The Order of Things
While out for a walk this lunchtime I made the mistake of walking past a book shop. Not one of these rubbish modern “book-sellers”; a proper, old fashioned book shop tucked away in a side street.
There's something about proper book shops. I don't know if it's the untidy shelves of books, the smell, or the slightly creepy yet knowedgable assistants. Today's assistant was not entirely dissimilar to the guy with the beard in Notting Hill – only a little thinner, and a little more introverted.
So. I find myself in the book shop, and I'm looking at hundreds of books that you don't see in the high street. “The right books” as Will Hunting might have put it. Books about faith, psychology, science, history, travel, and all manner of other subjects.
I found myself leafing through “The Order of Things” by Michel Foucault, and wondered how interesting a book it might be. I have been on something of a crusade in recent years to read some of the “classics”. So far this fascination has only stretched as far as fiction, but finding a good book shop reminded me that much of what we might term “classic” is non-fiction – the books by the great thinkers of their time.
While walking away from the shop (carry a paper bag filled with cleverness), I started wondering why I am slowly becoming fascinated with such things – why am I fascinated by the world – how things work – why things happen – why things are the way they are...
Is it the Apple effect? Probably not – over the years I've read all manner of books about the human mind, evolution, religion, game theory, and many other esoteric subjects. I've always been interested in “stuff”. Perhaps it's a detachment from the world in general. I have always been my own person – never one to take sides – always the devils advocate in arguments.
Who knows why we are interested in things? Who knows why some of us have enquiring minds? What purpose does filling my head with the opinions of (famous) others serve?
While setting out on this journey to read classic texts seems like a noble pursuit, a nagging thought at the back of my mind questions the futility of it all.