Books that moved me #1

I have numbered this particular post because it may become a series, but then again, given my memory which I keep putting down somewhere and forgetting, it is quite possible that I will never write another post on the subject.  Still, as you regulars know, on this blog, 'ya pays yer money and ya takes yer chance' - although, now I remind myself, you don't actually pay anything at all - dammit!  Now, where was I . . . ?  Oh, yes, books that moved me. 

Originally, I was intending to start with Milton Friedman's superb book Free to Choose because it was my first 'lesson' in economics.  I had only become interested in the 'dismal science' because in 1979 'that woman' had come to power and she never stopped banging on about the subject, and as the country was rapidly disappearing down a financial toilet (so no change now, then!), and as all the economists, well, 364 of them in a letter to The Times, were screeching in rage at her plans, I thought I should try and educate myself.  Friedman's book had shot to the top of the best sellers list so I gave it a try.

To be strictly honest, although I enjoyed it immensely I cannot remember anything in it that he wrote because it is now all mixed up with all the other books by other economists and philosophers I read subsequently.  However, the one item that has stuck firmly in my raddled old memory is his version of Leonard E. Read's essay, I, Pencil.  At the time, it hit me like a thunderbolt!  Quite simply, or 'simpletonly', perhaps, I had never looked at the world in that way before.  It was, quite literally, a revelation.  Here is the opening segment:

I am a lead pencil—the ordinary wooden pencil familiar to all boys and girls and adults who can read and write.

Writing is both my vocation and my avocation; that’s all I do.

You may wonder why I should write a genealogy. Well, to begin with, my story is interesting. And, next, I am a mystery —more so than a tree or a sunset or even a flash of lightning. But, sadly, I am taken for granted by those who use me, as if I were a mere incident and without background. This supercilious attitude relegates me to the level of the commonplace. This is a species of the grievous error in which mankind cannot too long persist without peril. For, the wise G. K. Chesterton observed, “We are perishing for want of wonder, not for want of wonders.”

I, Pencil, simple though I appear to be, merit your wonder and awe, a claim I shall attempt to prove. In fact, if you can understand me—no, that’s too much to ask of anyone—if you can become aware of the miraculousness which I symbolize, you can help save the freedom mankind is so unhappily losing. I have a profound lesson to teach. And I can teach this lesson better than can an automobile or an airplane or a mechanical dishwasher because—well, because I am seemingly so simple.

Simple? Yet, not a single person on the face of this earth knows how to make me. This sounds fantastic, doesn’t it? Especially when it is realized that there are about one and one-half billion of my kind produced in the U.S.A. each year.

Pick me up and look me over. What do you see? Not much meets the eye—there’s some wood, lacquer, the printed labeling, graphite lead, a bit of metal, and an eraser.

You can read the rest of it here and I urge you to do so even if, like me, you have read it before, years ago.  It is truly wondrous - and I choose the word with care.  That little essay should be made compulsory at every school in the land but - 'elf 'n' safety warning - holding your breath might be dangerous!

ADDITIONAL:  Talking of books, I have just read Kevin Myers's latest article in The Irish Independent in which he tries to persuade me, with that damned, devilish, Irish, literary eloquence of his, that Nabokov's Lolita is "one of the greatest works of fiction in the English language".  I cannot comment because I have never read the book.  Myers can normally persuade me to his point of view on anything with ease but it seems to me that his love of the book is based on his admiration for its Catholic and Classical learning which is insinuated throughout as a sort of sub-text.  In fact, he assures us that you cannot read the book with full enjoyment without the help of an annotated guide.  Sorry, Kevin, the story of an older man screwing his 12-year-old step-daughter has never appealed and whilst I accept everything you say concerning Nabokov's intellectual learning, I don't think I will be rushing to Waterstone's on Monday!  Has anyone else read it?

 

Comments

[JK]

Will wonders never cease?

First David, you claim to be a camera, then admit to being a humanitarian, and now hint you're a pencil!

What is it man - some sort of mid-life crisis you're having there? Something wrong with your Euro denominated investments? The Memsahib on your case again to re-arrange the porch furniture?

[David Duff]

Oh, come on, JK, I thought you at least would come up with some witticism about me needing lead in my pencil!

[Dom]

I've read Lolita. Yes, it's a great book. It's not really about child-sex. More about obsession, and a whole lot more. He makes me think of Anthony Burgess, who I think is a truly great writer. I tend to think you like the Corker Novels, so you might not go for it, but it's worth a try.

[Dom]

By the way, was Nabokov catholic? Why did you bring that up?

[David Duff]

Dom, it was Kevin Myers's review (link above) which raised the Catholic undertones in the book. Give him a read, he's worth it even if, like me, you don't agree with him.

By and large I am wary of novels. I always think opening one and beginning to read is rather like going to a dinner party where all the guests are strangers to you and, alas, for me, too often by the first course I realise with that sinking feeling that I really do not like or care about any of them. I think the last proper novel I read and really enjoyed was 'Vanity Fair'.