Friday, February 25, 2011

The Book as Sacred Object, and Recollections of the Paris Codex

So, this morning I received a nice, big box of very old books on Spanish and Mexican history that I had purchased on the cheap at auction several months back.  I already have a fairly large collection of books on the Maya of Guatemala and the Yucatan, and my hope was that I would find a couple of useful--or at least intriguing--volumes in what I otherwise understood to be a grab bag of dusty, old history books.  I was not disappointed. 

But even more than the useful or intriguing knowledge that may be contained within their pages, I found myself relishing the look and feel and musty old smell of each and every volume that I pulled from among the styrofoam packing material and unwrapped from its tissue paper.  And I realized once again that, despite all the support for ebooks and audiobooks that can be found in these posts, there is nothing quite like a good old book to fire my imagination.  For me, as for most of you I would suspect, books are sacred objects, and I find myself caring more about them than I do about even my most important and useful possessions.  Every time that I stumble on a worthwhile old tome, I want to take it in like a stray kitten and nurse it back to health or at least put it to the use for which it was intended.  I know that I'm not alone in this appreciation.

The whole experience got me thinking about the most significant book that I've ever held in my own two hands--the Paris Codex.  For the uninitiated--and I'm perfectly willing to admit that the field is obscure--the Paris Codex is one of four surviving manuscripts written by the Maya at the time of the Spanish Conquest.  That there are only four may be blamed as much on Spanish zealotry as the ravages of time--they famously burned thousands of such manuscripts in their less than subtle efforts at conversion.  And only one, known as the Grolier Codex, remains in the Americas today.  The rest are scattered about Europe in Madrid, Dresden, and Paris, where they are known less than creatively as the Madrid, Dresden, and Paris Codices.

Each provides an example of the well-developed written language of the Maya, the only such writing system that originated in the Americas and, arguably, one of only three written languages that developed organically  (i.e. was not borrowed or adapted from some other civilization) throughout the entire world.  The written language of the Maya died out in the generations following the Spanish Conquest, though amazing strides have been made in the last several decades with respect to the understanding and preservation of the language, which can still be found not only in the codices, but on stelae and temples throughout Central America and Mexico.

The Paris Codex is kept in a sealed box at the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris, and is not generally accessible to the public.  I was able to handle it only after a lengthy formal request process during which I explained repeatedly that I was working on a book in which the Paris Codex figured prominently.  By sheer persistence, I wore them down.  And I was even able to sneak my wife in as well as my "translator" on the day of our viewing.

To hold a five hundred year-old book from a "lost" civilization that is written in a language that no longer exists is absolutely indescribable.  I remember carefully paging through the codex from beginning to end over the course of several hours, its pages still bright and beautiful, though delicate and fading in spots.  And I couldn't help but think of the author, seated cross-legged, paintbrush in hand, half a century behind me, and born of a civilization that owed nothing to my own.  I might as well have been reading the marks of an alien world light years away.  But one thing I knew that I shared with him was an appreciation of the written word and a love of the books that contain it.  In many ways, I think it is the written language that allows us to finally transcend time and place and to sympathize with those around us--and isn't that the very thing that makes us human?

I've gone on far too long--I get wrapped up in books, what can I say?  But what about the rest of you?  Do you consider any books sacred?  Do you remember a particular experience with a particular book above all others?  And what do you think it is about the written word that transfixes and binds us?   



Wednesday, February 9, 2011

TLM's First Reading Challenge: The Aubrey/Maturin Series by Patrick O'Brian

It's been more than a month since our last post here at TLM. The cause is obvious, as is the cure. I'm addicted. I'm not afraid to admit it. And I feel compelled to share my addiction by embarking upon the very first TLM Reading/Listening Challenge.

The challenge is this: one complete tour through the 21 novels that comprise Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey/Maturin Series before year's end. If you've never picked up the Aubrey/Maturin Series, it treats the adventures of British naval officer Jack Aubrey and his Irish/Catalan naval surgeon Stephen Maturin throughout the years during and immediately following the Napoleonic Wars. Though fiction, the novels are renowned for their historical accuracy, and each provides enough swashbuckling adventure, political intrigue, and romance to fill a ship-of-the-line. Richard Snow of the New York Times called the Aubrey/Maturin Series "the best historical novels ever written."

Here are the 21 Aubrey/Maturin novels in order:
The Surgeon's Mate (1980)
The Ionian Mission (1981)
Treason's Harbour (1983)
The Far Side of the World (1984)
The Reverse of the Medal (1986)
The Letter of Marque (1988)
The Thirteen Gun Salute (1989)
The Nutmeg of Consolation (1991)
Clarissa Oakes/The Truelove (1992)
The Wine-Dark Sea (1993)
The Commodore (1995)
The Yellow Admiral (1996)
The Hundred Days (1998)
Blue at the Mizzen (1999)
The Final Unfinished Voyage of Jack Aubrey/21 (2004)

So who's in? I have a bit of a head start. I'm through the first five novels, and I'm on to number six, The Fortune of War. Thus far, The Mauritius Command and Desolation Island are my particular favorites, though all have been enjoyable reads. I will be posting on them in sets of five, with the first post, covering Master and Commander through Desolation Island, to come over the next several days.

If you are up for the challenge, I invite your participation--please let me know that you're in by posting below. I am also soliciting ideas for some sort of prize or at least acknowledgment of accomplishment for those who see the series through. Please do share your thoughts.