Seven books I keep close because I love them

Sun, 02 Aug 2026 Seven books I keep close because I love them The bookshelf by my elbow, the one that I can reach without getting up, has seven books on it, not necessarily the ones I look in the most, but the ones whose emanations I most hope will infuse me as I write. Roget's Thesaurus (4th edition) The one I actually refer to most often is the Harper and Row Roget's Thesaurus. I thought I had acquired this in my teens, but the note on the flyleaf says 1989. This is the fourth edition. I was very excited to get the eighth edition, which I thought I might like better, and for some time I kept them next to each other so that I could look up the same things in both, and compare. my conclusion was that while the eighth edition had more stuff in it, it wasn't stuff I needed. And it is really fat. So I have retired it to a farther shelf and will eventually get rid of it. The thesaurus is a book that is widely misunderstood. It is not, as many people mockingly imagine, just a compendium of synonyms, and its correct and intended use is not to replace common words with more impressive-sounding ones. just as the correct use of a screwdriver is not to scrape the veneer off of an expensive cabinet. “Thesaurus” means “storehouse" or “treasure room”. Roget's idea, similar to that of John Wilkins before him, was to classify everything in the world into a hierarchy, in this case a hierarchy with a thousand divisions. At the top level the divisions are grouped into "Abstract concepts", "Space”, “Physics”, “Matter”, “Sensation” and so on. Then under “abstract concepts” there are subclasses, of which subclass VI is “Time”, subdivided into five smaller sections: A. Absolute time B. Relative time C. Time with reference to age D. Time with reference to season E. Recurrent time At the next level down, section (1)(VI)(B) is divided into: §116. Priority §117. Posteriority §118. Simultaneity §119. The Past §120. The Present §121. The Future Roget's idea is that if you are thinking or writing about time, and specifically about how it goes by, you will leaf through those sections for inspiration, not to find a more pompous way of expressing something you have already written, but to refine your own idea of what it is you wanted to express. Perhaps you are trying to say that one event followed immediately after another. You might look at “§117 posteriority (later time)” which mentions “ensue”, “consequence”, “aftermath”, and “subsequent” — not synonyms, but related aspects of similar concepts, worth more or less consideration depending on what you are trying to emphasize. §117 will also suggest common phrases like “step into the shoes of” — not a synonym by any means, but a related idea. This is probably not what you wanted in this case, but it in another it might be just the thing, and in any case it might give you a bright idea. If nothing in section 117 seems suitable, it is right next to “§116 priority”, and you might discover that instead of saying that the second event followed immediately after the first, you would rather say that the first immediately preceded the second. Or perhaps you realize, looking at “§118 Simultaneity”, that what you really want to say is that the two event were not quite simultaneous. Or perhaps, finding your way to “§131 Earliness” and “§132 Lateness” you realize that your meaning would be more clearly expressed if you said that the second event was a little tardy, or that the first event was premature. Looking through the index for “immediately” you will see that the index distinguishes several senses of “immediate”: are you trying to suggest instantaneity, or continuity, or haste, or promptness, or punctuality? And in this way the book helps you refine your understanding of what you were trying to say. One can use the thesaurus for more concrete tasks. Perhaps I am trying to remember a word, but I can't quite put my finger on it. I know it it is not “coexisting”, but is something like it. I can look up “coexisting” in the index, and it will take me to “§118 Simultaneity” where I find “contemporaneous”… aha, that's what I was looking for! The really important thing about the thesaurus is this large-scale organizing principle, which puts related ideas near one another. Note that none of this works for someone who doesn't know what the words actually mean. All that person can do with the thesaurus is to replace one wrong word with another one, more or less at random. Effective tool use requires skill and training, and careful thought. An online version would be more convenient, but again, it wouldn't have the same stuff and I am very attached to the one I have. My banishment of the 8th edition left a lot of space on the shelf, some of which I have filled with an anthology of the prose of Sir Thomas Browne. I think this will be healthful and inspiring for me, especially if I remember to take it up and thumb through it from time to time. The Prose of Sir Thomas Browne One recurring theme on this blog since the very earliest days has been the writers of the English Baroque period. In 2008 I wrote: [Browne] is witty, and learned, and wise, and humane, and to read his books is to feel that you are in the company of this witty, learned, wise, humane man, one of the best men that the English Renaissance has to offer, and that you are profiting thereby. His work was also a favorite of Jorge Luis Borges', in case you consider that a recommendation. Browne has shown up here a number of times, although not so much as he should have, because I started the blog the year after I was on my big Thomas Browne kick. One reason I have put this book next to my elbow is that I hope it will spark a new Browne kick. (I wrote in 2006 “I'm sure I will return someday”, and it is long past time for that return.) My favorite book by Browne is his Pseudodoxia Epidemica, which is a compilation of stuff that people in 1646 believed that Browne thought was probably wrong. I wrote about that in some detail in 2008 although I didn't get around to publishing it until 2020. And somehow the other three articles I was writing about this have never seen the light of day. One is about his discussion of whether John the Baptist actually ate locusts or whether they were locust beans or something else. Browne is firmly on the side of it being actual locusts, as am I. My unpublished article says: Chester Brown's version of the gospels makes it clear that John was a crazy old bug-gobbler. Panels from Yummy Fur #17, page 15, by Chester Brown. Also Sir Thomas comes up in connection with whether snails have eyes in their horns — a rare example where he was wrong, and for a dumb reason: If we concede they have two eyes, we must alse grant, they have no lesse than four… And therefore if they have two eyes, they have also four, which will be monstrous, and beyond the affirmation of any. Browne seems to be noping out of the very idea of four-eyed snails, and therefore that they must have none at all. In a later edition of the book, he changed his mind, which is to his credit. He had a thoughtful and well-informed opinion about whether Pythagoras forbade his followers from eating beans, supposedly because he thought they contained the souls of the dead. (Browne says the former is true, but not the latter.) I have trouble connecting with the thinkers of the Middle Ages. Their thinking seems to me to be frightened, so overcautious, so cramped and circumscribed, I can't read it without sadness for the way that medieval Christianity strangled the human spirit for so long. But in the early Renaissance there is a flowering of a joyfully brave willingness to try to understand the world, and to follow any inquiry, no matter how extravagant or ridiculous. The whole idea of God has transformed, changed from something constricting to something empowering. The world before belonged to God, and humans were in it only grudgingly and on promise of good behavior. But when the Renaissance started, the world became a beautiful gift, in which humans had been placed to honor God by admiring and marveling at his creation. This admiration and marvel, the willingness to follow any path to understanding, is how I want to be about knowledge and how I hope I am. Reading Browne, I always feel like he and I would have gotten along well, and that that is one of the best parts of myself. Boccaccio's Decameron The story of the Decameron is this: It is 1348, and Florence is devastated by Black Plague. Nothing can be done, despair is everywhere, and there are not enough left living to bury the dead. So ten young people, still healthy, decide to turn their backs on suffering and quit town. They take provisions and servants, retire to the country, and try to forget the horrors they have seen. There they spend the time feasting, walking in the gardens, playing chess, and, once a day, for ten days, they meet, choose a theme, and then each of them tells a story on the theme. I explained this once to a friend who said “That sounds cool, when was it written?” I said “In 1348!” It is one of the two great works of classical Italian literature, the other of course being Dante. Dante is solidly medieval, hierarchical, doctrinaire, and obsessed with a God who is supposedly loving but doesn't seem to know how to show it. That was in 1308 or so, and then, only a few decades later, we have the Decameron which could not be more different. It is about people, doing people things in the real world, eating, drinking, singing, arguing, and making love. God is present, but not oppressive. He has sent a terrible plague for who knows what reason, but rather than submit to it the characters of the Decameron try to take practical steps to make the best of it. There is a story in the Decameron for every mood, usually more than one. Some are sad, some romantic, some funny and salacious. Dioneo is exempt from following the daily theme and usually has