Book Barren

Before a trip, I usually find myself downstairs in our library, looking at 1,200-odd books and trying to figure out how much reading time I’ll have, what mood I’ll be in during the trip, how much weight I’m willing to carry in my bag, and what book will make me look unapproachably smart in the terminal and on the plane. This time around, I was too harried to think straight, and so, last week in Milan, I got stuck without a book.

This almost never happens to me. I knew there would be plenty of time to read on this trip, but I foolishly brought along only a brief (350 pages) novel I was halfway through (Spook Country) and a 110-page play (Rock n Roll), both of which I wrapped up by the second day of the trip. It was time to employ The Eco Strategy.

Unfortunately, the first two bookstores I checked out had no English-language section. Since I was on conference-schedule from then on, there was no time to look up and visit a specialty store (Amy sez there was one over by Castello Sforzesco).

I stopped in at one near our hotel and discovered a very small Inglese shelf. The books were mostly UK Penguin editions, and the most contemporary writer on the shelf was Beckett. So I found myself studying a collection of classics to figure out what the heck could occupy me for the rest of the trip and the 8-hour flight home.

I considered picking up Nostromo, but thought, “That book killed David Lean; there’s no way I’m going to make it.”

Trollope? I wouldn’t know where to start.

Bleak House? My cheap-ass stereotype kicked in, as I picked up a new copy a year or so ago, in the hopes of re-reading it.

A Room of One’s Own? Tried it on three different occasions and never got into it. (Tried reading Mrs. Dalloway twice: same result.)

F. Scott Fitzgerald? I’d be back in the same bookless boat a day or so later.

Then it hit me: Middlemarch! Sure, I had a copy at home, but it was mass-market paperback, and this edition was larger and more readable (I’m getting old, and mass-market typesetting is beyond my eyesight).

I started Middlemarch once back in college, but got derailed due to some piddling matter like coursework. But now it would be the only book in my possession! I’d be sure to get so far into it that I wouldn’t just bail partway through! Plus, it would make me look smart and out of step with the times! The back-cover blurb was from Henry James, fergoshsakes!

From the first chapter, as George Eliot relates the marriage prospects and religious tendencies of Dorothea Brooke, I got to thinking about the nature of sprawling novels like this one. Over its 800 pages, the book attempts to canvas the interweaving lives and classes of a town in 1832 England. I wondered how contemporary readers — outside of academia, that is — would devote themselves to this sort of project. Do people have the patience to read a book like this one? I find it charming in parts, and possessed of enough tension and engaging characters to outweigh the archaicness of some of the language.

But I also find myself facing a variant on the suspension-of-disbelief: that is, I feel as if I have to slow down, to reframe my perceptions to an era in which communications were slower and religious and ideological debates were of a different stripe. That’s not to say that it’s some sorta relic. Dorothea’s zealotry, Casaubon’s arm’s-length distance from the world, Fred’s slacker college-kid are all vivid characters and could easily transpose into the present. Still, a novel like this requires a different way of thinking than that to which I’ve grown accustomed in these past hyperaccelerated years.

Finishing Book One (about one-eighth of the novel) on the flight home, I felt confident that I could stick with this novel and its pace, that I can slow down from this frenetic pace.

Then I thought, “In eight hours, I’ve probably traveled more miles than George Eliot did in her entire life.”

Back!

We made it home yesterday! Wacky observations will follow, along with a pair of huge photosets on Flickr!

Meanwhile, we need to unpack, get food, and debate whether to spend $24.95 on the PPV of New Zealand v. France in the Rugby World Cup quarterfinals at noon (even though the All Blacks will have to wear their road gray unis).

(Update: the game’s at 3pm, not noon. And we’re buying in, so we can see some French guys get pasted by some big Maoris.)

(Update 2: Victory! France’s inaptly named Serge Bentsen just got knocked the f*** out around the 4:30 mark, trying to slow down an All Black rush! Vive Le Smush!)

(Update 3: All Black & Bleu! France beats NZ, 20-18!)

The Phantom Carrier

Monday morning, I headed over to the conference center to make sure our boxes of magazines had arrived. They hadn’t. Since the conference was set to begin on Tuesday, I thought it would be a good time to visit the show’s courier service to find out where our 34 boxes of magazines were.

I was told that half of them, the boxes we shipped directly from our office, were either at “the warehouse” or on their way to the show floor. But they couldn’t be delivered to our booth unless we paid the indeterminate handling fee.

The courier rep had no answer about the 17 boxes of September issues that the printer shipped directly to the show. Oh, he had information on the printer’s name, and the shipper, but the location of the boxes wasn’t so clear. “They may have been returned to customs,” I was told. “You probably should’ve used the official shipper for the conference and not a phantom carrier.”

“A phantom carrier? You mean, UPS is a phantom carrier?”

He gave me a wan smile. By this morning, the boxes from our office (sent via phantom carrier FedEx) had arrived, but the September issues hadn’t. I was livid and decided to put it straight to the rep: “Is there some amount of money that you need to help locate and deliver our boxes?”

Wan smile again: “No, I’m afraid it’s out of our hands.”

I was pissed, and returned to our booth. Over the course of the day, I discovered

  1. two other magazines — one U.S., one UK — also never received their shipments,
  2. an exhibitor from Germany learned that their package was damaged and had to be destroyed, but only learned this after they called to find out where their boxes were,
  3. an exhibitor from the U.S. never received a box because it had mints inside, and Customs was sending it back, and
  4. another U.S. exhibitor’s 10′ booth shipment (two boxes) showed up a day early to the conference, so it was sent back to customs and one of the boxes was re-routed to Lagos, Nigeria.

There are a bunch of ticked-off exhibitors, including one who arranged to have food service, only to discover that this didn’t include forks, knives, or napkins, for which there would be a surchage.

So, in general, we’re a surly lot. The locals are scamming away, the conference hall layout is insane, and the distance of the center from the city means that we have to travel by metro with Italians during rush hour.

No sleep ’til Milan

Someday, I’m gonna be able to sleep on a transatlantic flight. That didn’t happen on this trip, so here’s how the last day-plus went as we got from NJ to Milan:

Friday, 5:15pm – board plane for alleged 5:50pm departure; in fact, because of Friday evening air traffic and crappy NE corridor weather, the flight is delayed

Friday, 7:15pm – Saturday, 8:30pm – listen to all sorts of crazy music, finish Spook Country, read new issue of Reason, watch Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang (second time, just as entertaining as the first), watch the first episode of New York (second time, just as illuminating as the first), fail to sleep.

Saturday, 8:30am – land in Milan (6 hours ahead), where Amy & I go through the easiest passport control ever

8:35am-10am – get luggage, take cab ride from Malpensa airport to the city (one of my coworkers was on our flight), marvel over how much of the 45-minute trip resembles a drive down Rt. 46 back in NJ, check into hotel

10:15am-3:15pm – sleep, then wake up worrying that we’ve thrown off our sleep-patterns for the entire trip

3:15pm-8pm – clean up, meander down to Duomo, get overpriced dinner, keep meandering, try to figure out why orthodox Jews are out before sunset, take lots of pix

8pm-9:45pm – internet, TV (including Scotland vs. Italy Rugby World Cup match, made interesting by the fact that neither of us know anything about rugby), and a little reading

9:45pm – take some Nyquil, as we’re both still nagged by colds

Sunday, 9am – wake up after eleven hours of sleep, stop worrying about sleep-patterns for trip

It’s rainy and cool, but I’m sure we’ll do plenty more meandering today.