The scent of a book

Digitized books are fine for research, says Richard W. Oram, but nothing replaces the sensory experience of the real thing--particularly when it comes to real books owned by famous people. Take T.E. Lawrence's copy of Ulysses, for example.

Lawrence's copy of Ulysses is remarkable for its smell. The book has been shown to many visitors and students over the years. When it is carefully removed from the shelf and ceremoniously divested of its acid-free box, which helps preserve the volume, even from several inches away you can smell a sweet, somewhat smoky aroma that suffuses every bit of paper and leather. Many people assume it must be the residue of pipe tobacco, perhaps the fruit-scented variety. The aroma is a spur to the imagination, summoning up romantic visions of Lawrence by his fireside, puffing reflectively on a meerschaum, immersed in the drama of Leopold Bloom.

The aroma made its way into the pages of Nicholas A. Basbanes's A Splendor of Letters: The Permanence of Books in an Impermanent World (HarperCollins, 2003), which looks at why libraries preserve the items they do. Basbanes noted that the Ransom Center has collected so many copies of Ulysses in part because of their associations. Not surprisingly, he focused on the singularly sensual Lawrence copy and the "tobacco" scent.

I've got to agree. Last year in London, I visited the new British Library's treasure room. I was there for hours and I could have spent days. And while I was prevented from smelling the treasures by a pane of glass, I can't even describe the thrill I felt being inches away from a memorandum written in Admiral Nelson's own hand or seeing a draft of the Messiah written by Handel. Had I been allowed to touch or sniff such things, I probably would have swooned. You just don't get the same experience when you view them on your computer.

Via Arts & Letters Daily.

UPDATE: From the Llamabutchers comes word that one of Admiral Nelson's one-armed undershirts is up for auction. Talk about your sensory experiences.