Reader Four

Reader Four or the Book Connection

With best regards to Nancy, Homerist

To talk across centuries

all you need is

an old book

with annotations.

This edition of Homer’s Odyssey

had notes by three readers,

distinguished by

the ink, the boldness of the strokes, and the handwriting.

Reader Two responded to One,

and Three to One and Two,

doubling or tripling the underlining,

adding a question mark,

commenting on comments,

offering new thoughts

or taking issue,

sometimes words spilling over

to the next page and the next.

The new owner of this book stared in awe,

Then turned the pages with carefully.

The print conveyed the Greek text of The Odyssey

as it was known in the days of Champollion.

Overlaid were the quill markings of Reader One

the fountain pen of Reader Two,

and the blue ballpoint pen of Three.

From their erudition and precision, they were all scholars.

They corrected typos in the printed text

and instances where the first in a series of editors

misconstrued the handwriting he was working from,

or scribes may have miscopied manuscripts.

Sometimes they suspected the first written version,

strayed from the intent of the bards,

who we call Homer,

who reshaped earlier tellings

and still older legends —

layer upon layer of narrative,

transgenerational dialogue,

giving rise to this printed text

and the handwritten reactions of three readers.

This book was a miracle of time travel,

spanning two thousand,

maybe three thousand years,

and requiring only ink to make it so.

In the handwriting of the commentators,

holograph on top of holograph,

it conveyed not just their words and emphasis,

but also their styles

and sometimes their emotion

at a moment of puzzlement

or in the joy of discovery,

finding unexpected meaning and consequence.

These readers were not just scholars.

They were teachers as well,

reviewing this text repeatedly

over the course their careers.

And Two and Three,

instead of marking the pages of newly printed editions,

chose to write beside

those who came before them,

who died before they were born,

whose views they sometimes revered

and sometimes differed with,

who were sometimes wordy

and sometimes left little space for further comment.

Reader Two wrote carefully, respecting the writings of One

and not wanting to spoil them.

Reader Three, with little room to work in,

was more concise,

no doubt in awe of this book as artifact, not just text,

made with quality paper,

before the invention of pulp

that in a single generation could crumble to dust.

Having found this gem in a secondhand shop in Cambridge,

the new owner thought he should donate it to a rare book library

that would recognize its worth and preserve it in its present state

for generations to come.

No.

He couldn’t.

He mustn’t.

Rather he should become Reader Four,

adding his strokes,

distinct and yet in harmony

with those who came before.

He chose a pen with green ink,

and when the ink ran out,

he used new ones with the same shade of green.

After a lifetime of teaching Homer,

in his will,

he left the book to a student

who, in turn, was teaching Homer.

He recommended his successor use purple ink.

Red would be too bold and self-assertive,

implying previous notes were flawed

and that this was the ultimate pedantic correction.

There was no absolute truth,

rather a dialogue.

He willed that it go on another generation,

knowing that it could not last forever,

because books too are mortal,

as are planets

and galaxies.