A Paradise of Books

"I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library."
- Jorge Luis Borges

One of the thrills of working at a major research university . . . the things you stumble onto by accident!

I arrived a bit early Tuesday afternoon for a meeting at the Libraries. As we unlocked the door to our meeting room, we discovered inside a librarian who had a selection of Very Old Books on display. She had just finished showing them to a class and was organizing them and closing them up; very, very carefully putting them away.

I asked if it would be all right to snap a few photos, and she said that would be OK. I didn't touch any of them, though. I almost held my breath, walking around them, as though afraid to disturb them in their slumber.

I admired the gilded front page of this particular medieval manuscript. She explained that it is a Tractatus from the fifteenth century, probably written by a Roman author: an expert was coming by later in the afternoon to take a look at it.

I have always been a lover of books. In fact, when I was little, I fantasized about growing up to be a librarian. Could there be any better job in the world than to be in charge of beautiful books? How much more important could one ever hope to be in life?

As an adolescent, I pondered my existence; decided, with the melodrama of adolescence, that if I had been born a building instead of a person, I would want to be a church with stained-glass windows; if I had been born a book, I would want to be an illuminated manuscript. I wanted, before I understood the impulse, to be one who magnified and reflected the rainbow of light and color and beauty around me.

I admit that seeing these Very Old Books gave me a real rush and brought back memories from those days. The books filled me with such awe and enchantment and longing that it surprised me.

Even without touching them, I could almost feel the history alive in these tomes; smell the ancient air wrapped around each page. Their colors sang to me: deep heavenly blues, rose reds, jeweled greens.

I thought about the hands that had made these books: hands long dead, centuries and centuries past. I pondered, for just one instant, throwing away my current career and going back to school to become a librarian; a certified handler of ancient and beautiful books.

Indeed, friends, what could be better than to be a librarian in charge of a paradise of books?