HAMLET — In Doublefold: Libraries and the Assault on Paper, Nicholson Baker accomplishes what a non-fiction book can do best — offer insight and depth into a topic that I knew very little about beforehand.
The book argues that for most of the 20th century, libraries, in an effort to preserve ancient, decaying books and newspapers, have assiduously dismantled their collections and replaced them with microfilmed copies. In the process, perfectly readable books and newspaper are cut up and torn apart. It’s not preservation, but butchery.
Baker documents how one of the most common forms of preserving books, microfilms, are a pale substitute for the original text. Words can be blurry, pages can be missing and any graphics or artwork are rendered incomprehensible, especially for some of the most ornate illustrations accomplished by early newspaper artists.
There was a widespread fear that libraries were running out of storage space, and that the books themselves were becoming unsalvageable. One individual of note in the book remarks that libraries full of old texts were “dingy, dreary, dog-eared and dead.”
The Doublefold Test, which Baker argues has dubious origins, was used by so-called ‘preservationists’ across the county to determine a book or newspaper’s shelf life. By folding a corner of a page backward and forward over the same line, curators determine the brittleness. Those that passed remained tucked in the corner of a library; books that failed were unbounded and microfilmed.
Baker meticulously details how this silly, poor approximation of a book’s lasting quality has been used for years with wild abandon. He reviews Slow Fires: On the Preservation of the Human Record, an award-winning documentary that interviews alarmists who were confident that all of our historical texts and writings would be erased. Baker interviews a producer of the film, who admits that many of the claims of the movie are far-fetched, and that many of the purported books that were considered doomed beyond repair were often still readable.
Doublefold is a fascinating exploration into a problem that I conveniently ignored. Horrified by the slaughter of books and information, the novel ends with Baker creating a foundation that serves as a repository for newspapers and books that were on the path to be clipped and torn apart.
In essence, the book strives to call greater attention to a society that can be too complacent to lose and erase its own history. Reading Doublefold cemented my love for the tangible, printed written word, unblemished by technology (as if my overflowing shelf of books at home wasn’t evidence enough). A fact I take great pride in is that my writing is not posted simply on the Internet for passing eyes. My work isn’t subject to a Wi-Fi connection, a broken link or a cellphone. For those who choose to hold onto a favorite copy of the Daily Journal or preserve an article that they found particularly interesting, it will live on.
There’s no greater compliment to a writer than when I go to a church and see an old Daily Journal article framed on a wall, full of photos and quotes from people and events that I wasn’t even alive yet to know. Through that piece of paper, the names and details from that day will live on.
Just about every parent has collected their child’s rudimentary crafts and drawings, forever displayed on the fridge, mantle or Christmas tree. I was never much of an artist, but my parents (with considerable foresight) have curated my writing since I was a child.
From the first tracings of basic letters, to a Pre-K narrative of the rain cycle, to initial attempts at cursive, and even a poor imitation of a Goosebumps book, my writing has been preserved at my childhood home in Richmond, Virginia. My first forays into journalism are also well-documented, from a shoddy, middle-school publication that does little more than poll students on the best lunch item, to a only slightly less shoddy high school paper that does much of the same (don’t worry — they’ve yet to fail the DoubleFold test yet).
A major bump in quality occurs where my four years of writing for James Madison University’s the Breeze are well-preserved. Moving beyond the cafeteria, my inquisitiveness took me into such topics as sustainable energy, First Amendment protections on campus, and student government. No longer interviewing my classmates or friends, the archive documents my conversations with knowledgeable professors, concerned students and state senators.
I have been blessed to add 2.5 years, totaling hundreds of copies, of the Anson Record, Richmond County Daily Journal and Laurinburg Exchange, to my parent’s archives. A link to a website would certainly be nowhere near as memorable.
As the editor of publications with dual-functions as a newspaper, website and social media, I do my best to stay on top of all the platforms. But it’s the print edition that I feel is the pinnacle, a real testament to our craft of journalism.
To those who have long neglected a Kindle, to those who still have the thrill of getting a magazine in the mail and to those who still read their local newspaper not from a screen but from your own hands, thank you for keeping the ethos of what a newspaper should be alive. I enjoy sharing out content to Facebook and online, buts it’s our bi-weekly publication, where there are no redos, no last-minute corrections, only the indelible marks of ink that I have to stand by every word that is printed, that I get the truest satisfaction from my job that I enjoy so much.
As newspapers continue to be a rarer and rarer commodity, it’s your steadfast support that makes each print edition from Champion Media possible. Thank you.