Words are the daughters of earth, and [...] things are the sons of heaven

Another quote from my Dictionary of Quotations - from Samuel Johnson's preface to his mid-C18 dictionary. It's an interesting inversion of what I think many people would assume.

Johnson thinks of words as concrete and earth-bound - which is how I think of 'things'. He says that things are 'the sons of heaven' - but surely that is more the realm of words with their lack of substance but incredible power?

From the gallery at daughtersofearth.wordpress.com 

Anyway, it prompted me to think and write about some of the language-related books I've read since the start of the year. After last year's encounter with Through the Language Glass by Guy Deutscher, the first pick for my book group this year was The Language Wars: A History of Proper English by Henry Hitchings for the first book group pick of the year. With a subtitle like that, and knowing that 'Proper English' has a whole world of connotations, I was expecting a fairly argumentative read. 

Frankly, I was a bit disappointed. There was plenty of interesting substance - but it felt dry and academic. I was gagging for a Bill Bryson-esque rewrite or even some Lynn Truss argumentativeness, and when we met in January it was obvious that most of the group had spent Christmas reading 'proper books' and so only started this late - and quite a few people gave up after the first few chapters. I did persevere on, and also read The Secret Life of Words: How English became English - which is much better, and The Etymologicon, which is eminently readable but feels like it was written to be bought and given as a Christmas present. 

None of these are a patch on the fantastic and amazing Melvyn Bragg and his The Adventure of English - which I only own as an audiobook, but is all the better for having an actor read out the old words! I've got a bad habit of skipping lists in books, and the actor's reading not only made me follow through, but also gave me a chance to hear the echoes into modern English. 

And if you've not yet listened to the In Our Time programmes on the written word - get yourself here, and fill your podcasting boots!

World Book Night - here we come!

Monday April 23rd is World Book Night - and I've been picked as one of 20,000 givers across the country. I'm going to be handing out copies of The Remains of the Day, which is one of my favourite ever books. 

I still remember reading it during my A-levels - it was the first time I'd really been so aware of a fallible narrator and the magical power of an author to create a credible character, present the world through their eyes but let us see other perspectives too. I'd read a lot of other books which used irony and a semi-detached tone to similar effect, but this remains one of the best and most affecting examples I've ever read.

As the World Book Night people say: the greatest reading journeys start when you put a book in to someone's hand and say 'this one's amazing, you have to read it' 

Anyone else lucky enough to get picked? And is anyone planning any events?

Stop what you're doing. Keep calm. Read a book.

Preaching to the choir? Celebrating a shared passion? Marshalling the defence of what makes us human?

Why publish a book called 'Stop what you're doing and read this'? Why contribute to it? Why demand that people make time to read essays about the value and importance of reading fiction?!?  The book has become ubiquitous in my circle over the last month or so. It's on several desks at work, it's been reviewed in the papers, become a radio 4 book at bedtime and it's also getting a fair bit of blog coverage. 

I enjoyed the essays - and there are passages that strike a chord with my experiences and hopes as a reader. I'll re-read Blake Morrison's 'Twelve thoughts', and loved the idea of books as real daemons in Carmen Callil's section. I was struck by Tim Parks' 'Mindful Reading' and the difference between the experiences of looking at a picture, listening to a piece of music and reading a book. 

There is no artefact as such: unlike painting or sculpture, there is no image to contemplate, there is no object you can walk around and admire. No one is going to say you must not touch. No alarm will go off if you get too close. 

You don't have to travel to enjoy a piece of writing. 

And there is no performance, either. Strictly speaking. Unlike concerts of plays, you don't have to queue for tickets or worry whether you're near the front. 

You can't take a photo. 

Then a book has no fixed duration. Unlike music, you don't have to respect its timing, accepting, along with others, an experience of the same length. 

You can't dance to it. You can't sing along. 

Instead, there are signs on paper. Or on a screen. 

We can change the size, or shape, or colour of the signs, we can alter their distribution on paper, on the screen. [...] We can read these signs at whatever speed suits us, stopping and starting again wherever we want, for however long we want [...]

But to be honest, I'm not really sure why the book exists. It's way too dry and earnest to persuade non-readers to read, and it's not a patch on other 'bookish' books which offer insights into books or suggest and inspire future choices*. And although there are undertones here which are getting at public policy (the importance of libraries and/or how children learn to read properly), I don't imagine that the book will lead to a swelling and expression of public opinion to change decisions. So while I really admire the Evening Standard's Get London Reading campaign, the point of this book mystifies me.

* for example it's not a patch on Ex Libris (I LOVE the insight into the relationship milestone represented by merging two book collections!), it's not a memoir of reading, it's not a list of recommendations.