Book Burning

I had a brilliant idea for The Big Read display- burn some books. What could be more provocative in a library? I naively thought I'd cull the donated books. My unease grew as I scanned the books. After all, I was entering the realm of Gods. Nothing I saw deserved burning but did it deserve saving? Who was I to judge?

How about this out of date book on Custer's Last Stand? But is history ever really out of date?
Perhaps this book on prayerful living. Narrow appeal, broad base of readers. Too inflammatory? The intention isn't to incite riots.
Ah, this one is a sure bet. It's mildewed and the spine is broken. It's a very old text on nutrition. Surely, the information is inaccurate. But what about it's value as a comparative text? It may be interesting to trace the evolution of nutrition.

Each title was weighed and measured. I was surprised by the complexity of the task.
I finally settled on a skiing book from the seventies (when they still strapped in to hiking boots) and a book explaining the 1997 version of Windows.

I girded my loins, hoisted my lighter, and lit the book up. Only the damn thing wouldn't light. It smoked and let off a noxious odor. It charred a bit around the edges and that was it. I'm sure it will give me cancer. It certainly gave me ulcers. Thanks, Ray Bradbury. You've opened my mind and ruined my body. I'm just not cut out for this dictator crap.

I'll leave you with a poem by the ever controversial William Blake.

The Tyger

TYGER, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies 5
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 10
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp 15
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee? 20

Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?