Books

 As far back as One AD the Romans used the screw press, which allowed for direct pressure to be applied on a flat plane and was used for a wide range of agricultural tasks such as pressing grapes or olives for wine and oil; an integral part of the ever popular mediterranean diet. When not pressing food stuffs, the device also was used by the ladies during off hours as a cloth press for printing patterns. This explains all those Greek designs that appeared along the hems of gladiators’ mini-skirts.

An alternative to the ‘mechanical’ screw press were the monks who had worked as scribes for hundreds of years in cloistered basements, reproducing pretty scrolls and colorful scripts by hand. Elaborate calligraphy was job security for the monks. From time to time, depending on the colors used (red dye no. 3), some of those inks would be absorbed into the skin and poison the monks; such occasional deaths were considered an occupational hazard of the trade. Latin was lingua franca, the universal language by which all scholars communicated and how the Pope kept the serfs and vassals in line. No one could read so it was not possible, even unthinkable, to contradict the Holy Orders’ posted edicts.

Around 1440, Johannes Gutenberg, a German goldsmith, pondering the design of the existing screw presses, developed the movable type printing press. He very quickly realized that he was onto something. His printing press could produce up to 3,600 pages per workday, compared to forty by the screw press and only a paltry few by hand copy. He didn’t realize it at the time but ultimately he had started the printing revolution that would change the world.

Gutenberg was on a roll. He formulated an oil based ink that was more suited for high quality printing. This new ink overcame the problems with traditional water based inks that his wife was always complaining about; colors often ran when wet, thereby spoiling more than one of her outfits. For this alone (happy wife, happy life), he was a true Renaissance man; right inventions, at the right place, at the right time.

Not to be outdone, the medieval papermakers successfully mechanized paper manufacturing, replacing the laborious handcrafting of paper making and introducing a massive expansion in production. Previously constructed from mulberry bark and other like products, fibers were tediously soaked, boiled and then laboriously beaten into pulp. The pulp was mixed with water, then lifted and shaken to interlock fibers, after which water was pressed out and the sheets were hung to dry. Once the mechanization process came into play, the price of expensive parchment was reduced to a more consumer friendly product. Origami birds and animals abounded or would soon do so.

We now had the typewriter, paper, ink and the completion of this harmonic convergence was the codex, the ancestral format of the modern book; basically, a stack of pages bound at one edge. The codex replaced the ancient scrolls and, at the time, was considered the most important advance in the history of publishing prior to printing itself. The codex completely replaced the ancient scrolls. Imagine trying to read Ben Hur under the sheets using a scroll. The codex was/is a more practical, more convenient way to read. By turning pages, rather than unrolling scrolls, a book was more compact, less costly and both recto and verso sides could be used for printing, unlike the scroll. Sadly, monks hadn’t had the forethought to unionize so they were shortly put out of work. 

At the same time, Martin Luther was quite disgusted with the hypocritical teachings of the Catholic Church. Not to mention all that sitting, standing, kneeling during services, which was becoming quite difficult, especially for older folk with arthritis. Martin Luther created the Protestant Reformation, believing that ‘indulgences’ were promiscuous, along with a host of other 'forgivable' sins. Standing on a box and orating, however, was only getting him so far. Fortunately, in tandem, the Gutenberg press had unwittingly come to his aid. The common folk were learning to read. All manner of upheaval was taking place. Posters for performances, public notices and branded shop signs began appearing along every oxen and cart wheel route. The villagers were rebelling against Papal authority with all this new learning of their A-B-Cs. The Pope and the Church were losing their influence and control, all due to the peasants’ Bible and book reading. And our favorite fun loving monarch, King Henry VIII, was likewise kicking the Church to the curb. Nothing and no one was going to keep him from marrying Anne or, later, beheading her. Unfortunately for the Church, the toothpaste did not go back into the tube.

After the Great Reformation, life settled into a more peaceful and bucolic era. Books were published but were still very expensive and rare, although more common among the male elite, but even they found it somewhat worrisome that women were reading too. Women wanted to read books to widen their own education and to learn how others might handle a similar situation. It was the upper classes of women who knew how to read in the 18th century; who wanted documentation of their own experiences; never mind the Bible, Greek or Roman myths. Chick lit was abounding: Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Elizabeth Barrett Browning ruled. These babes had stories to tell and there were plenty of unoccupied women adorning settees and willing to read them. 

And travel. Women wanted to read foreign travel books after their own Grand Tours. Italy was the country even Shakespeare dreamt about. The Merchant of Venice, Romeo and Juliet. Women wanted foreign romance, glamour, intrigue and it would only happen through books. They had read Tolstoy: Anna Karenina, War and Peace; all that cold white snow and warm dark fur. Then came George Eliot, who wrote about the intellectual exploration of social, moral, and political issues. And Elizabeth Gaskell. These authors demanded that women explore their own values, standards and rules of conduct, as did Thomas Hardy’s socially tragic novels, Charles Dickens’ indelible characters and sharp social commentary. Oh, mon dieu. Who knew what could come next. How soon would it be before women wanted to, dare it be said, vote. 

But enough about them. Let’s circle back to me. How did I get started down this book road, you ask. One late evening quite recently, I happened on this little ditty on a book marker: “If you must brave the moor as storm clouds rage, I’ll keep your spot on this cozy page.” Evidently it doesn’t take much more than a book marker to start me musing on books, albeit it was a dark and stormy night. (All right, not my line, but the much maligned opening line of Edward Bulwer-Lytton's 1830 novel, Paul Clifford. Still, I love that line.) 

I noticed that when I read the same book over again the book’s words hadn’t changed but I had. I remember reading D. H. Lawrence’s The Virgin and the Gypsy while in high school and thought it was so deep and rich and powerful. I read it again a few years ago and thought the plot was trite, while the characters were selfish and shallow. What a bunch of idiots. The book’s words hadn’t changed but I had. Lawrence is best left to the young, as are numerous authors, like Kerouac and Salinger. 

Somerset Maugham. There’s a name that sounds like a Napa valley vineyard, or a gated community near the Cotswolds. He wrote, among other books, The Razor’s Edge, which is still one of my favorite books. I’ve read it a few times over the years and each time I pick it up I seem to read a different book. The first time I read the book was through the eyes of the hero, Larry Darrell, who was so traumatized by WWI that he looked for life’s spiritual meaning by living in an Indian ashram, working in a Welsh coal mine, traveling around the world and eventually giving away his trust fund and happily driving a cab around NYC, much to his family and friends' chagrin. The second time I read the book it was through the eyes of the young debutante Isobel, who loved the pre-WWI Larry but wasn’t about to live his post WWI bohemian lifestyle so she married someone who could provide her with greater financial stability. I could see her point: as a woman in the early 1900s, she had few options; she was fragile, was raised to be dainty, ladylike and cared for, who needed security; wasn’t all that smart but was smart enough to realize that living hand to mouth above French bordellos was not going to be her idea of a good time, so she wished him farewell and went off to live her comfortable life. The last time I read the book, it was through the eyes of the author, who placed himself in the book, as both an acquaintance and as an observer of all the characters’ strengths and foibles as they made their way through life. He was in the book, but not of the book. His presence played no part in any of the character’s lives. It was brilliant writing. Again, the book’s words hadn’t changed but each time I read the book, my life vision had changed. 

Amor Towles’ A Gentleman in Moscow, whose words changed my interpretation of a dramatic and a comedic novel. The first time I read the book, it was filled with mystery and intrigue; the turmoil in the Russian empire, the protagonist’s permanent lockdown in the grand hotel, the young girl who, innocently, comes under his auspices and for whom he must now care. Life changing events, over which he had no control, but our hero maintained his dignity, equanimity, and moral compass throughout all these historic upheavals. What a man. But the second time I read the book I found it to be extremely amusing, recalling the one eyed cat, the nervous seamstress, the surly actress, the officious hotel official, and the ‘Kremlin Administrator’ who demanded that his men “round up the usual suspects” after our star escaped from the hotel. The words were the same, but my perspective was different. 

I was eight years old when the school librarian read a passage from The Water Babies by Charles Kingsley. Intrigued with the story, I checked the book and read it in its entirety. Even at that age, I came to appreciate that this school library held many different worlds for me to explore. In due course, I found the same printed version that still sits on my book shelf. The book that changed my life. A book is a personal experience. I’ve never felt bored or alone when I’ve had a book in my hands. I learned to knit by reading a book; granted, there were pictures. A book allows me to explore a new world; gives me a break from the current one. A book takes me to a time in the past or a time in the future and bridges a gap between different minds and very different perspectives. 

Books can be dangerous. The best ones should be labeled "This could change your life." ~Helen Exley