Writing about Orlando Furioso the other day reminded me of a piece of advice I've been meaning to share since I picked up at the Samuel Johnson birthplace museum in Lichfield, Staffordshire, back in April: should you ever find yourself back in eighteenth-century London, you should not give into the temptation to lend Dr. Johnson any books. The museum's holdings include a handbound copy of John Hoole's translation of Orlando Furioso, which Hoole himself lent to Johnson . . . and on which Johnson promptly spilled tea.
I bet he read borrowed books in the bathtub, too.
I've Been Reading Lately is what it sounds like. I spend most of my free time reading, and here's where I write about what I've read.
Showing posts with label Lichfield. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lichfield. Show all posts
Monday, June 02, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Readers of a feather
{Spring Night, Greenwich Village, 1930, by Martin Lewis.}
On an overnight visit to Lichfield, Staffordshire, during our recent vacation to London, we visited a charming little museum devoted to Erasmus Darwin, a doctor, poet, and botanist who was the grandfather of Charles and a member of the learned society the Lunar Society, whose numbers included Josiah Wedgwood, James Watt, and Joseph Wright of Derby. From a placard at the museum, I unexpectedly learned that Erasmus Darwin and I are spiritual kin: a young woman wrote that when Dr. Darwin would set out to call on patients he would have
a pile of books reaching from the floor to nearly the ceiling of the carriage.That was for a journey of a mere forty miles. I'm traveling much farther this week, and I'm proud to say that I've brought only five books.
Should I be pleased that I'm finally getting smart enough to heed the warning cries of my sore shoulders? Or should I feel silly that I brought even that many to a city that is lousy with books? But what if I were to run out . . . and so did New York's bookstores? Disasters do happen in publishing, after all--like the supply-chain mishaps that, according to biographer Ron Powers, nearly brought down Mark Twain's publishing company:
Then bad luck struck the business, in the form of fires and contagious horse diseases that slowed down book shipment.Perhaps I should stop by St. Mark's tonight, just in case of horse disease.
Labels:
Erasmus Darwin,
Lichfield,
Mark Twain,
New York,
Ron Powers
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