Writing in Duke Humfrey's Library

 

With this desire she hath a native might
To find out every truth, if she had time,
Th' innumerable effects to sort aright,
And by degrees from cause to cause to climb.
...
But in this life no soul the truth can know
So perfectly as it hath power to do:
If then perfection be not found below,
An higher place must make her meant thereto.

-Sir John Davies

From my Oxford Notebook

My little booklover's heart is all a-gush: I am sitting in the Duke Humfrey's Library, with only a few of my possessions: phone, laptop, this notebook, and this pencil. I am over the moon delighted to be sitting here with shelves of ancient books right in front of me (and behind me) at a desk in the middle section (of either of the Arts and Sheldon ends). It's such a big deal, I am skipping my morning coffee to spend time in here - I love it. So quiet, stuck in time. Right now I have the whole row to myself. I plan to get some writing done (besides this gushing library love writing) - putting some notes to use to writing more of my draft. This is the perfect place to do it. I don't need access to books, just my notes on my laptop.

My friend who works at the Bodleian Library as a tour guide was giving a tour to a group as I walked in. I tapped her shoulder as I passed and we waved as she was in the midst of explaining some historical tidbit about the oldest library of the Bodleian. It is amazing to think how many times I have taken the tours and now I am independently studying here in the oldest library, breathing in the scent of old books. The aging leather and paper scent - it's so dreamy.

I look around, I look up, surrounded by books, very old books from probably the 15th-16th centuries. Even books painted on the ceiling adorned in Latin. I recall from C.S. Lewis's diary how he sat here reading as an undergraduate, and as a don he later sat here to read all the literature published in the 16th century to write his edition of the Oxford English Literature in the 16th Century mammoth book (he dubbed OHEL). It took him ten years to write it. 

The shelves have some dust between the books, as these books are not moved much, I imagine. They are all in Latin. They can't be lifted out, or an alarm will sound. To help preserve these very aged old books, if you want to read one, you'd request it in the Manuscripts reading room at the Weston to have the book rests and page weights to properly look at one without stressing the spine. Like dinosaurs, they hold secrets of the past, but in human history and thought. They are treasures.

It's a funny juxtaposition - I am sitting here, in these old wooden chairs, nose to spine with these books older than my home country, written in a language I can't read. All is silent in a room full of words.

This place inspires thinking and writing. It reveals how important these things are - researching, thinking, writing, learning, coming to your conclusion after learning from the wiser authors before you. It's a legacy left to us and we shall leave to others. An immense privilege to have access to this. To imagine the authors and thinkers who have sat here through history. The whole space feels like it is frozen in the 15th century, except for the WiFi and laptops. Those modern creations that seems so out of place.

When you appreciate a space and place like this, for its history and literary connections, it elevates the space and motivates the spirit.

Research in the Library (Bodleian Style)

 

Bodleian Library.
The beginnings.

If I tell people I spent weeks taking my time not on vacation sightseeing or taking tours, but working in the libraries of the Bodleian (because I wanted to) everyday, I get a mix of reactions. Some odd looks, for sure, that ask "why" without asking it. Sometimes if someone knows me well, they understand my propensity toward the literary life, the love of books, reading, researching and writing, and they somewhat understand why I would be so fond of visiting libraries, but to spend everyday in the library when I'm not a student? To spend time there when I could be off doing "holiday" type things? What's going on there? Many are baffled by this.

I propose the following:
We are all lifelong students. We all choose what we study and where we spend our time in that research, resulting in different outcomes of our time. Meaning, we all dedicate our time to "something" - spilling our attention, time, and energy into it, whatever it is. Is that "something" helping you learn and grow? Is it producing good in the world? 

I feel very selfish in my studious pursuits, honestly, because I take a lot of time reading and researching things I am deeply interested in, however, my goal is to organize what I read and learn, and share it all with the world via this blog and/or a book. The point is I am not meant to selfishly hold onto all this wonder, beauty, and discovery to myself. I give it out and hope that it inspires people, in some small way.

My ultimate goal then is not to keep it all for myself, but to give it away. It has no power (to do good in the world) if it is not shared.

This is where I pull from the brilliant mind of Dorothy L. Sayers who detailed the trinitarian idea of creative work, exploring:
IDEA, ENGERY, POWER
As a 3-prong system - I always keep this in mind in my creative work.

IDEA - the idea that I have for a book

ENERGY - the effort I put into reading, researching, writing the book

POWER - the sharing of the book with the world

My creative energies lead me this way, and my job is to do these things. Now, there is not a 4th prong that says "market" or "sell it", so I am not liable or responsible for this part. That is what I am not good at, it is not where my efforts go, and doesn't come easily to me, so I focus on my 3 pieces - my job.

My IDEA for my next book came to me many months ago, last year, yet it is actually something that's been clanging around in my head for many years. It's not something I had attempted before, as it's nonfiction requiring lots of research of history of places and people, outside my book writing experience, but then I remembered how I journal and write observations and notes all the time and have some travel writing in the past, so there could be elements of that to provide a modern experience to studies of the past.

The ENERGY of the book project started last year, too. With a large collection of books in my own home, it was the perfect place to start. I could begin my research there, using my own sources to begin a draft. I turned to online resources, too, building a draft into a preliminary sketch of what it could be. Typing it out in pencil (as it were), though, as new research could update it.

Then, for the deep and wide research - the place, the resources, and spaces to work at the Bodleian Libraries, Oxford.

Here, the resources are practically endless. Here, the discoveries are everyday. Here, the history is held securely, and I am allowed to request such items of the past to look at myself (a very great honor) - original documents from history, telling a story to me as I write my own story of research and the journey of amazing discovery I get to encounter. Every single day was joy in discovery.

Being that I am not an academic, I entered deep into a world so different from my regular work, and I had to learn a lot. This is all neither good nor bad, but how you approach and embrace each is key. I embrace both, in different ways. Here being the experience I get to feel encouragement to delve into my love of all things literary and writing from a creative realm.

I have never before been able to dedicate weeks to such intense and self-directed research, not to mention doing such work in the best (most beautiful and historically significant) library in the world, in my view. At least for me and my wide range of interests, the Bodleian Library is the ultimate place. With almost 14 million items in its collection, lots of different gorgeous reading rooms to read in, and the ability for someone like me (an independent researcher) to become a reader, it is the fulfilment of my longest dreams. When I look at libraries I am not one who just says, oh that's beautiful, I am one who wants to browse the shelves, grab a few books, and sit to enjoy them. I want to discover the spaces, meander the paths between shelves, and find delightful nooks.

In other words, I don't seek to be a tourist of such places, but a resident (even if for some limited time). Libraries offer focus time - the silent atmosphere made for reading, thinking, writing, and those library desks were always full of students. I arrived at the latter end of term time, when it was most busy - everyday the desks would be filled up and there would be no open desks by afternoon. It did taper off a little when term ended, but it was still very full, as students seek quiet spaces of beauty from which to do their work. 

Totally guessing here, and I still need to review all my notes, but I was able to do more research in the course of the 3+ weeks than I would be able to do on my own over a year, with the amount of material I read and requested. I was hard at work finding books and specifically reading for the topic I was pursuing for my book, and it is work. Don't give into the belief that writers don't work hard and writing is easy, no way, it is hard work. It's a thoughtful process, and requires dedication, time, and effort. 

The next section of the ENERGY is writing more from the research I did and actually completing the book, and get to editing it. This of course is a lot of work and will take time. How much time? Who knows? But it will ultimately lead to the last of the 3 prongs:

The POWER will come when I am done with the book and can share it with the world to my great joy. 

So, whilst I work and put effort forth for the ENERGY of my book, I will revisit the Bodleian in my notes and journal, and share more of the place that is the Bod (as everyone calls it) the places that inspire me a thousandfold more now that I've spent weeks stomping up and down the stairs to reading rooms, searching the underground stacks with moveable shelves to find books almost everyday, and spending time gazing like a child in wonder at the most beautiful library spaces (I tried not to get too distracted) - the oldest part of the Bodleian dating from 1488 and the classical rotunda beauty from the 1700s.  

There's the underground tunnel connecting libraries that feels like a spaceship, the light-filled upper reading rooms with ancient windows (usually open) looking out to the Radcliffe Camera, and a gorgeous floating staircase that wraps round and round the inside going up to the upper Camera. Come with me as I share more. It's not a dream - 'pinch' 'pinch'.

Spires that Drowse and Dream

 

The moonlight over Radcliffe Square
Small sunset spires that drowse and dream,
Thin bells that ring to evening prayer,
Red willow-roots along the stream,
And perilous grey streets, that teem
With light feel wandering unaware,
And winter nights with lamps agleam,
Globed golden in the violet air.

From "Lay" (1916), Dorothy L. Sayers

Okay, so I don't have moonlight over Radcliffe Square in a photo, but I have the poem to imagine it. Sayers' imagery is so lovely and mysterious, moody, and accurate. Thin bells are always chiming around the square, echoing off the stone, globed lamps rest on the steps of the Radcliffe Camera. Spires dream and drowse, to borrow from poet Matthew Arnold (Oxford's dreaming spires comes from him- "And that sweet city with her dreaming spires, She needs not June for beauty's heightening,") and I certainly felt drowsy leaving the Bodleian library after working hard all day. I've had the immense joy and privilege of spending most of my March days researching in the Bodleian Libraries each day.  

Sharing about a time that was like a dream (the best kind of dream) is more difficult than if I was just sharing a quick weekend away visiting some interesting site. I can state facts and details of this and that, but to invoke the feelings and joy (the inner longing always there gets these glimpses that glow like warm lamps but move by too quickly) is much more challenging for how can I put those experiences into words that are worthy of expression?

We shall start with the basics - stepping into Radcliffe Square. 

Depending on the time of day you come into the square, you will either be greeted with a quiet hush (early morning and later evening) or the chatter and clamor of tourists if during the day. Big tour groups, small tour groups, and perhaps a whole class of youth could be passing through, stopping for photos, and some guide telling them about the Bodleian Library. The guide probably says how it now has almost 14 million volumes in its collection, with a huge offsite facility in Swindon that holds more than $8-9 Million out there, and readers can request delivery of books from offsite to have delivered to a library to read there. Maybe they talk about how the Bodleian Library is not a lending library, so readers can only read books there in the reading rooms, they cannot leave the buildings. Or that the Bodleian is a legal deposit library, meaning, they have the right to have a copy of every book published in the UK, which is now up to around 1,000 new books everyday. 

The Radcliffe Camera is always a favourite site to admire, with the Old Bodleian squarely rising up behind it with those dreaming spires lofty above. 

I've visited Oxford many times, over 10 now, and my question has always been around - how can I study there? How can I spend time finding and reading books there? Well, this time I got to do just that, to fulfill my greatest desire for getting to know Oxford even better. Come along with me in that great and inspiring adventure. 

Oxford Golden Sunshine Arrival

 

O Lamb of God: that takest away the sins of the world,; grant us thy peace.
(from the Litany)

I arrived in Oxford on a bright sunny day, and these bright sunny days have lingered - I am questioning if I carried the sun and blue sky with me, but the rain will come soon enough. This is England after all.

Arriving just in time for the tradition of the pancake day relay runs at Oriel College was a bit cheery after a very long journey. As I was standing in the porter's lodge, the students gathered just outside in the quad with excitement and the race started. Shouts and laughs continued, as the students dressed in their Oxford sub fusc participated in this tradition. 

First order of business after getting into my home away from home was to walk the streets of Oxford to say hallo to the Bodleian Library, Blackwell's Bookshop, Sheldonian Theatre, Bridge of Sighs, Turl Street, etc. They all greeted me this day with their glowing stones, basking in the bright sun. I couldn't get over the deep blue sky we've had for so many days. 

I did some essential grocery shopping since I can cook for myself. It's been quite fun to get completely different foods and am picking out all the British vegetables to cook up for dinners and British apples to eat each day. Carrots, parsnips, onions. Basic things I could eat everyday and be very happy. Good tea was a first purchase at Bird & Blend on High Street. I already have a list of my preferred foods I will be going back for on my next food shop day.

After a lunch at the best lunch spot, The Vaults and Garden (complete with a pot of jasmine green tea), a delightful thing I got to attend was a lunchtime organ concert at Queen's College. The young organist played Bach, my favourite. During term there are many lunchtime concerts at various colleges, it's a treat to include if you can. I'll try to catch more this week before term ends. 

I was treated with a dinner in hall at Oriel, before dashing off to the Ash Wednesday service there in the Oriel College Chapel. I always like to attend an Ash Wednesday service to start off the season of Lent. It is a humbling and heartful service, encouraging a mindful and meditative attitude of heart, to prepare for the Lenton journey. 

Those first arrival days are always exhausting, full, hectic, and full of good reminders of why this place continues to draw me in, and I always feel a deep, deep thankfulness. I am simply melting in with the scenes of Oxford now, and it's pure joy.

To live, to live, to live!

 

"Where was it," Raskolnikov thought as he walked on, "where was it that I read about a man condemned to death saying or thinking, an hour before his death, that if he had to live somewhere high up on a cliffside, on a ledge so narrow that there was room only for his two feet - and with the abyss, the ocean, eternal darkness, eternal solitude, eternal storm all around him - and had to stay like that, on a square foot of space, an entire lifetime, a thousand years, an eternity - it would be better to live so than to die right now! Only to live, to live, to live! To live, no matter how - only to live!....How true! Lord, how true! Man is a scoundrel! And he's a scoundrel who calls himself a scoundrel for that,' he added in a moment. (pg.150)

I finished my re-read of Crime and Punishment this week and I love it even more than the first time reading. Partly, I think I am a better and deeper reader than I was many years ago when I first read it, and I think this is the kind of book that warrants re-reading. It is even better with another reading. And I will read it again, no doubt, in a couple years. 

I am no Dostoevsky scholar, but he is genius with characters. Getting into the depths of their minds and struggles. Of course, we are in Russia (Petersburg), and this book was first published in 1866. We follow in the innerworkings of the young man, Raskolnikov, a student who has fallen into some deeply troubled mindsets as he digs himself deeper into a hopeless mental illness. He has morals that counter his illness, as he cares deeply for people who are mistreated, wanting to rectify that and help them. He believes and convinces himself that he should take justice into his own hands. He feels he has the right to murder an old woman who schemes people with her pawning business. 

...devote yourself to the service of all mankind and the common cause: what do you think, wouldn't thousands of good deeds make up for one tiny little crime? For one life, thousands of lives saved from decay and corruption. One death for hundreds of lives - it's simple arithmetic! (pg. 62)

Raskolnikov believes in duty and conscience. He thinks it's his social duty to take one life for the betterment of the general public. He feels justified in his actions, and spends the next 400+ pages grappling through that, going through madness, illness, suffering, questioning, challenging conversations with others. Developing deeper relationships that explore these moral questions and challenge his ideas. Getting to know Sonya, who leads a virtuous life and who is patient with him as he goes through periods of madness; she is the one who can speak truth that plants a seed in him. He thinks he got away with his crime, but the police are on his trail. They know it was him, and they wait for him to confess. Will he confess, and take on the responsibility and punishment for his crime, or will he deny it and place himself in the throes of the justice courts?

He was ashamed precisely because he, Raskolnikov, had perished so blindly, hopelessly, vainly, and stupidly, by some sort of decree of blind fate, and had to reconcile himself and submit to the 'meaninglessness' of such a decree if he wanted to find at least some peace for himself. (pg. 515)

This book. It stays with you. You feel for the characters. The ending is so good, so good. I won't spoil it by noting it here, you must read it for yourself. 

Embrace the Page of Winter

 

All the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
Storm-darkened or starry bright.

- Where My Books Go, William Butler Yeats

The evening is getting colder. The air is changing. For several weeks we were warm with no signs of the winter air. Clouds gathered during the day, almost like a summer, but not quite. No thunderstorms in those clouds. But suddenly after a passing cold front, we are back into chillier temperatures and it is utmost delight to me. When I get to wear a sweater all day and drink warm drinks, I am cheerful indeed. I love to embrace the season, and have the experience of a proper season, which is harder to come by here in the south, but when it comes, I sure do pay attention and appreciate it.

After a long, busy week, it feels good to take it slower today. The weekend. It's here for a reason, and I seem to forget that sometimes. I have a list of all the things I need to do, but what about taking a breath? That's not on the list, but it should be. It's the thing most easily cast aside. It is often when I sit down to write that I slow down. Or when I pick up a book to read. It is why I prioritize these things, as I know I need it. I put on some lovely piano music and take a few deep breaths. Already I feel better. 

Oftentimes we leave the weekend for what we would deem fun - for the things we can't do during the week. It doesn't need to be complex for me. Just give me a book and let me read over coffee (and maybe some food). I don't eat out a lot, and if I go alone my book is my companion. It feels like a luxury, like a holiday when I do that. A treat I don't indulge in too much because it's usually when I travel that I have more meals out alone. Travel also provides a different kind of inspiration that draws on my observations. Sometimes a random thought will come to me as I sit there, maybe hearing some snippet of a conversation nearby or seeing something that reminds me of something else. These things are inspiration and I usually scribble away in my notebook. After several minutes I keep writing - maybe it is rubbish, maybe it turns into a blog post, or maybe the seeds of a story. But the experience itself is the fodder for the possibility. 

The words come, and if not written down, the words go, whisked away into the wind. Taking time to write things down is the best way to save it for later. Some of it may be shared with the world eventually. 

May you take time this weekend, and the week ahead - to pause and think, write, share,  discuss, whatever it is you do, that which is done for good.

Charms of Savannah

 

Foggy Savannah

Treetops obscured in cloud
The day wakes with resound
The higher you go, denser the cloud
Swallowing the city in shroud
A blanket of weather touching my head.

I plod down Liberty Street, a quiet tread
Muted by the undertones of grey
I tuck myself into Mirabelle to stay
With my pen scribbling jots in view
The cathedral standing graceful in hue
While towers rising into fog raising eyes
To the ultimate source, a surprise
To most who pass by, with astonished gaze
Maybe a moment their heart to God, so raise.

Savannah always charms me. Not only do I get to spend some time with my dearest friend and hang a bit with her husband and two daughters, but I get to explore the downtown history, bookshops, southern hospitality, architecture, cafes, and old traditions (like horse drawn carriages slowly clonking down the streets with tourists riding along wearing big grins). I've been coming here for many years, so it hold memories of different visits, always with my friend joining into my days, and I am deeply thankful for that time with her.

We met up again for a day of exploring and visiting the bookshops and squares I gaze at with googly eyes. One of her daughters joined for the fun, and hopefully she enjoyed these excursions! We ate at a cafe deli enjoying lunch and hot tea (for her) iced matcha (for me). Highlight of the day was visiting Flannery O'Connor's childhood home, which sits on Lafayette Square, across from the cathedral where she and her parents attended. From the upstairs parent's bedroom there is a lovely view across the square and the cathedral towers rise into view over the tallest tree branches. 

I've wanted to visit Flannery's home for so many years, but it is not a drop-in kind of place. You need to book a tour ahead of time, and they limit the number of people, of course. The tour was such a delight. Our guide was a passionate appreciator of Flannery, and we learned many stories, history, and insights. We learned how the family came to live in such a beautiful home (thanks to their cousin Katie's generous spirit as she "adopted" them all). Flannery's name is Mary Flannery, which was how she was known to all her family and friends. I feel like I can call her Mary Flannery now that I've spent time hanging out in her home.

The fate of Flannery's family took a big turn when cousin Katie adopted them, giving them super low rent to live there and implementing fancy upgrades like gold molding picture ledges, other architectural elements, and the first refrigerator on the market. This is all during the great depression, which puts it all into perspective. Cousin Katie even had an electric car, yes in 1929!  The stories of Flannery were so fun: she was six years old when she told her parents that her childhood was over and she henceforth would call them by their first names, which she did from then on. When she was little she wrote critiques of all her books inside the front cover, whether it was a good or bad book. One children's book on display was opened to show inside the cover she wrote "not a very good book" and then initialed it, signing her authority. A very early book critic.

I've read some of the stories and the prayer book by Flannery. Visiting her home was the perfect excuse to buy another book by Flannery (Mystery and Manners), which I've already read now (and it was amazing), and feeling inspired to read much more, as she was the kind of person and writer worthy of being read and appreciated. True to her beliefs, independent, not afraid to speak her mind, she wrote "grotesque" stories that accentuate our sinful natures to show the opportunity for grace in each story, in which the character can make that choice. Her Catholic faith shines through her writings. 

The rest of the day was filled with more wanders, more book shopping, browsing, enjoying the glorious weather that still had a chill in the air, then stopping for burrito bowls for dinner. What a delightful time, and I acted like I was on holiday!