Two Books on New Year's Eve

I have finally arrived at the computer to begin my blog.  No sooner had I pulled the first books from a shelf where they leaned companionably on one another, than an obstacle arose, in the person of myself.  I began to read, which was definitely not conducive to blogging, and had reached Page 45 of my first book before I realised that this was not going to get the project started.

This first book is the most amazing thing.  It is a Pelican Original paperback first published in 1943, reprinted several times - my copy is dated 1960.  For a reason I don't properly understand, the writer's copyright is dated 1959.  No doubt someone will be able to explain it to me.  The author is one W.W. Sawyer, and the book is 'Mathematician's Delight'.  I opened it at the first page and was hooked - it will not be returning to the shelf for a while.  On the blue and white cover is a rough outline of a head full of numbers, a nice design really.  I am amazed that I am even reading it.  Basically it is an approach to mathematics which would not be out of place today, not just for people like me who know very little about maths, but for any person who might hope to make it part of their life's work.  The author addresses the fear of mathematics, tells us what the uses of mathematics are, explains the difference between applied maths and theoretical maths, and chats about it in a easy-going, pleasant fashion which is quite unputdownable.  This opinion, I assure you, is all the more surprising coming from myself, who last week came upon some school maths lessons online, clicked on 4th class, skipped to the end and took the four multiple-choice questions offered, and got two right. Which sounds better than "got two wrong".  I don't know if this book is in print anywhere still, but it should be...I wish I had come across it when I was at school...

Its provenance is that I bought it with some language books at a school sale in a small town near here..it bears an inked stamp proclaiming that it came from a Christian Brothers' School in Limerick, Ireland, and I consider the pupils who were educated from it lucky indeed, for no doubt they are now well-versed in mathematics, have never had a fear of the subject, and may even now be involved in some ground-breaking work in physics or astronomy or the like which has given them enormous joy and fulfilment over the years.  They may even have been able to do the puzzles offered daily in the more upmarket newspapers...
Someone has splashed white paint on the back cover, but somehow, it does not take from the beauty of this book..

I really don't know who wrote the next volume, which I found in the local recycling centre.  It's called 'Excursions in Thought' and the author is "Imaal".  I googled him but all that came up were loads of sites about Glen of Imaal terriers.  I know the Glen of Imaal is in Wicklow, Ireland, but why the author took this pseudonym is a mystery.  There is a printed dedication inside:
"To each of his fellow voyagers in the ship of life, the author dedicates this book, but in especial to his friend, Daniel Corkery."

Daniel Corkery was an Irish writer, teacher, literary critic, nationalist, I found when I googled him, so it's a safe bet that "Imaal" is Irish, although the phrase 'in especial' struck me as a little peculiar...Anyway, this book, published in 1921 by The Talbot Press, Dublin jointly with T. Fisher Unwin Ltd. London basically seems to be a work of philosophy, or perhaps even of religion.  It is quite 'wordy'  and does not really read easily.  It is a pity I can't find out who "Imaal" is.  Someone has written notes in the margins of the book, and there are pressed flowers between the pages 94 to 95.  There is a 'holy picture' also being used as a bookmark, in memory of someone becoming a priest, which explains the many religious references,  The date of his ordination was interestingly enough July 12th...

man, the author says, "...can fly now, but he must fly faster;,,,,,,,,,,,,,He never asks himself what fine thing he will do when he reaches his destination by an aeroplane that outstrips the swallow, or with the time gained by manufacturing things faster than they are wanted.  He drugs his soul with speed...St Paul could not fly; he could not outstrip the swallow. Slowly, upon foot, he bore immortal tidings in "weighty words" over many lands.  ....Flying is not an evil, indeed; yet, as Keats said, it is nobler to sit like Jove than to fly like Mercury.....The power of putting words on paper by machinery has not made the words any wiser or the writing any better." Sadly, how true.

I find the reference to the pagan Jove and Mercury following on St. Paul quite curious...then, another curious remark "As man has multiplied genius has dwindled."  So what happened to the virtues of "Go forth and multiply..."?

It seems that the authors of  'Mathematician's Delight' and "Excursions in Thought" might have a few disagreements. "Imaal" writes "We may divine, then, that the Arts were not meant to wed with mechanical means, nor the Sciences to serve violent or ugly ends."  While on Page 38 of his work, Sawyer writes:
"It is true that pure mathematicians, working in this way under the inner compulsion of an artistic urge, have not only enriched mathematics  with many interesting discoveries, but have also created  methods of the utmost value for practical men....It pays humanity to encourage the artist, even if the artist does not care in the least about humanity." Two different points of view, certainly I have come to the conclusion, skimming through the work composed by "Imaal", that it may well have been self-published.  I don't think I will be reading much more, so whether it was a worthwhile venture all-in-all I will not be able to decide.  There is a handwritten note in stern black ink written between the end paper and cover, unfortunately it is largely illegible.  It would be nice if it turned out to be penned by someone famous...

I intended to include more books in today's blog but discussing the first two has taken its toll on me...and after all, it is New Year's Eve. The next instalment will be in 2012..

I have decided to become a book blogger

I think actually the books themselves have decided this.  They are everywhere in this house.  They live in sheds outside too. There is not a surface covered from the weather in and around our house where a book does not recline.  When someone decides to tidy them away, hey presto, more books take their seats.  Here is total book anarchy. They follow no rules of shelving, as to genre, alphabet or even size.  I was looking at them, and they were looking back, when suddenly I got the idea - I feel, I am sure, that they want me to blog about them.  I am going to talk about them, but I will not be reviewing them, not in the normal sense, anyway.  Each book here feels it is, an individual, and so I will treat them that way.  Every day I will pull a few books off my staggering shelves and talk about them.  Some I have read; many more, I plan to read; some I just hope to read but recognise that I may never do so.  But I can justify their existences by writing about them.

You know the joke about the person who can't think of a present for a friend, certainly not a book, because she has one of those?  That is one sort of person who won't be interested in this blog.  Then there are people like a neighbour of mine, who spends some days reading a book, following which he immediately unloads it onto someone else.  He has a coffee table with a tenancy of about three books, changing all the time. He does not understand how you can be fond of a book, as an item.  He has one he is reading, one he is going to read, and one that has outstayed its welcome, but will be gone as soon as he can get rid of it.

Books are a tradition in my family.  Not for literary reasons, though.  For books to read we went to the library. But as a hobby, my mother and my aunt went to auctions.  They frequently bought joblots, in many of which books figured largely.  I recall many days through the years when trunks, boxes, bags of books were delivered by the local auctioneer's man to our front door.  We pored through them for hours, admired them, but rarely read them.  Some were valuable.  Most were not.  Many have found their way to my house.   Mostly, however they are not fiction.  I find it hard to read fiction, and only then short books. So the only fiction in the main are so-called classics, a few additional solated favourites, and books in particularly  beautiful editions. Non-fiction books are my thing.  I stand holding a book on shoemaking, painting, handreading, meteorology, and I am the owner of these mysteries.  Or so I like to think, if I were only to start at the beginning of these books and follow through to the end.  These books empower.  In my case, they could empower. It is the possibilities within their covers that entrance me.  That is why they share my home. And that is why I want to write about them.