The Oscar Goes to… BOOKS!

Books are up for an Academy Award. At least, flying books in “The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore,” just nominated for Best Animated Short. As the description reads: “Inspired, in equal measures, by Hurricane Katrina, Buster Keaton, The Wizard of Oz, and a love for books, ‘Morris Lessmore’ is a story of people who devote their lives to books and books who return the favor.” (What booklover will not be amused when the animated humpty-dumpty of a book uses his feet to play the piano, literalizing footnotes? Going to bed on a book, Lessmore later is lifted to the sky by a fluttering biblioflock, and conservationists may sympathize with the analogy of their careful repairs to a surgical dissection theater: a matter of life and death.)

Filmed book-trailers now litter the landscape. Beyond adaptations of one medium to another, films and books increasingly crisscross each other’s terrains, borrowing and blending techniques, suggesting new dimensions and directions for storytelling. “The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore” is far from a trailer. It uses the medium of film to draw attention back to the other medium’s bounds. And beyond. Far from antiquated, stagnant, paginated lumps, Lessmore’s books animate, embed and embody us, palpating with joy and pathos, transported to Oz-like lands.

At a time when apocalyptic proclamations about the end of the book recur, these animated pages remind us that books also are a technology–as the following two clips address with a twist. A contemporary book is called a “new device” and “revolutionary product,” while a medieval book requires a computer-like “help desk”:


What do we learn about our relationship with the BOOK by re-viewing it through animation, as a revolutionary device, and as a technology so complex that it needs an IT guide? In her “biography” entitled The Book: The Life Story of a Technology (Johns Hopkins UP, 2009), Nicole Howard writes that books “may not immediately strike a parallel with more familiar technologies. Hundreds of pages sewn together, bearing printed or handwritten material, hardly compares to supersonic jets and Pentium chips. But in fact, no other technology in human history has had the impact of this invention. Indeed, the book is the one technology that has made all the others possible, by recording and storing information and ideas indefinitely in a convenient and readily accessible place.” Or, to jump back a few centuries to John Milton (1643): “For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be active as that soul whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.”

The Secret Life of Books

This video made the social media rounds a couple of weeks ago. I thought it would be a fitting first post as we begin to think about where books have come from and where they are going.

While I love the use of stop motion and certainly get a kind of kid-in-a-candy-shop feeling from watching this, I can’t help but notice the subtle implication that these books come to life in spite of, or perhaps because of, the absence of readers. The intent may be to suggest that books are full of action and activity just waiting for a reader to discover them, but the implicit message, to my mind, is that bookstores are becoming a lonely place and that printed books (“real” books, as the title of the book in the closing shot says) need to be defended against the wave of digital publishing.

I found Janaka Stuckey’s recent post on the future of bookstores at the Poetry Foundation blog insightful on this point. He suggests increased specialization, an emphasis on community programming, and a closer interaction between booksellers and readers (through personal recommendations and in-store events) are the only way book stores can compete with Amazon. It’s not even more beneficial to publishers (like his Black Ocean imprint) to sell through mom and pop shops–Amazon kicks back a larger percentage of each sale.

The “Joy of Books” video subtly touches on this situation: at one point, we see a little brown moleskine turning the pages of a large hard-bound poetry book, a somewhat cute synecdoche for the reading audience Stuckey suggests is keeping bookstores alive: writers, and specifically poets.

Is the “joy” of books something inherent in their format–a material jouissance?
Is it perhaps in their content, which has historically been distributed in a wide variety of forms from the tablet and scroll to the codex and iPad?
Is it in the reader, without whose intervention the words stay locked in their covers, whatever form those covers take?

We’ll hope to consider some of these questions in the coming months.