Breakfast
a Tiffany’s came out in the year I graduated from high school. My
parents were both proud high school graduates from large families where a 12-year
education was at a premium, yet achieved by both of my parents in the middle of
a depression.
But I was going off to college next, a dream of our
father’s—that we all got more education than he ever had. So I headed for the
unofficial high school graduation party, got drunk for the very first time that night, and
drove my Dad’s Caddy home—very slowly, very carefully. At the end of the
summer, I went off to a small liberal arts college, more to please my father
than me.
My favourite scene in Breakfast
is where the young author takes Holly to the library and shows her his name in
the card catalogue. I waited nearly half a lifetime for that experience for
myself, then they got rid of the card catalogue and everything turned
electronic.
 | ||
| The bookcase is behind me. |
My father bought the World Book Encyclopedia
for us as children. We would use it to write homework assignments for school.
Later, in my teens, he bought the Great
Books of the Western World as well. The two sets of volumes sat in a
low bookcase opposite the front doorway to our ranch house in the countryside. I
would lay of the floor in front of the bookcase, often flipping through
incomprehensible volumes by Homer or Thomas Aquinas, enjoying the smell of print
on paper, and playing with our French bulldog, Jackie. (In the photograph, left, I seem to be more interested in an LP record than the encyclopedias on the shelves.)
I liked the World Book
better because there were pictures and it spoke in plain English to this
unsophisticated country boy. I still prefer books with pictures to this day. Actually,
I included one in my manuscript for the Encyclopedia
of Communication Research Methods, but things got complicated along the way
about rights and then, finally, how apropos the photo was for the text, so it
was left out. I think an illustration should draw the reader into the text,
create the possibility of an encounter with it. Trick the left side of the
brain to engage with the right.
The previous edition of the 12-volume set of these
compendia ran about £2500 so I cannot see myself owning a full set of the Encyclopedia of Communication myself. Perhaps
the single volume Research Methods will
be available and more affordable on
its own. Thank god I forgot to have
children so I won’t suffer the guilt of not having the set to show them. I am
not even sure at this point if I would be able to convince my University’s
library to buy the whole set. I can imagine the scene, though, going to see it for
the first time myself, perhaps taking a friend, and fingering my 4,000-word
entry on “Performative Social Science” in its assigned volume, enjoying a sniff
or two of the paper, the ink, and the glue of it. An electronic version, to
which I will be privileged to have access is promised, but could never be the
same as a volume in my hands.
At this very same time, we are upon a (yet another?) retro
period in mode, fashion, lifestyle, cinema and even television series.
Suddenly, the disgust generated by Brutalist architecture has turned rather
strangely to a kind of warmth, even fondness for it in retrospect. “Mid-Century Modern”—everything
is popping up everywhere. Suddenly advised to be suspicious of electronic
recording, vinyl is once again hot, hot, hot. Even cassette tapes seem poised for a rebound. Get your
pencils and pens ready to tighten those tapes!
Perhaps it is time to think about “analogue” in publication
as well. Completely turned off by PowerPoint presentations ad nauseam, an undergrad class recently cheered in unison when I
introduced a lecture with, “Today, there will be no PowerPoints”. On another
occasion, opening a workshop, I passed around some materials printed on paper and
commented, “This is a piece of paper. There are words on it. You can hold them
in you hands. Enjoy the sensation.”
What if there were a sudden wistfulness and renewed respect
for the Dewey Decimal system, the card catalogue, and printed books with spines
and hard covers? Or perhaps at least electronic publications will come with an
accompanying scratch n sniff card, à la John Waters? Could all this be a
popular nostalgic trend?
Will Audrey Hepburn be making a trip to the library card catalogue with me after all?
Tiffany's salesman: Do they still really have prizes in
Cracker Jack boxes?
Paul Varjak: Oh yes.
Tiffany's salesman: That's nice to know... It gives one
a feeling of solidarity, almost of continuity with the past, that sort of
thing.
Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961) Truman Capote
(based on the novel by), George
Axelrod (screenplay)
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