It’s All Latin to Me: What I Learned from a Book I Couldn’t Read
By John Ridge
Stephen King has asserted that writing is a form of telepathy. When a thought is written correctly, the same thought is placed in a reader’s mind as they read it. When he first wrote it, he referred to the printing of ink on paper, a classic form of telepathy that has endured for centuries. Right now, I’m performing a newer telepathy that might have once sounded like science fiction. This new telepathy still requires typing. But, there’s no paper and my thoughts can be sent across the world in the blink of an eye.
You’re likely reading this content on something electronic, be it a computer or mobile device. This content has also likely been accessed through a Wi-Fi signal coursing through the air. In the future, you’ll probably upgrade this device because it became obsolete. Devices keep getting better all the time, it has become the ways of things, whether we like it or not.
Yet despite constant improvement, the new hasn’t yet topped classic telepathy. According to the Pew Research Center, the percentage of people who read physical books versus e-books or audio books has remained largely unchanged over the last fours years. Only six percent of American readers consume digital-only books.
Can it be more than just the information? When e-readers first came out, there were many paper book advocates who cited the tactile experience of a book that was just as important as the information they contained. One might call these people fearful and stubborn Luddites, but I honestly think they were on to something. I’ve read a few e-books, and I’ve found myself rushing through them, wondering how much longer it has to take for my brain to extract the information.
I have a wonderful friend in Amy Brooks, Special Collections Coordinator for the Tutt Library at Colorado College, a place that collects various specimens of the written word. Old, rare, or unique to the point they must be treated with extra care and diligent storage. One day, she posted photos of a recent acquisition which tickled my interest in mythology and folklore.
It looked centuries old. Its pages contained hand-drawn sketches of fantastical and incredible looking creatures. I wondered if this was a compendium of tales of strange beings I had never heard of before. Despite the fact it appeared the entire thing was written in Latin, I absolutely had to give it a look. I had no idea I was in for a reminder about classic telepathy.
The book was written by Ulisse Aldrovandi, with the title Monstrorum historia cum Paralipomenis historiae omnium animalium (It’s English title is Aldrovandi’s Natural History of Monsters: The First Treatise in Teratology.) It was indeed centuries old, being printed in 1642, nearly forty years after Aldrovandi’s death.
Turns out, Monstrorum Historia wasn’t technically a book of folklore. Ulisse Aldrovandi catalogued observable birth defects that can take place not just in humans, but in animals and plants. While he did bring up creatures in folklore, his goal appeared more focused on finding scientific explanations for the different physical abnormalities sometimes found in nature. Some of his drawings appear crude and exaggerated, but they also appeared an honest attempt at cracking the mysteries he encountered. Teratology is now a branch of science that affects medicine, product safety, and government regulation.
My breath kept catching in my throat as I read. More so than other printed books I’ve read, this one left me thinking, “Someone made this.” Sure, a printing press was used, but it had the feel of something touched more by man than machine. If someone had translated the text, scanned the sketches, and printed it for bookstore distribution, I was certain the machines would have shown their handiwork. This proved to be true with a facsimile of a medieval bestiary I later looked through. While stunning in its reproduction, the physical book was younger than me, and lacked the same visceral sensation.
But, that wasn’t all Amy had prepared for me to see.
If you have a favorite library, look for their Special Collections. They are the keepers of the real treasure of their library. Trust me, there is a whole world out there waiting for you to find, especially if you are a bibliophilic word-nerd.
The first piece Amy showed me was an original leaf from The Gutenberg Bible. It was housed in a plastic sheet in its folio, a remarkably old piece of paper in equally remarkable good shape. My absolute favorites were the original serialized copies of A Tale of Two Cities, with the impressions from the printing press still puckering the paper. Episodic fiction, which made me wonder if anyone ever collected up copies, then binge-read Dickens over a weekend. To hold them in my hand, I couldn’t help wonder if Dickens had once held them too.
Amy had also brought out handmade pieces. Ancient telepathy.
One was a small piece of fired clay, with hieroglyphics carved on one side, and stamped on the other. It was believed to be a labor contract written in Mesopotamia and over four thousand years old. The engravings were so small, I had to wonder who could read them before the invention of glasses. There was a weight to the realization the clay I held was shaped by someone living that long ago, as well as the journey it had to take to reach me.
The other piece was a leaf, likely made from sheepskin, from a book titled Vita Sancti Fabiani, dated somewhere around the tenth century. It’s written in very tightly penned Latin on amazingly straight lines made with either the help of a straight edge or a very practiced hand. As an American, it’s sometimes hard to imagine that anything older than three-hundred years even exists. An exotic, far-off concept we don’t often encounter. If I could read and understand Latin, the author of Vita Sancti Fabiani would have had a direct telepathic connection with me, across centuries and an ocean. Thoughts that waited over a thousand years to enter my mind. I’ve never wanted to understand Latin more in my life.
After I thanked Amy, and returned to the world outside the library, I did what most of us might do: I checked social media on my phone. My mind exploded from the memes, armchair philosophy, and click-bait articles. I had to shut the screen off for a moment and just walk. And then I posted about my visit. Twice.
Perhaps the discussion shouldn’t be which form of telepathy is superior, but rather which form has the most appropriate effect. From pressing into clay, to hand-writing on sheepskin, to printing with a machine, to creating words on a screen, telepathy is changing throughout human history. The thing to remember, is don’t discount that somewhere after you’re gone, someone will find your work. They will seek to create a connection of sorts with you across time and space. What are you giving them to read? Will it be something that they will digest purely for information, or will it be something that gets their breath caught in their throat?
One last thing: Visit your local library. Often.
John Ridge
Deuteranopic. Reads. Writes. Lifts heavy things.
Chair & Pen publishes stories on the writing process and the writing life. It is edited and curated by Writing Coach Annalisa Parent. To learn more about how to work with Annalisa, visit www.DateWithTheMuse.com
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