

E-books, however, are a form of technology that I have very little patience for. I suppose they have a place. I could see downloading a number of books into a device when one is travelling, so as to avoid a 50 lb backpack, full of books, because you never know when you might need something to read. (Yes, that is how I travel.) I could see the benefit of buying an e-book of an out of print book, that one really wants to read and cannot get any other way. I could see the advantage of using an e-book in the place of the $200 college text books I have been hearing about lately. However, I cannot see a single benefit of e-books as a regular library service. It defeats the purpose of most relevancy schemes, in that it does not get people through the doors. The cursory run-through of the program, to which I was subjected, turned up only the usual selection of bestsellers. Since we order multiple copies of those anyway, and since we are only allowed to own a certain number of electronic copies of each book, I cannot see how the e-book will significantly cut down on the waiting list for those items. People who are interested in anything besides the usual commercial bookstore-type offerings are tough out of luck. The software necessary to run the books takes close to an hour to download, and is sufficiently tedious and confusing to permanently discourage me from ever doing it for myself. (And will, no doubt prompt a rather large number of calls from confused patrons, whom we will have to attempt to placate.) I was quite disgusted with the whole matter, and made my disapproval rather plainer than I ought.

I think, though, the main problem I have with e-books, is that I am passionately devoted to the experience of reading a book. Ideally, I prefer my books to be hard-covered, or at least, well-bound and attractive. I like the weight of a book in my hands. I like the sound the pages make when I turn them. I like the ability to fan through it, and look at the illustrations, if illustrations there be, or to see how long it is til the end of the chapter, and whether it is worth putting off something important, until I get there. I like the dust-and-excitement smell of old books, and the look of the printed word on the cream-coloured page. I compulsively collect books, and like the look of them, sitting companionably together in my shelves, full of knowledge, adventure, passion and character. For all the benefits and e-book might provide, it will never provide the same experience as reading a genuine book. I resent their encroachment into me life, even in so slight a fashion as an icon on my computer at work. (Which I have no intention of ever using.) I resent being told that e-books are the way of the future. I resent having people tell me what I could do to disguise my e-book (should I ever find myself in possession of such a thing) to resemble a real book as much as possible. I particularly object to other people finding my objections amusing. However, I rather fancy that I am not the only person to feel this way, so I doubt the demise of the book is quite so imminent as everyone says it is!

Jimmy James

Lieutenant Bertram 'Jimmy' James is one of my heroes. He was in the RAF during WWII, and was one of the fellows who took part in the Great Escape from Stalag Luft III, a supposedly inescapable POW camp in Poland. The soldiers who were sent there were all dedicated escapers. I don't think they could help themselves, and they caused no end of bother to the Germans responsible for guarding them. I first made Jimmy James's acquaintance last year, when I was reading a book about the Great Escape, written by Tim Carroll. Jimmy James does not come into it a great deal, but when he did, he always made an impression. Take, for example, his account of the escape:

"When I got to the exit shaft, I climbed up the ladder and the first thing I saw were the stars. I thought of the RAF motto, 'per ardua ad astra' (through adversity to the stars.) It was hard to imagine a more appropriate context for the motto at that time. There had been much toil for all concerned, I thought, as I climbed the ladder to the stars."

I liked the imagery of a prisoner, climbing a ladder to the stars, and the understated poetry of that paragraph gave me a decided fondness for the man. Unfortunately, Jimmy James was not one of the three lucky men who made good the escape. He was re-captured, but instead of being shot, as the majority of the escapers were, or being sent back to a POW camp, he was shipped to Sachsenhausen, a notorious concentration camp, where, in his own words he "began to contemplate what might remain of my life, and what might lie in the life hereafter, with the sanguine hope that my latter period on earth might shorten my stay in Purgatory." He might have resigned himself to his fate, with laudable Catholic detachment, but he was still a dedicated escaper. He, and another remarkable man, Jack Churchill, (who will no doubt have a post of his own sometime) managed to tunnel out of Sachsenhausen, and remained at large for a couple weeks before being caught again. I am happy to say, however, that he survived the war, living to a ripe old age.

After I finished "The Great Escape", I wanted to find out more about Jimmy James, and was pleased to find out that he had written a book about his experiences. "Moonless Night" is a very good book, indeed, which I would recommend highly. It is well written, and, though the poor man went through some terrible experiences, he is very restrained about them, showing a truly remarkable lack of bitterness. There are bits of genuine humour in it, and Jimmy James's inherent decency shines through in every page. I came away from it feeling very encouraged, and determined to be a better person myself. The only complaint I have about it, is an odd one for a book that is primarily biographical: there is not enough Jimmy James in it! I suppose that is a testimony to his humility.

Resolutions

When I first started this blog, I had several goals for myself, which, I am ashamed to say, I have largely failed in fulfilling. The primary point was to force myself to write more often, both prose and poetry. The prose I have managed, with indifferent success; the poetry, not at all. I wanted to post regular book reviews, and have so far only managed one. I do the occasional bit of doodling, and was hoping to post some of those here, and not a one of them has appeared. Indeed, my attention to the blog has been desultory at best. In my defense I shall offer the fact that I have been afflicted with a massive case of writer's block, and cannot get over it, even with the blog hanging over my head to motivate me.

However, we are in a new year now, and in the time-honoured tradition, I am making resolutions to take my writing a little more seriously. I shall make more of an effort, and try not to hide behind my writers block as an excuse for not writing at all. Whether I shall be able to keep this resolution or not remains to be seen, but I have put it out into the public now, so hopefully pride, if nothing else, will compel me to greater efforts!

Happy New Year!

I had great ambitions to litter the blog with all sorts of appropriate songs for the Twelve Days of Christmas, but between the celebrating of it, and the necessity of showing up for work on a few of them, I have not followed through with this fine intention. However, today is New Year's Eve, and seemed a good time to do a post, so I am presenting a rather fine version of Auld Lang Syne, sung to the original tune. I do not know who the singer is, though I did try to find out, but I dearly love his voice. For those who have the misfortune of not knowing the words, be sure to click on the BACKGROUND bar beneath the video.

PS. "Auld Lang Syne" always reminds me of a scene from "David Copperfield" in which David and Micawbers are drinking punch together, and sing the song. To quote: "When we came to 'Here's a hand, my trusty feer', we all joined hands round the table; and when we declared we would 'take a right gude Willie Waught', and hadn't the least idea what it meant, we were really affected." It always makes me laugh, even though I know exactly what is meant!

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas! Gesu Bambino, performed below by Giorgio Tozzi, is one of my very favourite Christmas songs. As you no doubt could guess from the title, it is originally in the Italian. I find this version to be particularly fine.

Gnocchi

Today, my family and I spent the day baking and cooking for Christmas - sugar cookies, snowballs, chocolate-covered pretzels, chocolate chip cookies, truffles, biscotti, pizzelles, until the fragrant smell of the baking, mixes with the savoury smell of the meat sauce I made for my part of Christmas dinner. We are a very tradition-minded family, and Christmas dinner menu is unalterable: gnocchi and ham. Gnocchi is a lesser-known pasta, made out of potato, with a bit of egg, olive oil and flour, kneaded out like bread, and cut into wee little dumplings. Does that sound complicated? It isn't really, and for proof, I present The Crazy Gnocchi Guy for your education and amusement.

We do not bother with the grater to roll out the gnocchi, as he does, and our meat sauce is a fantastic concoction, with chunks of pork and beef in it. Served over the gnocchi, and with a side bit of ham, and it is the very essence of festivity. We are quite smug about our Christmas dinner, and firmly believe that no one has such a dinner as we do!

Christmas Reading.

Have you ever noticed how difficult it is to find genuinely Christmas-spirited literature? There are a lot of books whose plot is incidental to Christmas. There are a number of significant stories with a point, that are, quite frankly, a bit depressing. There are sickly sweet stories, that try too hard. There are cynical stories that make a mockery of everything. The well written Christmas story is a rare thing indeed. Therefore, in the interest of genuine public spirit, I present the following list, in no particular order:

The Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. That is an obvious one, of course. There is a reason that is has been the Christmas story for a number of years. In addition to being extremely well written, and sprinkled throughout with typical Dickensian humour, it boasts a main character has a strong, dramatic moral arch, and a deeply affecting resolution. Though it is primarily a secular story, it is heavily influenced by a Christian world view. And Dickens's descriptions of the Christmas celebrations are the most authentic of any you are likely to find.

The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry. A singularly charming short story of true love, and a happy marriage in spite of - or perhaps, because of - poverty. The sacrifices that Della and James make to get each other a Christmas gift are sweetly touching, and the ending paragraph, that explains the title, inevitably chokes me up.

The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson. When the horrible Herdman kids take over the annual Christmas pageant, everyone expects the result to be a shambles. What actually happens makes for an often hilarious, and ultimately touching story.

The Father Christmas Letters: by J. R. R. Tolkien. Every Christmas for years, Tolkien wrote letters to his children in the guise of Father Christmas. The letters, written in scrawling calligraphy and lavishly illustrated, mostly recount various mishaps and disasters that befall the residents of the North Pole. The ensuing chaos inevitably endangers the year's Christmas packages, but Father Christmas, and his helper, the North Polar Bear, never fail to save the situation at the last possible moment - generally with a good deal of Tolkien's droll humour thrown in.

A Child's Christmas in Wales by Dylan Thomas. Try to get the version illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman. There are few books that capture the feel of Christmas the way this one does. The book brims with joy and cheerful sentiment, that never turns into sentimentality. The descriptions are densely poetic, the imagery vivid. One can feel the clean, cold air, with the salt tang in it, smell the goose, hear the gas lights hiss. It is a quick read, and I read it nearly every year.

The Spirit of Christmas by G. K. Chesterton. A collections of essays, plays and short stories built around the celebration of Christmas, both as a religious holiday, and a secular one. The sheer jolly wholesomeness of it is an excellent antidote to the maudlin insipidity that seems to be the hallmark of the season these days. Unfortunately, this book is rather hard to get a hold of.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight Anonymous. This is an old poem, written in Middle English, but you can easily find it in Modern English too. The action takes place between Christmas and New Year's, and Christmas motifs run rampant in the descriptions. There are several themes running through it: knightly nobility vs. virtue, temptation, but not falling into sin, the nature of courage and honour, and their place in living a truly Christian life. These themes are treated seriously, but never overwhelm the story, nor the Christmas setting.

The Sherwood Ring by Elizabeth Marie Pope. I am cheating here slightly, since this historical novel is not a Christmas book at all. However, there is a crucial plot development that takes place on Christmas Day, and there is something extremely satisfying in the way the author takes the incidental setting and lavishes such attention to all the little details that it makes the Christmas celebration - in the background though it is - quite memorable. (To be honest, The Sherwood Ring is just a satisfying book all the way around. It is one of my fall back books when I don't know what else to read.)