Friday, August 7, 2009

Towering Pages

It's not a carcass any more.

What's left of the spine (bits of paper, glue and string) is in a small ziplock bag. You'll recall that the spine proper is in the possession of the Abbot, who was last seen sporting it as a kind of headband at a downtown restaurant.

So what do we have if we don't have a spine? Well basically - we have a precariously stacked thousand plus pages that look much taller than when they were squeezed tight by that vice-like binding.

The number of pages are quite impressive when they are stacked like this. Mountainous. Looking maybe like a layered mountainside that is maybe going to give way into a rockslide. Daunting. But impressive. The pages looking actually like they have withstood the test of time. Containing a long history. And so vulnerable.

I've put them under my window where they are sunning in the morning light and am sitting on my couch (the couch where I often fell asleep trying to finish IJ) - listening to Slate's Audio Book Club take on IJ (Yes, finally, Mr. Ashdale) - and I'm wondering about all the things I need to do (you know both the tying up of loose ends and the sacramental things) with the pages, beloved pages, before I return them with gratitude to the Abbot - my sponsor and guide in this epic reading and spiritual journey.

2 comments:

  1. The stack of pages looks good. The pages have been read and they look it - makes me think that "binding" pages at a bindery really just cages them and maybe makes it harder for a reader to release them and the ideas they contain. These IJ pages look like they've been released, thumbed, back-pocketed - read.

    As for returning the pages...I think their rightful home, now, is on the windowsill of the reading room at 705 Carlaw. They'd be happy if occasionally sprung from the confines of the ziplock bag, I imagine (unless said bag is a nod to the overweening drug-paraphernaliac detail of the story, in which case I'd bet the pages would forgo their own comfort in the service of such an apt metaphor).

    I could come and visit them (the pages) now & again. I might even bring over the spine for a little reunion. I use it (the spine) as a bookmark - but only for the right kind of book.

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  2. Well. What a kind, very kind offer. I'll have to think about it - keeping your book/my pages. What is the right thing to do? What would Gately do? Hmm - I think I have this thing about receiving things. Gifts. (Hmm - there we go again - IJ/DFW is really causing me to look inside myself.) My default mode is to give (just ask the Blonde Woman). So how do I know what the right thing to do is? Hmm, my gut is telling me that I should accept your pages, dear Abbot. And I think - if I am looking at this objectively - you too are doing the right thing by allowing these pages to be housed at 705 Carlaw. You are more than welcome and indeed encouraged to come visit them any time and often.

    For what it's worth, I intend to buy atleast one other copy of IJ - just in case I too feel like sharing the love with someone - like you did, dear Abbot.

    I part from this post - with a compliment for you Abbot: You've got spine.

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