Fernando Báez

For as well-written and translated as this wonderful and important work is, and as well-organized and thoroughly researched as it is, this is an incredibly difficult book to read. Báez does not spare the sensitive book lover, although he is kind and concise in his writing style and division of subjects and time frames and geographies. It is very possible to read for five minutes and feel that something of worth has been learned, or a new way of thinking about humanity has been approached, show more if not gained. That is a singular accomplishment in and of itself.

But to read of fire, bombs, purges and the deliberate and systematic attempts by humans to eradicate the culture, history and access to learning and individual thought of other humans is in no way comfortable armchair browsing. This book is a challenge in the most indirect way: it does not challenge anyone outright. There is no manifesto, no call to abandon arms, nothing that will take strength from a foundational truth: library is above politics, above ethnic struggle, above religious difficulties. The buildings are subject, even the books are subject, but the matter that holds the library together is held by people, humans who do see that there is more than ego in humanity.

Somewhere in the midst of the carnage, I realized what I realized when I first burst into tears reading about the deliberate destruction of books and libraries: we keep building them. Monks and priests and then lay people and then unaffiliated people have persisted throughout the millennia writing and collecting and cataloging and storing the works that hold the words that the tell stories of us to each other.

It is in that indirectly expressed truth that Báez has hidden his challenge. It is part of what makes it possible to finish this book and to see it for the magnificent and necessary work that it is. I do not plan to be without it in my library for long, it is far too pertinent and timely and non-judgmental and thorough. The bibliography alone is a library that it would be a tremendous life to read. show less

The book was interesting, but it was a bit tiresome and depressing at times. You are looking at humanity's history pretty much by the many books (and scrolls and manuscripts) that have been lost or destroyed from natural disasters to man's intentional destruction. It is written in short sections, which makes it easy to read, but the prose is a little on the dry side (which is why I gave it two stars; it just did not draw me in). If you are interested in books, it is worth a look, but it is a show more slow read. show less

The cumulative impact of the author's catalog of book destruction has a numbing effect. Some describe the elimination of collections, and others all copies of a given title. The entries span the full span from the first accounts of lost manuscripts, to the recent obscene apathy shown by the United States during its invasion of Iraq.

As a work of scholarship, the details and stories are impressive. But the weight on the human spirit to see gathered in one place the malicious, thoughtless and show more unlucky losses in our human intellectual patrimony is crushing. show less

This is an incredible book. I think it suffers a little from translation--passages and phrases sometimes feel both lovely and awkward at the same time. But the primary purpose of the book, to give a sense of the extent, political/social context and the great loss that's accompanied book destruction since the beginning of writing is tremendous. The major flaw is that there is no mention of sub-Saharan Africa, which seems a major omission. Still, this is a book I'm planning on buying, since I show more went back to read certain pieces many times. show less