I discovered that I had become part of a community that had not forgotten me in my decades of latency, and that had confidently waited for me to return to the fold, in need of a book that had been kept safe for me. Multiply that by all the members a library network can have and you will get the only utopia that could ever work
The time machine exists and is kept at the Estense Library in Modenawhere I went a few days ago because I urgently needed to compare the accuracy of some quotations from Rabelais to the very noble Einaudi edition of Gargantua and Pantagruele (I Millenni series, 880 pp., €85). Knowing the process of university libraries – in my life I have had to sign more forms to consult a volume at the University of Pavia than to buy a house – I showed up armed with patience and every possible document, from the identity card to the health card, from the public transport season ticket to the Cuore Rossonero card, so that the recognition operations were unambiguous. To my great surprise, and almost fainting, the clerk at the counter instead notified me that there was no need for any identification, as I was already included in their database: because about twenty or maybe a million years ago I lived there and I was registered in the municipal library system, happily taking advantage of the San Carlo Library for my philosophical readings and the pleasant Delfini Library for my novel ones. Discreetly she then asked me if my profession was still that of a student; while I, in delight, I was thinking about how this episode demonstrated not only the existence of the time machine, but also the realization of the much-vaunted republic of letters. With the mere desire to read some book eons ago, in fact, I discovered that I had become part of a community that had not forgotten me in my decades of latency, and who confidently waited for me to return to the fold, in need of a book that had been kept safe for me. Multiply it by all the members that a library network can have, by all the books that peacefully await the return of potential readers, and you will obtain not only a Borgesian plot, but also the only utopia that could ever work. This way you will also understand the joy of the octogenarian who, the next day, I saw him borrowing a Tex comic book from the Salaborsa Library in the middle of Bologna: it wasn’t enough for him to be happy with the comic, he was also happy with not being alone.
The time machine exists and is kept at the Estense Library in Modenawhere I went a few days ago because I urgently needed to compare the accuracy of some quotations from Rabelais to the very noble Einaudi edition of Gargantua and Pantagruele (I Millenni series, 880 pp., €85). Knowing the process of university libraries – in my life I have had to sign more forms to consult a volume at the University of Pavia than to buy a house – I showed up armed with patience and every possible document, from the identity card to the health card, from the public transport season ticket to the Cuore Rossonero card, so that the recognition operations were unambiguous. To my great surprise, and almost fainting, the clerk at the counter instead notified me that there was no need for any identification, as I was already included in their database: because about twenty or maybe a million years ago I lived there and I was registered in the municipal library system, happily taking advantage of the San Carlo Library for my philosophical readings and the pleasant Delfini Library for my novel ones. Discreetly she then asked me if my profession was still that of a student; while I, in delight, I was thinking about how this episode demonstrated not only the existence of the time machine, but also the realization of the much-vaunted republic of letters. With the mere desire to read some book eons ago, in fact, I discovered that I had become part of a community that had not forgotten me in my decades of latencyand who confidently waited for me to return to the fold, in need of a book that had been kept for me. Multiply it by all the members that a library network can have, by all the books that peacefully await the return of potential readers, and you will obtain not only a Borgesian plot, but also the only utopia that could ever work. You will also understand the joy of the octogenarian who, the next day, I saw borrowing a Tex comic from the Salaborsa Library in the middle of Bologna: it wasn’t enough for him to be happy about the comic, he was also happy about not being alone.
