ON USED BOOKS, LIBRARIES & LIFE

Internet purchases maybe make things just too easy: it was not until it arrived that the ordering had been recalled. The parcel had been forwarded to the home address, but in our absence, had been redirected to another PO box. Just why it had not been with all of the other mail that we collected on our return remains a mystery. Six weeks later, the parcel is handed to us, complete with the yellow redirection notice on it. Was the parcel seeking its own importance in place?

The item was clearly a book, but what? - the source was on the envelope; the slogan: a world of books. Maybe it was a promotional catalogue? The publication had not been very well packaged; just casually, almost carelessly squeezed into a plastic envelope, sealed, labelled and sent, as commercial brochures are. Had this been a ‘free postage’ offer? Might it just be something forwarded from a mailing list? One knows that these plastic envelopes are just about impossible to tear open, so the sharp scissors were found and used, taking care to avoid the tightly packaged, snug pages: out came Kenneth White’s Travels in the Drifting Dawn. What a good surprise!

Yes, I now recall: the book had been discovered while perusing the Internet for White’s books when overseas. It seemed too good a deal to not take advantage of, so the ‘Buy Now’ button was pressed and the PalPal details entered - then everything had been forgotten as other distractions arose: the book would be there when we returned.

Here it was, even if a little late: the book looked a little worse for wear, and not because of the minimal packaging. It was tatty on the edges, almost deckled, with a peeling adhesive sticker on the lower spine that had a thistle graphic on it. Directly above this, the cover had been torn away by the removal of yet another adhesive strip that had left the golden ghosted remains of its sticky profile where the cover card had not been ripped: more residue from another piece of tape could be seen at the top of the spine. When the book was opened, a ‘10p’ scribbled pencil price remained on the inside cover. Did this item come from a charity shop? The title page was stuck to the frontispiece. It looked as though someone had tried just too hard, too eagerly, perhaps too carelessly, to separate the papers held with what appeared to be the remains of the glue of an adhesive sticker, as the page had torn: a piece was missing. Easing the leaves apart, one discovered the book was an ex-library publication, now rejected. The library stamp and its reclassification as undesirable, unwanted, ‘WITHDRAWN’, were clear on the second page. In spite of all of this history and handling, the binding seemed to be intact.

Had the state of the publication been made obvious prior to the purchase? One could not recall; but there was something right about it. This book had been read by many, loaned for years. It had been published in this Penguin paperback edition in 1990. One supposes that libraries have to get rid of some books, but why this one? Might it be because of its state; surely not its age? The book had a soft feel about it – a well-handled flexibility that preferenced no particular pages, just the almost loose covers: the reading started. The book felt good, substantial, in spite of its wear and tear; it was comfortable, homely; a friend.

One had forgotten how good White is. The words were taken in; it was like reading a newspaper peppered with a jewelled language, dripping with literary gems; auditory wonder provoking an emotionally visual recall. The state of the book seemed totally appropriate, what with White’s seeking paradise in the normal ordinary world - there was a touch of Arcadia was in this secondhand library reject:

p.69

But I’ll still continue to travel a step at a time, believing that the ‘paradise’ comes out of the most ordinary reality, and out of ‘normal’ states. Less spectacular maybe, but more lasting; less intense, but with greater density.

Indeed. One thought of Christine De Luca’s book of poems – see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2019/10/secondhand-books-and-meaning.html, grubby, but not torn. Likewise there was something good about everything with the drifting of White’s thoughts in pages that have been turned by many: though almost tatty, with a refined, almost elegant feel to the wear, the leaves could still hold quality. The book represented the ordinary everyday in which White delights. His words could not have had a better presentation than in this worn publication, now puzzingly ‘WITHDRAWN.’ The situation, with its inclusive rawness, all seemed so appropriate for the ‘cross-cultural, transdisciplinary field of study’ that White promotes – his ‘geopoetic’ world that stands as an example of searching co-operation, seeking out and respecting others, learning from them to gain an understanding of wholeness in our era of greedy, nationalistic and personal self-interest. The secondhand publication also parallleled White’s constant seeking out of old books in every place he visits: he has a vast library that he enjoys.

This scruffy little book is so endearing in its lack of pretension: it is a true rough diamond. Any library would be improved with this publication on its shelves. Do librarians ever read, or do they just tick boxes, categorize, and supervise?

p.128

The search for a place of concentration, that’s what my travelling is all about, my writing, my travelling-writing is one indivisible process, because I don’t hold much with a thinking from which the body is absent.

The centre is where I space myself out.

This book has become a centre: see - https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2019/12/kenneth-white-on-ordinary-paradise-body.html  In spite of, maybe because of, its travels and travails, it is a delight. While the copy of Open World on my shelves is in mint condition, somehow it is this little messy bit of ‘ROGH’ print that holds the heart, the body, more firmly.