As the newspaper editor knew, librarians revere the written word. They do so because words pack a powerful punch. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God,” begins the New Testa- ment’s Gospel of John. In traditional Judaism even the name of God cannot be written because of its power; it is shown in print only as an abbreviation.
Even in secular language, some words are associated with great power. The word “abracadabra” is the rendered version of a religious incantation, which supposedly created matter with its utterance. Simply saying certain words can bring disaster. “Break a leg” is offered to actors rather than “Good luck” be- cause the latter said aloud will evoke long-sleeping theater spirits.
Especially when committed to paper and gathered together as a book, words become potent. Christian and Jewish worship services ritually incorpo- rate books. In the central part of Jewish service, the Torah (a library itself) is brought from the ark and shared among the people. Catholic worship services include a Bible with other holy religious objects as part of the religious ritual.
By incorporating books into their worship, religions demonstrate the central place of their revered written text. Here, they announce to the congregants, is the written story of our people and our faith.
Individuals, too, use books to record and proclaim their own stories and faith. Intellectual historian Warren Susman noted that historians cannot claim for themselves a monopoly on history: “Everyman—and every woman and child—is in some fundamental sense his own historian.”12 This desire to record one’s presence on earth leads some to carve their initials on trees, drives others to press their hands into soft sidewalk cement, and inspires some to create or sell books. Books, according to John Milton, are a means to achieving “life beyond life.”
A character in a Jonathan Rosen novel contemplated this immortal aspect of books when planning his suicide. After gathering the drugs and scotch that
would accomplish the task, “he stood for a moment in front of the vast book- shelf that formed one whole wall of his study. There were many books in sev- eral languages. Poetry. Novels. Histories. Prayer books. Somehow, they would have to speak for him. Part of him would live in those books.”13
According to writer/publisher/agent Betsy Lerner, immortality affects not just authors but others in the book trade:
Just as the author hopes for immortality through publication of his book, most people in publishing hope to work on a book that touches people, en- tertains them, enlightens them, or changes them, a book that shapes the na- tional dialogue or becomes a part of the lexicon. Publishing people, along with the author, believe that a book can still be a force of nature.14
The desire to conquer immortality drives others to embark on the arduous task of writing a book, acknowledged by authors everywhere as a laborious undertaking. “Writing a book is horrible,” said George Orwell,
an exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand. For all one knows that demon is simply the same instinct that makes a baby squall for attention.15
While in the process of producing a manuscript, philosopher and cultural critic Walter Benjamin claimed the book was more important than he was.
Whether driven by demons or inspired by angels, people continue to write books. Imagining a descendant generations from now discovering one’s writing in a dusty attic is a heavenly thought. Likewise, eternal damnation could be defined as seeing one’s magnum opus buried under chicken bones in the garbage can. And so we write books.
Bill Moyers reported his delight when asked to write a book. “Few things flatter a broadcast journalist more than the prospect of even the briefest half-life between hard covers,” he says. “Like ice, we melt into the milieu. We’re lucky if someday a grandchild or a graduate student is curious about what we once said.
Writing a book allows you to connect the dots between past and present.”16
Library Immortality
If writing a book offers an author a “half-life” of perceived immortality, get- ting that book onto the library shelf seems to extend the period eternally. It is imagined that the words of one’s soul, if not one’s soul itself, can live forever in a library. Schopenhauer clarified Goethe’s characterization of the library as
“the paperedmemorial of mankind.”17Authors clamor to have their words in- cluded among these library papers.
Librarians are well aware of the pull of the library shelves. Imagining gen- erations to come reading their words drives authors to dump their manu- scripts and self-published books on libraries. Others empty their attics and basements of once-beloved books, offering up these overstuffed Burdine’s bags and brimming Tide boxes in the hopes of winning a place on a library shelf. Here on a library bookshelf their words will live on everlasting. The li- brary offers a link with an anonymous public that no attic can match. “Unlike a private book, a library book continues to open doors.”18
The appeal of the library stacks was demonstrated to me firsthand when, as a college library director, I instituted a formal ceremony called “Barry Authors Reception.” Any college faculty, student, or staff who had penned a book during the year would be allowed to ceremoniously present their book to the library. Throughout my thirty-year library career, few other programs or services have been as successful. During the wine and cheese reception that followed, I was thanked repeatedly for initiating this program. As one faculty member put it, “People don’t realize what goes into writing a book.”
Evidently the creation of the authors program had tapped an unrecog- nized (and perhaps exploitable) fact that, as Battles put it, “inclusion in the li- brary represents a landmark in a literary life.”19A study of the history of the Charleston Library Society revealed that local churches had donated books about their religious congregation to the local library, even though the mate- rials were freely available to parishioners through the church. Apparently the presence of these books in the library legitimized their organization.
As described in a short story by Max Beerbohm, one fictionalized author even made a deal with the devil to live eternally in hell in exchange for an op- portunity to visit the British Library’s reading room one hundred years later to see his books amid the library collection. Ironically, Battles mused in the pages of his book on library history where it would be in the library. “Where will I find the book you are reading now?” Will it be “history, memoir, or fic- tion?”20 I must confess to having the same thoughts as I typed this work. It is one thing to have one’s book written and published, but the pinnacle of publishing lies in securing the placement of one’s words on a library shelf.
Immortal Citations
Having your words placed for perpetuity on the library shelves is only part of the process. For future generations to find one’s noble words, access to these
writings must be organized, classified, located, and retrieved. In chapter 3 we saw the lofty role librarians play in this process. Here it should be mentioned that citing a source in MLA format, though it may seem devilish work to the nascent student, is actually a heavenly act. When done right, the “Works Cited”
page grants immortality to both the writer of the paper and the source cited.
Citations are so important that they have even been credited with creating the Internet as we know it today. The desire to improve the existing academic system of citation led Tim Berners-Lee to create the World Wide Web. The desire to reverse the process led Larry Page and Sergey Brin to create what later became Google. As John Battelle notes in Wiredmagazine, “The needle that threads these efforts together—the practice of pointing to other people’s work . . . is the citation.”21
Citations are critical because, as both religions and librarians acknowl- edge, great truths can emerge from the written word, but so can dire conse- quences from misstatements and falsehoods. To protect against this, both re- ligions and libraries employed elaborate systems of quality control. In religions this was attained through rules governing the copying, distribution, public reading, and treatment of holy texts. Libraries relied on the sacred system of citations.
Anthropologists have found that in oral, nonliterate cultures a person’s word takes on special meaning. Examples of the importance of the spoken word can be seen in the frequent instances in the Bible of bestowing a blessing or swearing an oath. So important was the latter that men uttered them, not by raising their hand, but by placing it on their genitals, graphically demon- strating that future generations would abide by what was being sworn (Gn 24:2–3).
When literacy spread, the reliance on accuracy remained an important concern. The scribes who copied manuscripts were under strict requirements to duplicate their material accurately. During the Middle Ages Christian monasteries, which were the setting for scriptoria, instituted elaborate quality control measures to certify the fidelity of text copies. A precentor who also sometimes served as the librarian supervised the copying of texts. The precentor would choose and present a text to each scribe. If the scribe refused to copy the selected text, the precentor could “deprive him of his wine.” After being copied, texts were examined by at least one and sometimes two correctors.22
Because accurate copying required extreme concentration, after silent reading became the norm around the ninth century scribes were required to work in silence. When they needed a certain book for reference in their work, they pantomimed hand signals. Placing the hands on the head in the shape of
a crown referred to King David and meant “pass the psalter.” “I need the missal” was communicated by making the sign of the cross. In those pre–
politically correct times, scratching the body like a dog referred to pagan works.23
St. Jerome required his scribes to transmit a formula attributed to St.
Ireneus that threatened “the Lord Jesus Christ in His glorious Second Coming, will come to . . . compare what you have copied against the orig- inal.”24Sometimes scribes were allowed to sign their work and add a personal expression in the text. “So be it,” “Peace,” and “Amen” were written. Often the words “Thank goodness it’s finished!” were added. Modern-day librarians will be heartened to learn that one scribe ended his manuscript with the com- plaint that his work was fruitless since nobody reads books today.
Judaism established elaborate rules for the public reading of the Torah to ensure its accurate recitation, with many of these ritually incorporated into the current worship service. In some synagogues on Monday, Thursday, and Saturday when the Torah is read aloud, a gabbaimust be present to look over the reader’s shoulder to guarantee that every syllable is chanted correctly. As nervous bar and bat mitzvah boys and girls know, the gabbaiis obligated to correct the slightest mispronunciation made by the chanter. When the Torah is lifted from the lectern to be wrapped and returned to the ark, it is manda- tory that several columns of text be shown to the public, ensuring that everyone in the congregation can see the text personally.
The Talmud, a massive compilation of biblical commentary, meticulously credits the source of quotations and arguments. A heavenly reward is prom- ised to those who cite accurately. “One who recalls a teaching in the name of its author brings redemption to the world,” claims Rabbi Elazar in the name of Rabbi Haninha. Naturally, the quote includes a citation.25
Footnotes are the gabbais of the academic world, or, as Princeton University historian Anthony Grafton put it, the high whine of the dentist’s drill inflicting random but necessary pain. Though students may experience footnotes as a pain in a different part of their anatomy, Grafton says they ab- solutely matter. “Arguments . . . stride forward or totter backward” solely through these funny little asterisks and elevated numbers.26
Writer Mary Gordon knows firsthand the power of citations to bring the dead back to life. As she recounts in the biography of her father, Shadow Man, by following citations to his writing, Gordon was able to reconstruct the life of her father, who died when she was seven. As she recounts dramatically, with the help of tireless librarians and the interlibrary loan system she was able to locate the “anti-Semitic articles and pretentious literary journalism” her father
wrote. Ultimately her search of archives and libraries revealed the “bombshell truth” that her father was not the Catholic Harvard graduate of family lore but rather a Jewish high school dropout from Vilva, Lithuania.