Three weeks ago,
I put in for an interlibrary loan to get some photocopies of a book review from an old issue of
The Listener.
Our Interlibrary Loan department states that getting photocopies may take a week to ten days. Usually, requesting a book or copies from another library takes less time, especially if it's from another in-state library. But ILL makes no promises. We must still rely on the unpredictable services of the U.S. Mail.
Anyway, two weeks after I submitted my request, I started to worry. "How long do I have to wait before I get to complain?" I asked. It's a free service, so complaining about how long it takes is really ungrateful. But ILL re-sent my request to another library.
Duke University's
Perkins Library came through, finally. They even emergency-faxed the pages, which made up for some of the lost time. But somewhere along the line my request got manhandled or mistranslated: they missed the journal issue's table of contents, and they copied the title page from the first issue in the volume, not the title page from the issue my article was in. Oh, well. Beggars, choosers, and all that. Still, even I know how to tell the difference, and I know what
TOC stands for. And what ever happened to my original request? Was it sent, and is malingering and maloitering under some Post Office conveyor? Did it ever get sent at all? Maybe, eventually, it will turn up, torn, opened and resealed, criss-crossed with tireprints, stamps cancelled and re-cancelled in foreign lands.
Macht nichts. I had to dig up the full citation to fill out the ILL form. So, there you have it. The long, perilously dull, but true, story of the return of
a very favorable review.
I recently purchased an old, six drawer library card catalog on eBay. It's missing a couple of finger-pulls, but other than that it's in pretty decent shape. Still had the metal followers in all the drawers. This produced a remarkably vivid sense-memory: the feeling of tabbing through a drawer full of cards with my fingertips. I don't think I've actually used a physical card catalog since around 1990.
One thing about starting to re-organizize, notes and cites I had written ages ago floated to the top. The database is too large to browse properly, even broken down into subjects, and it needs more sorting options (like by date).
I came across a reference to a book review of Reed's A Map of Verona, from a 1946 Listener that I had never followed up. All I had was a date and a page number. No volume, no issue number. No title. I didn't even bother to write down where I had originally found the review cited. (Not noting sources and cross-references is a bad habit I cannot seem to break.)
It was so easy, I don't know why I hadn't tried to look it up before: Listener v. 35, no. 906 (23 May 1946): 690. "Book Chronicle." And in I put for a photocopy through interlibrary loan. We'll see, but that may be the last review from the Forties that I didn't already have. Which may be why I was putting it off: there can only be so many secondary sources left, and everything else is just third-order.
1540. Trewin. J.C., "Keeping It Up." Listener 52, no. 1342 (18 November 1954), 877. 879.
Trewin's review of Henry Reed's operatic parody, Emily Butter.
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Weeks ago, I put in for an interlibrary loan for a book by W.W. Jacobs,
Dialstone Lane. Jacobs was a writer of sea-themed yarns, but he's famous for the classic horror short story
"The Monkey's Paw" (Project Gutenberg text). I was only interested in the introduction to this particular book, and this introduction only appears in a 1947 edition. Only a dozen libraries in the world have one, and one of those twelve consented to loan me theirs.
Whether it was the slow-boat holiday season mail, or the less than fourth-class postage libraries use, it took weeks. Weeks of cursing the Ewe-Ess Pea-Ess. Weeks of kicking myself for not requesting photocopies instead of a loan. For not just spending fifteen bucks and buying a copy online, sight unseen. The last few days I would go through the library's mail the moment it was delivered, pawing through packages, lamenting every postmark. North Carolina, no. Maryland, no. Alabama, no! Who the hell requests books from Alabama?
Today, there was a catastrophic power failure to the library server, leaving us with lightning-fast internet connections and no way to do any real work. And today, today my book arrived.
Title page | page v | page vi | page vii | page viii
The book is out of copyright, and
Dialstone Lane is available online. But, as I said, I was only interested in the introduction to the 1947 edition. And, unlike Stanford U., I don't have a
$125,000 book scanning Swiss robot in the basement of my library.
1539. Trewin, J.C. "Dead and Alive." Listener 50, no. 1281 (17 Sepetember 1953): 479-480.
Trewin's review of the BBC Third Programme premiere of Reed's play, A Very Great Man Indeed.
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