Posts Tagged ‘Times Comprehensive Atlas’

My A-Z of Reading: V is for Vade Mecum

December 20, 2016

What books could you not bear to be without? Or, let’s rephrase that: what book would you take along with you to your desert island, along with the Bible and Shakespeare? If you were going into a home which only had room for one small bookcase, what would you absolutely have to have on it?

Any real reader will know that those are impossible questions. Where do I start? I’ve written about culling my library and how painful it is; I’m still trying to thin it out a bit so there’s room to move. And the loft is creaking under the weight of the boxes waiting to be sorted out.

Musts: Shakespeare. The lightweight single volume on bible paper will do to save space, as will my two-volume complete Jane Austen, also on bible paper. I need my complete John Donne poems, too. Dictionaries I’ll pass on, if I can have a laptop instead. I want one of my reference books to Bach’s cantatas, though, and my trusty Times Comprehensive Atlas. And I’ll have my complete Sherlock Holmes, the two-volume one to save space.

And I could stop there, I suppose, using the excuse that anything pre-1923 is available free online, again as long as I can have the laptop. That just leaves the rest of the twentieth century, literature, history and travel.

You can see that it’s a ridiculous exercise; the laptop is clearly cheating; perhaps you should try it sometime? My house would feel naked, I’d feel naked, without my library surrounding me. One day, I’ll try the exercise, allowing myself 100 books… that feels like a more sensible number. And I’ll post the list.

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The book as perfect object

August 7, 2016

The book as we know it is a pretty nearly perfect piece of design, which hasn’t really changed since the codex – a number of sheets attached to each other, inside a protective cover of some kind – replaced the scroll at some point during Roman times. It’s never really been clear whether Brutus’ book, referred to in Act IV of Julius Caesar, and of which he turns down the corner of a page (!) is an anachronism introduced by Shakespeare, rather like the striking clock which features in the same play, or a thing which had actually developed by that time…

So, although handwritten at first, before the invention of printing, and on vellum or parchment before the advent of paper, bound in leather or wood before the invention of cardboard, the object has been a familiar one for getting on for two millennia. It’s obviously much more widespread nowadays, too, and relatively cheaper – somewhere I recall reading that in Chaucer’s time, when a book still had to be hand-written by a scribe, it would cost roughly the same amount as a modest house… were that still the case, I’d be a multi-millionnaire!

When you look more closely, a book is a marvel of versatility. Nowadays, it can contain illustrations or not. It can be cheaply produced for mass circulation, as a paperback, or made more lasting and durable, printed on acid-free paper and in hard covers. It can vary greatly in size, from the smallest paperback to the huge Times Comprehensive Atlas which I value so much. It can be an exciting novel or a dull telephone directory – though why they bother to produce those any more, I cannot fathom.

The way it’s laid out is also logical as well as variable. After the title page, there can be a contents page; at the end there can be an index, although some countries have the – to me – rather curious convention of putting both contents and index at the end of the book. Notes can be included, as foot- or end-notes. And – though less common nowadays – at the very end, other books which might be of interest to a reader can be discreetly advertised.

People have prophesied the disappearance of the printed book for most of my life, initially in fantasies about an electronic future, and more recently with the appearance of e-readers and tablets. And yet recent surveys have show that our friend the printed tome continues to hold its own, even to become more popular, whilst its electronic rival fades – our leading chain of bookshops has discontinued selling the most popular brand of e-reader.

And I can see why. I find my e-reader a frustrating device. I know I’m not a typical user: I have to remind myself of its very existence somewhere among my piles and shelves. But it’s not easy to move around an e-book, to flip from page to page, to keep a thumb in one place while I read another, to look back to the contents page or to the index. Footnotes get shunted all over the place. In the end, as often as not, I just don’t bother. The only real advantage the e-reader has is that I can carry several hundred books around in the physical volume of a single paperback.

When, perhaps in ten years’ time, someone has developed an e-book with pages like a real book has, but that can display the text of any book and all my books, perhaps storing their text and illustrations in memory built into its hard cover, then, perhaps, the printed book may be on its way out. I’m not holding my breath.

Maps and Atlases

October 8, 2014

9780007551408Readers of this blog who are interested in my posts about travel writing won’t be surprised to learn how much I love atlases and maps: visually attractive, often beautiful, they allow me to explore from the comfort of the sofa, and follow the travels of a host of writers. You will understand why I so often complain about the poor quality of maps attached to travel books nowadays – penny-pinching by publishers, or decisions by editors who have no real feel for what they are preparing for publication, and the needs of those who will actually buy and read the book. I can gaze for hours at the curious shapes of continents and countries, the locations of settlements and the countryside that surrounds them; I can appreciate the vastness of the world, in these days when it’s possible to reach remote places very quickly.

I especially like maps from the past: they are like a time capsule or time machine into a world that doesn’t exist any more. John Speed’s seventeenth century maps of Great Britain, for example, show older names for places, how difficult it was to travel from place to place in those days, places that were important then and are now faded into insignificance, and one notices the absence of some places which have grown up in the intervening years and did not exist, or merit a place on a map way back then. Johann Blaeu‘s stunning Atlas Major from the 1660s, now available again, albeit in an abridged version thanks to those wonderful publishers Taschen, allows one to look at the approximations of places when Westerners hadn’t fully explored and mapped everywhere: there are real blank areas on maps, although often filled up with drawings of (sometimes mythical) flora and fauna – nobody likes a blank space – there are places where only the coastline is known or partially known; there are places just not on the maps… And don’t get me started on wonders like the Mappa Mundi, of which I have a very faded reproduction, and its allegorical representation of the world.

For today’s world, I’ve yet to find anything to better the Times Atlas – I’m on my second copy, since the first was rendered rather less useful by the disappearance of the Soviet Union, the emergence of new countries and the renaming of so many places. The scale and level of detail is marvellous, only the size is a limitation: it doesn’t sit easily or comfortably on my lap while I’m reading. When there’s not enough detail in it, I tend to buy a one-off specialist map, so I have huge maps of the Sahara, the Silk Route countries and so on. I once saw, in a secondhand bookshop, a copy of the Soviet-era Atlas Mira (Atlas of the World), and it was huge: it made the Times Atlas look small. I didn’t buy it, but often wish I had. I do have a smaller Atlas of the USSR, which is very useful when reading about travels in Russia, and especially Siberia. I also have a fascinating road atlas of the Soviet Union from the 1980s. This is fascinating partly because of the large areas that don’t figure in it at all – why would they, when there are no road there? – and also because of the roads which travel 400, 500, 600, even 700 km into the depths of the continent and then just stop. There are no side turnings to right or left. So when you’ve got there, the only way out is to do all that journey over again. It boggles my mind.

I have Google Earth on my computer. Occasionally it’s really useful. I can pinpoint the clearing in the forest deep in Belarus where my father’s home village (hamlet, really: only four houses) used to be. But it remains a curiosity, whereas I would be lost (literally) without my collection of maps and atlases.

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