Apolitically Incorrect » Books Do Not Need Baths

Why do adventures have to be so stinking inconvenient? Sure, they’re thrilling and certainly allow for interesting stories, but … by their nature, they’re disruptive and they make things difficult. While difficult things can be fun, more often they’re not. In fact, most of the time, difficult is short hand for hard, tedious, unpleasant and (if it involves anything outside) cold. For this reason, I was slightly annoyed to find that I (and a few of my prized possessions) spend most of Friday having an adventure.

So, now that the stage is set, I suppose that I should proceed to talk about my adventure in the manner of any story (good or otherwise): from the beginning. Also like any story, I should probably include enough of the background that anyone arriving late will understand the context. Thus, what follows is from the beginning with context.

Quite recently, I’ve been involved in a few creative pursuits; though a more accurate description might be response to the creativity of others. Either way, I have been thoroughly non-productive and passionately ignoring deadlines. I even produced a bit of art. And that’s where most of this trouble starts, actually. Not because the art is any good, but because I chose to do it during the middle of the winter and it’s been raining.

After I finished the art, I responsibly took it outside and sprayed it with the matte finish liquid that prevents it from smearing, smudging, or otherwise changing. And somehow, the sketchbook irresponsibly decided to remain outside. In a rainstorm. For two days. My standing theory is that it decided to have a bath, it has, after all been more than 15 years …

Suffice it to say, the sketchbook has now properly seen to its hygiene. It managed to stay in the water much longer than it should have and got more than sufficiently wrinkled. (While wrinkled conjures the right image, inundated better conveys the true reality. In fact, "completely and utterly buggered" is probably the most accurate description of all.)

Just to be clear, the book is a right and utter mess. Besides being wet, the paints and pencils have decided to bleed. The inks have run and the pages are warped and discolored. Thus starts my adventure in book drying. Like any other proper adventure, it has phases. If the first is “shudder at the damage,” while the next is “figure out what to do about it.”

It turns out, drying a book out in the proper manner is a true art. When done right, it a nuanced process that restores the book to its proper and beautiful state. Thus, while the steps are simple, the unpleasantness lies in the details. The process goes like hits: first, keep things dry. Barring that, dry it out.

Sure ... it sounds easy enough! Let me assure you that it’s not. When “done right",” there are no hairdryers, warm air streams or ovens. (Ovens are definitely out of the question.) Drying a book in the “right way” mostly involves lots of paper towels, blotting and time. Oh, and worry. We can’t forget the worry. It’s the the gut clenching type that makes you wonder if you’re completely end up buggered.

After the blotting and time bit come the next step. More paper towels (placed every twenty pages or so) and additional helpings of time. At this point, it’s also fair to use a fan. If you use a fan, just be sure to rotate the book every hour or so. Not rotating results in irreparable warping.

The penultimate stage of book drying is by far the most fascinating, it involves putting lots of weight on top of your (now almost dry) book… and more waiting. I still haven’t quite finished this leg of my adventure, but I will be sure to let you know if any there are additional details of note.

And the final leg, of course, involves money. As the binding is now completely blighted, I need it rebound. And since the pages are a bit … more creatively shaped, it must be bound by hand. Of course, the damn thing is a bloody priceless family and personal treasure and binding by hand is one of those lost artisan pursuits (which is just a nice way of saying expensive).

Most assuredely, there is one sure and steady lesson from this adventure:

Books Do Not Need Baths!

2 Responses to “Books Do Not Need Baths”

Ash wrote a comment on January 30, 2009

I think this ordeal has made your journal a bit more special than a normal journal would be. Not only does it have some fine drawings inside, it also has a bit of history to its name as well.

Rob Oakes wrote a comment on February 1, 2009

@Ash. I hope so. It took nearly a week, but the book is finally dry. I took it to a friend who works in book perservation at the University for an official opinion. He said that I might have damage to the fibers, but there wasn't any mildew or book mold. This made me happy.

He also said that I will need to restore some of the artwork, as the water will mix with the ink and paint pigments and cause them to degrade at a more rapid rate. However, as long as it stays dry and out of the sun, it should last for a good long time.

In the same trip, I tried to take it to the book bindery on Friday for its new clothes. But they were closed.

I did meet a very fat, and not so pleasant clerk from the matress store next door. He told me that if I didn't move my car, he would do unpleasant things to me with a pool stick (the kind used to play pool, not the type used to clean pools). As I have spent a great deal of time in the past few years learning to both hit others and not get hit in return (going to martially arts places and engaging in discipline is a good thing, learning to hit others is just a bonus), I felt that such an exchange would go quite badly for him and told him so. It is also fortunate that the bindery was closed and I was already moving my car. I got to be both snarky and chicken shit all at once. Such opportunities do not happen often.

I think there may be story to write in all this, once the book gets its new clothes and there are pictures to post.