A man came into the library carrying a box of books; said he'd called on Monday, but I wasn't there on Monday; I didn't know about it. He had the Oxford English Dictionary, the whole thing. The Whole Thing.
They were moving. He had a helper, and they brought in four boxes of it; he seemed wistful over the business. He said they're moving to a smaller place. I said well, you can buy the version with the magnifying glass, right? He said It's not the same. A likeable fellow, he was looking at it fondly, said it didn't get used much, but the kids did look up things in it now and again.
He even told me what they're selling it for on Amazon: fifteen hundred dollars. But on ebay, nine hundred. He wondered if anyone would really buy it for that. (I don't know what he paid for his new one) Finally, he sighed, touched one of the boxes a last time, and left. A pleasant fellow.
Afterward, I called the director in her office. She didn't know about it, but no, we weren't going to keep it. The Friends of the Library will try to sell it somehow. But no sooner had I hung up the phone, than she trotted down the hall to have a look. We were touching it. The OED, for heaven's sake! In pristine condition. Then I said, I suppose I should take a picture!
And so I did.
That must have been so sad for him! To love the language enough to invest time and money and physical space in one''s home in order to own the dictionary, and then to realize that it isn't getting used very much, or doesn't fit with the modern, downsizing kind of lifestyle. It seems like a blow to one's idealism, or romantic impulses...
ReplyDeleteIt really was, wistful is how I would describe him. Like he didn't want to leave it, but there was nothing weird about it. A love of language, or words, as you said.
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