Review: Breaking Bread with the Dead

Breaking Bread with the Dead, Alan Jacobs. New York: Penguin Press, 2020.

Summary: A case for reading old books as a means of increasing our “personal density” to expand our temporal bandwidth.

Alan Jacobs teaches students to read old books and contends, contrary to many critics, that this reading is essential in a day when we are bombarded by an avalanche of information, and all matter of questions about the future. Drawing upon Thomas Pynchon in Gravity’s Rainbow, he argues that old books increase our “personal density” through expanding our temporal bandwidth.

What does this mean? Jacobs is not arguing for learning from the lessons of the past or that old books help us recognize universal truths. Rather, he suggests that the great works of the past startle us with their difference. They help us see the choices of our own age in light of those of the past. They are the “other,” the “generative oddkin.” Jacobs believes that understanding how people of other ages met the challenges of life equip us to better face challenges of the future than if we draw only upon the resources of the present.

The greatest challenge to Jacobs’ proposal is the invidious aspects of many of these works–racist, chauvinist, colonialist, and more. Jacobs does not deny any of that. What he observes is that those in the past often enunciated ideas, the implications they failed to fully grasp in their own lives. He points to the American founders who laid the groundwork for our own ideals of equality, yet held slaves and failed until 100 years ago to enfranchise women. Reading them forces us to ask how future generations will evaluate us. Drawing upon Ursula LeGuin’s novel Lavinia, an adaptation of the Aeneid, giving voice to the woman Aeneas loved, Jacobs argues both that we read with double vision, recognizing both the work and the flawed character of work, and that our reading from our time can bring new insight that perhaps even an author like Virgil had not grasped.

Jacobs develops these themes through nine essays in which we consider works like The Iliad, The Doll’s House, and Jane Eyre, and authors from Virgil to Italo Calvino. He contends that the presence and tranquility of mind enabling us to meet the challenges of the day comes from a perspective that goes beyond “the latest thing.” If we read only sources from the present, as diverse as they may be, we may still be caught in “echo chambers.” Sometimes, the voices of the past will give voice and words that make sense of our own reality. At other times they will startle and challenge us. Rather than lulling us to sleep with placid verities, they challenge and shake us up, nurturing the kind of resistance fostering “unfragile” and resilient thought.

Jacobs does all this in elegant prose evoking the voices he would have us give more careful attention–an engaging read and a warm invitation.

Fondling Your Books

Winston Churchill, an avid bibliophile and writer, as well as statesman, once said,

“If you cannot read all your books…fondle them—peer into them, let them fall open where they will, read from the first sentence that arrests the eye, set them back on the shelves with your own hands, arrange them on your own plan so that you at least know where they are. Let them be your friends; let them, at any rate, be your acquaintances.”

The other day, I wrote a post titled Close the Libraries? and was surprised by the number of comments I received not only about the importance of libraries as physical places in our communities where we encounter not only books but each other. I also received several comments about what I would call the “physicality of real books.”  Readers of the blog posted about how they enjoyed the sight, feel, and even the smell of their books. Some talked about children and picture books and curling up on a parents lap to share a good book together.

Research has shown that having books in the home enhances childhood literacy. C.S. Lewis grew up in a home filled with books that nurtured his love of reading. As I child, I remember exploring the shelves of books in our living room, basement, and way back in the closet in my bedroom. Sometimes, it was fun just to look at the dust jackets and sometimes to delve into books to learn about basic mechanics, science, or just to see what my mom liked to read. I wonder if there had been a tablet or e-reader sitting on the table if I would have had the same experience and same delight in exploration.

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Honore de Balzac Novels volume 1

I have old paperbacks like Bonhoeffer’s Life Together that I’ve read and re-read over the years. The pages have turned brownish yellow and some fall out as the inexpensive binding has become brittle. But these books chronicle my life in the margin notes as my understanding and interaction with the ideas of the authors have changed and grown. I treat these aging old friends with tenderness rather than just replace them with new editions or digital copies. Perhaps for the same reason, I like to listen to old LPs and CDs not only for the richness of the music but the connection to the time and place that I bought them, and in some cases the times where I’ve been a part of a performance of this music.

I have a collection of Balzac novels that I received from my mother. Inside the front cover, I find my grandfather Scott’s signature. The books were published in 1923 and my mother spoke of how she used to love to read this as a young girl. In holding these books, I leaf through pages pored over by my grandfather and mother.  I have Bibles owned by both of my grandmothers and the passages they underlined and the notes they scrawled connect me to the values that have formed our family.

Title Page from volume 1 of Balzac

Title Page from volume 1 of Balzac

I don’t think my son and daughter-in-law would appreciate getting all my books! But I wonder if there is some value in thinking about what are the books that have most defined us and that we don’t want subject to the ephemeral nature of digital media. Maybe our children are the best to answer this.  There may be others we keep as our “old friends” whose look, feel, and even smell we enjoy until the time comes when we are beyond these pleasures. And there are the books I discard, and some that I do acquire electronically because they have served their purpose once I’ve read them–whether for information or enjoyment or both. Perhaps a blessing of this age is that we can enjoy both the best of print books and the best of e-resources. Must we settle for the either-or zero sum thinking that says we must choose a smaller, less richly textured world? I hope not.