[The
above video is mostly a reading of the text below, with an occasional aside
thrown in for good measure as they strike me as relevant. I
welcome questions, comments, or concerns about the material contained in this
video.]
Alberto Manguel is one of those writers you will eventually encounter if you like books about books, the history of libraries, and the sociology and culture of reading in general. Perhaps these subjects come naturally to someone with a 30,000 volume library, located at his home just south of the Loire and made of a reconstructed and expanded centuries-old presbytery and barn. It is with this physical location that Manguel begins his journey into the phenomenologies of reading and most everything else one can associate with collections of books.
Well-known characters in the history of literacy make repeated appearances between the pages: the Library at Alexandria, the Tower of Babel, and of course Manguel’s own impressive collection. With short, episodic chapters with titles like “Library as Myth,” “Library as Order,” and “Library as Mind,” he looks at many of the topics of perennial interest to book lovers: censorship, the numerous ways of organizing a library, books as spiritual nourishment, and even the library as a tool of power. Manguel also shares a habit of my own – creating connections between the ideas of different books simply because of their physical proximity with one another, though “Library as Stochastic Syncretism” didn’t make the editorial cut.
His admiration, however, can turn into an awkward kind of fetish, which can sometimes try one’s patience. The vast number of media available on the Internet also seems to turn him into a suspicious Luddite, but I suppose many of us have unfortunately come to expect that opinion from someone like Manguel; I personally much prefer “real” books, though I would be one of the first to admit the convenience and advantages of e-books.
Some of the readers that gave this book a lower rating seem to have been disappointed because this isn’t a systematic, linear history, but instead is rather topical and roaming in style. This is not the formal, academic account that some may have expected; they certainly exist, but the audience for Manguel is different. It’s much more of a meditative, contemplative sociology of libraries and the reading culture. However, for a relatively small book, Manguel manages to conjure all the avuncular charm he can. “Charm” really is the word that garners this book a fifth star. These are not ideas cynically passed on by someone only barely familiar with them; Manguel lives, loves, and breathes books. If you’re looking for a passionate advocate of reading, you can hardly go wrong with “The Library at Night.” Manguel is truly a faithful and knowledgeable cicerone.
Well-known characters in the history of literacy make repeated appearances between the pages: the Library at Alexandria, the Tower of Babel, and of course Manguel’s own impressive collection. With short, episodic chapters with titles like “Library as Myth,” “Library as Order,” and “Library as Mind,” he looks at many of the topics of perennial interest to book lovers: censorship, the numerous ways of organizing a library, books as spiritual nourishment, and even the library as a tool of power. Manguel also shares a habit of my own – creating connections between the ideas of different books simply because of their physical proximity with one another, though “Library as Stochastic Syncretism” didn’t make the editorial cut.
His admiration, however, can turn into an awkward kind of fetish, which can sometimes try one’s patience. The vast number of media available on the Internet also seems to turn him into a suspicious Luddite, but I suppose many of us have unfortunately come to expect that opinion from someone like Manguel; I personally much prefer “real” books, though I would be one of the first to admit the convenience and advantages of e-books.
Some of the readers that gave this book a lower rating seem to have been disappointed because this isn’t a systematic, linear history, but instead is rather topical and roaming in style. This is not the formal, academic account that some may have expected; they certainly exist, but the audience for Manguel is different. It’s much more of a meditative, contemplative sociology of libraries and the reading culture. However, for a relatively small book, Manguel manages to conjure all the avuncular charm he can. “Charm” really is the word that garners this book a fifth star. These are not ideas cynically passed on by someone only barely familiar with them; Manguel lives, loves, and breathes books. If you’re looking for a passionate advocate of reading, you can hardly go wrong with “The Library at Night.” Manguel is truly a faithful and knowledgeable cicerone.
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