I think that one of the first things that I want out of this blog is to remember things that I might forget to look at later. That phenomenon when you walk into a bookstore and completely forget all those books you wanted yesterday. I purchased a Saramago novel, so I’m happy. I also need to look into n+1, granta, bookforum, bon appetit, and tinhouse. I always look at bookslut, themillionsblog, kimbooktu, and babygotbooks.com. I am also applying to Library schools. I just got a job helping to catalog the peabody archives at my university library, which is going to be really educational. I hope with this blog, to write how that is going and to review books I am reading and to see what is out there for other books I want to read next year. My goal is to get 150 next year. My sister just gave me a poem by Thomas Lux. It’s really beautiful: called The Ambrosiana Library
“On its onyx shelves: every book you’ve ever read,
and the tone you felt, which pierced you,
when you did. Even those
you’ve forgotten
you’ve read. It offers all the books you want to read,
and all the books you don’t know you want to read because you’ve never
read about them in your reading. It holds, as well,
those as yet unwritten. The Ambrosiana Library
is comprehensive: every book ever written on monkeys, a mile or two, all told,
of shelves. Also: every truthful book written
by the monkeys’ cousins, some several yards of these
on special shelves, like cradles, or thrones.
Every book on joy: TAL’s got it!
Every book on bananas!
The Ambrosiana Library
has long, deep-polished oak tables, green lampshades,
cream-cushioned chairs
(with, for anyone planning to read
more than three hours: magic fingers), leather armrests (for those
who read with chin in hands),
magazines in 11,000 languages,
every obscure, passionate poetry journal,
every book on everything you don’t want to know
but should. The lights hanging
from oak beams above the readers
light and illuminate each page, Each book dusted
each day. Original jackets, no odious numbers glued to spines,
not one decimal, Dewey or otherwise, in the entire place!
Each reader is assigned
his or her personal librarian
and each librarian is paid twice the average income
of orthopedic surgeons
and gets free orthopedic surgery
for any Ambrosiana-related (shelving
or unshelving) injury.
Mornings, whole afternoons,
the citizens sit and read themselves into another
world-from which they will
return. When it’s time for lunch, or to close, a tiny bell
is rung that only people,
but not dogs, can hear. And, and, at the door as you leave,
is a character you loved-fictional, historical, half
of each-from whatever book you’re reading now,
or from any book read
previously. This character, never
the writer of the book, though there are slips
of paper with the words thank you and the author’s name
printed on them, to which
you may sign your name (monthly these slips released
to the wind from a skylight
in the library’s attic), this character
stands by the door to say goodbye, come again: tip of his hat,
a smile from her.
No books ever leave Ambrosiana
it’s a library you enter like a book
and when you leave
the book leaves inside you.”
