On Wandering Through the Pages
When I was a child our family had a short walnut bookcase in our narrow, ell-shaped hallway. The top shelf was filled with a brightly colored ChildCraft collection put out by World Book Encyclopedia. The bottom shelf held the more “adult” brown and black encyclopedia set. The bookcase, and its noble contents, arrived mysteriously. No brown packaging to herald an unpacking and no plaid clad encyclopedia salesman at our door. We were a lower middle-class neighborhood. I can’t imagine how my parents made the room in their budget, even on an installment plan, to make the purchase.
And yet, not only did they make room in their budget, but they made room in the small 1400 square foot home, tucking the collection into the only hallway of the house. Any of us, to leave our bedrooms, would necessarily need to walk by the collection of books. My parents did not make any proclamations to us. No requirements to read such and such volume, or to read X many pages each day.
It was a matter of time before anyone could find me, prostrate in the hallway, book spread out in front of me, blocking passage through the narrow hall. I spent hours paging through the green colored, “Stories and Fables”; or paging through the dark blue volume, full of things to “Make and Do” laying out my plans for the next opportune moment. I read poems, contemplated puzzles, and was fascinated by the relationship between Father Christmas/St. Nick/Santa Claus.
The “older” brown encyclopedias were worth a read, too. They didn’t have quite the power over me, but provided me with plenty of reading trails to follow. More interesting than the actual encyclopedia article was the small paragraph following the articles in question: “Related articles.” You could start out with a state report on Ohio, fly with the Wright Brothers to North Carolina, before finally witnessing in wonder the explosion of the Hindenburg, as portrayed in the accompanying black and white photographs.
I don’t have a set of encyclopedias in my own house. I tried a set of ChildCraft books but they didn’t have the same appeal to my own children as they did to me, and so I let them go for a song at a quaint little book fair where my friends and I bring books we no longer need and wind up leaving with twice as many books we likely don’t need.
Which is to say my bookshelves are packed full. We even have loosely “dedicated shelves” for various interests. Our history collection - both fiction and non-fiction - resides on a midsize shelf situated in a corner of our home’s “library.” In that same room, we have a science bookcase; which should not be confused with the shelf in another, more heavily windowed room, containing our nature guides. The top two shelves of the science case is dedicated to art. It also, rather conveniently, has space for colored pencils and paper, too. Two book cases are situated in our family room. They hold poetry, our favorite picture books, and plenty of middle grade classics - think Little House on the Prairie, Roald Dahl, the entire Anne of Green Gables series, and Little Britches.
Going back to the “library” we have a wall dedicated to the classics, both fiction and spiritual. On one overcrowded shelf, a book by Fr. Schall sits. It’s been read once, but is waiting to be read at least one more time. Another Sort of Learning is different from the encyclopedia in that it doesn’t limit itself to scientific query nor does it provide mere summary information.
Rather, Schall tries to help us understand why we might be “Still Perplexed Even in College;” helping us to understand what a few people might be questioning, “Why Read?”
From there he helps us to discover, through several essays, “Books We Will Never Be Assigned” [sic]. In this part of the book, he uncovers “The Supernatural Destiny of Man” and the eternal paradox, “Oddness and Sanity.”
Finally, Fr. Schall asks, “Have You Thought about It This Way?” In this section he expounds on "The Recovery of Permanent Things” and attempts to explain “What Is a Lecture?”
The essays, if you can believe it, aren’t necessarily the best part of this compendium of essays. Rather, at the end of each essay, the good Fr. Schall, places a list of books - 10 or 20, but sometimes more and sometimes less - for further reading. It is not unlike the “Related articles” blurb found at the end of my beloved WorldBook Encyclopedia entries. These are better, though, as they aren’t merely scientific articles to tantalize, but entire books to feed the mind and soul.
This book, Another Sort of Learning, isn’t new. It was first published in 1988, just 10 or so years after that encyclopedic treasure trove arrived at my childhood home. And yet, neither his essays, nor the lists books have expired. Unless you find such familiar names as C. S. Lewis, Flannery O’Connor, and Joseph Pieper to be irrelevant.
It’s always a delight when I happen upon a book in a list of Schall’s that I already own, even if it’s buried on a shelf still waiting to be read. It’s even more delightful if I have discovered I have already read one of his recommendations. It makes me hope that, at least in one part of my self education, I have taken a good and proper path. As it is, I am not seeking either a well worn path or a Road Less Traveled. It doesn’t make much difference to me the number of people traveling a particular way. I am bound to follow, a road relatively straight and narrow.
Predominately, I am hoping to make my way to the good and narrow gate at the end.