A friend referred me to “Mendel the Bibliophile,” a 1929 story by Stefan Zweig about an other-worldly reader who sits in the back room of a Vienna coffee house, the Café Gluck, during World War I. Jakob Mendel is a walking library catalogue who effortlessly commits bibliographical information to memory and is consulted by scholars. The narrator is researching Franz Mesmer and his theory of animal magnetism, and consults Mendel rather than librarians. Here he describes Mendel reading a book:
“[H]e read
as other people pray, as gamblers gamble, as drunks stare into space, their
senses numbed; he read with such touching absorption that the reading of all
other persons had always seemed to me profane by comparison. As a young man, I
had seen the great mystery of total concentration for the first time in this
little Galician book dealer . . . a kind of concentration in which the artist resembles the scholar, the
truly wise resembles the totally deranged. It is a tragic happiness and
unhappiness of total obsession.”
Some of you
will read that passage autobiographically. I remember when I brought my middle
son – then about ten, now a second lieutenant in the Marine Corps -- to a
barber shop with me. While I was getting my hair cut, he sat in an unoccupied barber’s
chair reading one of the Harry Potter books. He was so absorbed in the story
that he ended up sitting backwards in the chair, legs under the arms, and
slowly slid until his back was on the foot rest. Michael reminded me of Guy
Davenport’s great essay “On Reading”:
“For the
real use of imaginative reading is precisely to suspend one’s mind in the
workings of another sensibility, quite literally to give oneself over to Henry
James or Conrad or Ausonius, to Yuri Olyesha, Bashō, and Plutarch.”
Not that
J.K. Rowling is Henry James. Rather, a book assimilates the right reader into
its world. It is a machine to induce self-forgetting. Our quotidian existence is
left behind, wiped away like chalk on the blackboard.
[You can
find “Mendel the Bibliophile” in The
Collected Stories of Stefan Zweig (trans. Anthea Bell, Pushkin Press, 2013).
“On Reading” is collected in Davenport’s The
Hunter Gracchus (1996).]
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