I find much of the material in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's little book of essays Through the Magic Door either very interesting or rather boring.
When it comes to the material of interest, Conan Doyle's story of his close escape from being accused of plagiarism is fascinating not only in its own right but also because something similar happened to Rudyard Kipling.
It is much the same where another of Conan Doyle's anecdotes is concerned: his account of having to choose between eating and buying books reminds me of other people who had this or a similar dilemma.
His unexpected views on public libraries versus the ownership of books also inspire some commentary.
In Through the Magic Door, Conan Doyle introduces the books in his library to an imaginary visitor. One set is of particular interest:
“You see the line of old, brown volumes at the bottom? Every one of those represents a lunch. They were bought in my student days, when times were not too affluent. Threepence was my modest allowance for my midday sandwich and glass of beer; but, as luck would have it, my way to the classes led past the most fascinating bookshop in the world. Outside the door of it stood a large tub filled with an ever-changing litter of tattered books, with a card above which announced that any volume therein could be purchased for the identical sum which I carried in my pocket.
As I approached it a combat ever raged betwixt the hunger of a youthful body and that of an inquiring and omnivorous mind. Five times out of six the animal won. But when the mental prevailed, then there was an entrancing five minutes' digging among out-of-date almanacs, volumes of Scotch theology, and tables of logarithms, until one found something which made it all worth while.”
Conan Doyle goes on to describe some of his treasured volumes, the literary gold that he prospected for in the bookseller's old threepenny tub and went without lunch to buy.
Incidentally, Conan Doyle's threepenny sandwich and glass of beer made a better lunch than J. B. Priestley's twopenny bag of stale buns!
As the many positive articles on the subject make obvious, I am very much a supporter of public libraries.
Conan Doyle had different ideas:
“Reading is made too easy nowadays, with cheap paper editions and free libraries. A man does not appreciate at its full worth the thing that comes to him without effort. Who now ever gets the thrill which Carlyle felt when he hurried home with the six volumes of Gibbon's "History" under his arm, his mind just starving for want of food, to devour them at the rate of one a day? A book should be your very own before you can really get the taste of it, and unless you have worked for it, you will never have the true inward pride of possession.”
While he makes some good general points, I can't agree with his dismissal of public libraries and cheap books.
I do know how good it feels to have books of one's very own: J. B. Priestley ate so cheaply because he wanted to acquire a set of Everyman's Library books. I also realise how important and satisfying it is to earn what one has: books for which sacrifices have been made certainly are appreciated and valued.
However, public libraries and cheap editions also have their parts to play in the lives of people whose appetite for books far exceeds their financial resources. The various sources of reading material complement and supplement each other. Surely an avid reader with little money should and would use all available options.
If we really must have our own copy of a particular book, a cheap edition is better than nothing. The public library is the best place to get fiction books that may be read just once or twice and non-fiction books that may be referred to only occasionally: not all books are old friends that we renew our acquaintance with again and again and can't bear to be parted from!
Stella Gibbons's young writer Amy Lee spent her birthday shilling on picture postcards of Kenwood House so had to walk much of the way home after having had nothing to eat all day.
The Dutch scholar, philosopher and theologian Erasmus, who was born in 1466, shows his priorities here and speaks for everyone for whom food for the mind is at least as important as food for the body:
“When I have a little money, I buy books; and if I have any left, I buy food and clothes.”
