Bookends.
Those heavy, sometimes ornamental, decorative pieces that you place on either side of a stack of books to keep them upright on the shelf.
In the modern world you might pick up a cheap, flimsy bookend that has a flap that tucks under one end of the row of books, using the weight of the books to keep the bookend in place. I’m not talking about these cheap ones.
I’m talking about bookends from a different era. When you would proudly display your treasured hard-bound books on your shelf; about a time when the book was as priceless as the content; when a book would be lovingly removed from the shelf to be read over and over, then carefully replaced back on the shelf to be guarded by faithful bookends until the next reader takes interest in the volume.
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I personally know a famous author. If I told you his name you’d recognize it. But the author’s identity is not important here. His collection of books is. After many years of writing he has created several best-sellers and several critically-acclaimed works, but these were not the works which were his personal favorites. Separate from all the successes are several volumes that he has written never to be published. They are sentimental pieces of special significance to the author alone. They look deep into the most precious aspects of life and meander aimlessly through love and passion and the things that stir the soul. It is a special collection. It lays on its side on the shelf. It needed bookends.
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Some time earlier the ACME Manufacturing Company, that ubiquitous producer of all goods, had endeavored to fill an order for 10,000 sets of bookends. They would be distributed to a specific large national retailer. There were hundreds of designs available in this order, some stamped, some carved, some cast; but each design had this in common — the bookends came in a matched set. If the left side were the Statue of Liberty, the right side was as well. If the left side were a teak elephant, so was the right side. If the left side were a chubby figurine, the right side would be its mirror-image.
ACME shipped this rather large order on October 15. The order reached the retailer’s distribution center and by the 30th they were on the shelf in all of the chain’s stores, ready for the Thanksgiving and Christmas shopping seasons.
Through the late fall and early winter a predictable number of the bookends were sold. Overall it was a successful retail project. And, as with all retail projects, the time for the bookends to take up valuable retail space came to an end. The retailer gathered up what was left and sold them in bulk to a secondary retailer, one specializing in carrying the remnants of the high-end merchandisers. Here, what was left of the collection met with a certain predictable success and what had been an order of 10,000 now was a collection of no more than 400 or 500 bookend sets.
But even a secondary merchandiser values shelf space and in time, the collection of the remaining 100 or so bookend sets was sold in bulk to a liquidator. Carelessly tossed into a bin at the liquidators, the remaining bookends became chipped, broken and separated. An enterprising individual purchased all that was left and took them to a large-city flea market where the individual kept a sales booth.
By this time what remained was no longer carefully packaged in sets, but were scattered loose. It would be up to the consumer to find the matching bookends. And of course, if a customer thought a particular bookend likeable, at this point in the retail chain there was no need to buy two, they could be sold singly.
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Flea markets are a grand hobby for some folks. Often they are attended by folks not so much needing to buy something as much as wanting to seek out a rare value or an unusual find. This particular Sunday, my author-friend and I strolled through the market. We were there to catch up on old times and it provided a relaxed environment for walking and talking.
Up and down the isles we went until we reached a booth where there was a table of miscellaneous bookends. My friend stopped. He was quiet a moment and I could see him studying the items.
He began speaking to no one in particular, as he was inclined to do in his eccentricity.
“Ah, my little friends, I can see some of you were quite expensive when you were first for sale. It looks to me as though you were made with great care and detail, and now look at you? Does no one love you?”
He picked up several and examined them. He came across a brass eagle, its wings spread in majestic form. With a little searching he found its mirror-image other-half. It was shiny and perfect, almost pretty. The first had some noticeable nicks and showed a little tarnish. Holding them up together he questioned me, “If you could only have one, which would you take?”
I looked at pair of bookends and pointed to the one in the more pristine condition, “That one, I guess?”
He answered, “But look, the one you didn’t choose has more character. Its imperfections tell of stories untold, of a more difficult route through life. Its strength and its beauty shine more thoroughly because of its rough and rugged appearance.
He set the perfect one down and tucked the other under his arm. He continued to look through the collection.
“Ah, look at this one,” his eyes glowed with delight.
He picked up an ivory bookend, exotic in its beauty, intricately carved and delicately beautiful; a carving of the goddess Venus. Searching, he found another ivory-carved bookend, a carving of Zeus. Though the two were not the same, they clearly were together as a set. He held the pair up for me to examine.
“You see the differences? This one is so delicate, and yet consider its strength and its beauty. The creator gave a great deal of attention to its detail and purpose.
He continued, “But it clearly doesn’t belong to its mate. See how disinterested he is in her. He has become self-absorbed and has not cared for the delicate beauty that he once claimed. His carving was not done with the same care and does not balance her.”
He set the ivory Zeus back on the table and tucked the ivory Venus under his arm with the eagle.
“I’ll take these two,” he told the vendor.
Naively I stated, “Those two don’t match.”
He smiled that knowing, kind, indulgent smile, the one he reserved for the less learned. Clearly, he knew something I didn’t.
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Later that day he arrived home. He carefully unwrapped the bookends and took them to the bookshelf in his most private writing area. There, he stood that special collection of writing he cherished so much and placed the bookends on either side.
“Bookends that were never intended to be together,” He spoke aloud, “But I disagree. From the moment you were created the two of you were intended to come together here, and now; to stand guard over my deepest passion. Disparate symbols of freedom, strength, courage, beauty, sensitivity, charm, wit, adventure, introspection and honor. One without the other is not enough.
“And I, the author, have decreed it so,” he spoke to the bookends, “Here you shall stay together forever, protectors of all that has poured from my heart, all that is truly dear and precious; presiding as sentinels over my heart and my passion. Two unlikely bookends, but perfectly matched.”
Bookends
Faithfully submitted,
Teddy Packer
