On eyesight and glasses

August 6, 2016

I was first prescribed reading glasses when I was fifteen. I have always been very long-sighted – the kind who can read a car numberplate from half a mile rather than the prescribed 25 metres or whatever it was; the reading glasses very gradually got stronger until I was about 45, when I moved on to wearing glasses all the time, bifocals in my case. It used to be that I could still, with effort, make out written text without the glasses on: now I can’t, everything is an impossible fuzzy blur. This does alarm me when I think about it.

I love reading, and I normally read a lot, on paper and now onscreen. And if I didn’t have glasses, I’d no longer be able to do this any more. What on earth would I do with myself and my time, and, more importantly, where would I get my constant fix of new ideas? Worse things could have happened, I know; I do still have my sight. But I remember a discussion we used to have at school, when I was trying to introduce students to the possibility of writing their own poetry. We would look at the inputs to our five senses and the pleasures each could bring, having looked at Rupert Brooke’s poem The Great Lover. And then I’d ask the class, ‘If you had to lose one of those five senses, which would you give up?’ We would look at the consequences of each choice together. I’d always point out that I was a teacher and an avid reader and would never give up my sight; choosing which of the other four to do without was incredibly difficult…

Back in the past, readers, writers and other learned people didn’t have the wonders of optical science to help them. There are two telling moments in Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose. Firstly, we discover that the hero, William of Baskerville, has poor eyesight, and a primitive pair of glasses that magnify text to allow him to read: is this apparatus a thing of the devil, some of the monks wonder? And then, later on in the story as he gets closer to solving the mystery and identifying the murderer, that person realises the significance of the eye-glasses and contrives to steal them, leaving William helpless…

My glasses are always on the end of my nose apart from when I’m sleeping, and I have a spare pair in case of emergencies. Attempting to walk without them is somewhat perilous, particularly on stairs: I won’t say I’m helpless without them – nor was William of Baskerville – but activities are seriously circumscribed. And the day will come when I will not be able to manage without them.

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