 Solitude Among the Words I was reading a magazine and minding my own business, but could not help but overhear the guy 10 feet away talking on his cellular phone. He wasn’t trying to be quiet at all. He was talking to his girlfriend or wife or whatever. He was talking about leather outfits and then made some crack about all she needed now was a whip. There was a pause and then he said in an eager tone of voice, “Really!!??” And then he said in a normal conversational voice, “Well, this is something we should explore. We’re adults and we can explore these new things.” I’m sitting there trying to read and thinking, is this really the venue you want to be in while having this conversation? Don’t you realize that you probably have at least 20 people within earshot who are now listening intently? I didn't want to be in on their discussion of sexual fantasies. And I certainly didn't want to have to picture this guy (who looked like an insurance salesman) doing kinky things with his girlfriend.Now who hasn’t been subjected to this? Maybe not the sexual part, but to the cloud of blissful isolation that people on cell phones seem to believe envelope their conversations? This particular one aside, have you ever heard a single conversation that isn’t boring? And irritating? Me neither. About a year ago, I decided that a woman having a loud cell phone conversation immediately outside my open office window needed to be taught a lesson. She had been going on for about five minutes about a real estate deal in which she was involved. I would never discuss finances on a cell phone, whose signal can so easily be picked up, but even if I did I would never discuss them loud enough for others in the immediate vicinity to hear. This woman apparently had no problem with that—until I abandoned my pretense of ignoring her, put down my pen, cupped my chin in my hand and stared at her without expression. I wasn’t hearing anything I hadn’t already been hearing, but in about a minute she began to show awareness of my intent. She glared back. She turned her back. She even took a few steps to the side. But at no time during the next ten minutes did she stop talking, lower her voice, move out of my hearing range or end the call. She did, however, appear outraged that I “listened in” to her call. I don’t intend to turn this into an anti-cell rant. There’s no reason. Others have done it before. It’s not going to change anyone. And rants, unless well done, are as boring as cell phone conversations (perhaps the airport one excepted) Instead, what I want to point out to myself as well as you who are reading this is that the sense most of us have with our reading—the delicious isolation, the quiet time, the connection between our books and ourselves—appears to be increasingly unappreciated. I think Henry Carrigan may have said it best: In our culture, we’re seldom encouraged to experience such solitude. Not too long ago a commercial billboard for a cell phone company advertised the silliness of silence. Yet, solitude and silence is where we re-form ourselves; it’s the place and time that we reach deep into our souls or psyches to discover our organic relation to the world, to discover our wholeness that has been broken by the world. While any silence is conducive to hearing the silence of meditation, of our own selves, it’s my sense that books can provide that solitude even when we have the characters for company. Reading is not merely interacting with a book, but a choice of how to spend time, mind and self. It’s an inner sport if you will, a place requiring nothing more than a willingness to journey inward in order to feel more. Reading, like cell phones, offer us connections, but unlike cell phones reading is a gift of solitude—for ourselves and for those around us. This Week. . . The Fine Press Book Association is an organization of “individuals interested in the art of fine printing formed with the goal of promoting the appreciation of beautiful books and printing skills.” For the most part, the presses who are members use traditional letterpress printing (the oldest form of printing), hand set metal type, hand bookbinding methods, fine papers, original woodcut prints. Because of the cost of materials and labor these books are often (though not always) expensive, but they are beautiful works of art that highlight the words—classical works or modern—within. I will highlight a number of these as individual recommendations in this section in the future, but for now I wanted to give you the opportunity to visit the presses, to read about their mission and goals and to see some of their work. In this age of homogeny it is a true joy to see the loveliness of handwork showcasing equally lovely prose. Until next week, read well, read often and read on! Lauren |