Matías Gabriel Battistón 2008-01-12
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Book titles can be misleading because they work under the assumption that hundreds of pages can be summed up in a handful of words. That is why many titles try not so much to be precise as to be approximate, and not so much to be approximate as to be memorable. Alberto Manguel's A History of Reading is a good example. While it is, in a way, a history, it is equally a collection of essays, an anthology of fragments, a portrait of its author, an anti-history, and an amusing miscellany of erudition. At heart, more than anything else, this is an ode to books.
A History of Reading is divided in 22 chapters, which in turn are grouped in 4 parts (the fact that the books opens with the one titled "The Last Page" is a sign of things to come.) Manguel covers reading from its beginnings in 6000 BC, up to the 20th Century; from clay tablets to computer screens. Each chapter deals with a particular topic, which Manguel uses as a springboard to plunge into a myriad of texts and authors, sharing his opinions and experiences with the reader, whom he gently guides along. In his own pleasantly rambling way he shows reading as seen by scientists, by philosophers, by teachers, by students, by parents, by theologians, by translators, by writers, by emperors, by librarians, by the blind, by the oppressed, by the oppressors, by oracles, by cuban cigar manufacturers, and by just about everybody in between.
Manguel is far-reaching but concise, and he usually prefers to address the general by tackling the particular. For example, censorship is embodied by his portrait of ruthless censor Anthony Comstock, and the evolution of reading from a social to a more private activity is nutshelled in the story of Saint Augustine, who was puzzled at the sight of Saint Ambrose reading, unlike everybody else at the time, silently. Manguel does hint at the larger picture, but he mostly lets his examples speak for him. Walt Whitman, Callimachus, glasses, Kafka, Shi Huang-ti, an old drawing on a 5th Century edition of Aristotle's De Anima, a page form the Codex Seraphinianus... These are all used as symbols, as tips of icebergs waiting to be discovered.
So, if most non-fiction writers prefer to make remarks and illustrate them with a few examples, Manguel, on the other hand, provides a plethora of examples and uses remarks sparingly to illustrate and stitch them together. Like a ransom note made with letters cut out from different newspapers, A History of Reading takes anecdotes, facts and quotations gleaned from countless sources and turns them into something that still manages to feel wholly personal. Walter Benjamin once envisaged a book written only with quotations; Manguel has not written that book, but he has captured its spirit.
Some will find this unconventional approach to writing very familiar. At the beginning of the book, we see how a teenage Manguel, then working in a library in Argentina, meets an already blind Jorge Luis Borges, to whom he is asked to read in a regular basis. Every time Borges would pick an author, listen carefully, and proceed to add his spoken footnotes to the text. I point this out not just because this is one of the most interesting moments in the book, but because it seems Borges's ideas, style, and way of looking at literature have shaped Manguel's own, starting with his disregard for strict chronology ("an arbitrary convention") up to his penchant for text-linking acrobatics. Even the title recalls Borges's unconventional "histories": "A History of Eternity", "A Universal History of Iniquity", "A General History of Labyrinths"...
Manguel himself sums up his own style beautifully in the last - and most Borgesian - chapter: a commentary on an imaginary book called The History of Reading. Here, in a playfully detached tone, he observes that "...the history of this book has been particularly difficult to grasp; it is made, so to speak, of its digressions. One subject calls to another, an anecdote brings a seemingly unrelated story to mind, and the author proceeds as if unaware of logical causality or historical continuity, as if defining the reader's freedom in the very writing about the craft."
A History of Reading is certainly not perfect. While its best chapters are deeply captivating ("The Missing First Page", "Reading the Future", "The Book Fool"), scattered along the way are stretches of workmanlike prose; sometimes the mixtures don't spark nor the conclusions satisfy; and whenever Manguel doesn't take off, he plods. But then again, this is a book that actually invites you to skip whole pages, to dip in and out, to underline thoroughly, to re-think and re-organize at will. It is a work whose minor defects prod you into participating; it is, in short, a reader's delight.