Book Curses

Today I tackled a long-overdue project: excavating the home office in order to reclaim my writing space from the junkyard that surrounds it. Soon, I will have organized, proper files; I will stop leaving cryptic notes all over the house. The office isn't free and clear yet, but a desktop is now visible, and stacks of no-longer-relevant work documents have been recycled, shredded or burned, as appropriate for the contents. How satisfying it is to evict other people's priorities and even more satisfying to burn papers that on occasion have burned me.

And in a celebratory/cynical mood, I came upon this lovely little book curse:

Here's another version, printed on a miniature tri-fold card embellished with illustrations of owls:

For him that stealeth,

or borroweth and

returneth not, this

book from its owner,

let him be struck

with palsy, and all

his members blasted.

Let him languis [sic] in

pain crying aloud

for mercy, and let

there be no surcease

to this agony til he

sing in dissolution.

Let bookworms gnaw

his entrails . . . and 

when at last he goeth to his final punish-

ment, let the flames of Hell consume him

forever.

                                                                                           --A Gentle Madness: Bibliophiles, Bibliomanes, and the Eternal Passion for books

Both were produced by the letterpress Print Room at St. Michael's College library, University of Toronto. This outfit creates prints for paying customers and also serves as a laboratory for students in the flagship Book and Media Studies program. I bought the cards last fall, intending to tuck them into gift books--a kind of extended warranty for the recipients.

An uncle of mine trained as a typesetter in the 1950's and plied his trade for the Binghamton Sun-Press (now part of the mammoth Gannett chain) until typesetting vanished with the advent of computers. I wonder what he would make of the resurgence of letterpress printing in art posters and books (such as the inspiring Gaspereau Press)? I'll have to ask him one of these days.

Meanwhile, some of my reading will now be performed on a mini-iPad, given to my family by an amazingly generous fairy godmother. I believe the mini-iPad is a newish gizmo--yes?--which a lifelong late-adopter like me has no business owning. But I've been cycling through the book apps, trying to decide: the iBook, Kobo and Kindle icons all glow with promise. If there's a digital curse in the machine, I haven't found it yet. (Let's not ruin the moment by speaking of privacy.)

And this week I discovered the public library app, which allows me to "borrow" eBooks in an instant and never return them. When my lending period expires, the books auto-disappear. How great is that? No more fines, and nary a book curse on my head.