Books

Looking at all the bookshelves appearing in people’s webcams reminded me of something I wrote some years ago that was going to form part of a larger collection called ‘HTML and all that’, which is unlikely to be brought to completion for the simple reason that it was rooted in the time I spent writing computer software and is now somewhat dated. This chapter is about building a technical library. I was thinking of modifying it with the intention of giving it wider appeal but, life being too short, I decided to leave it as it is. 

So you have to buy some books. Notice I say 'buy', by the way, and not 'read' or 'borrow', for  this is an important point - you  must own them. In fact I can safely say without exaggeration that owning the book - or more precisely - taking possession of its content is the very essence of what we're talking about here. Bringing the book home, taking it out of its little bag and making a special space for it on your shelf - this is what it’s all about. Now (already), to all intents and purposes, you have appropriated the knowledge it contains. Think of it, if you like, as a sort of long-term storage. Your own memory, the bit you carry round with you inside your head, is a precious resource and should not be treated as a mere shopping bag in which to lug around all sorts of arbitrary information. No the proper place for that kind of thing is on your bookshelf, or on the disk of your computer, both of which can be thought of as extensions of your own intellect, holding information ready to be loaded up the moment you require it.

But I am running ahead of myself; before you can buy the book you must select it from amongst all the others in the shop. How do you go about doing that? In this piece I will give you a few guidelines which, if followed, will guarantee satisfaction.

So there you are, in the bookshop confronting an enormous set of shelves on which is arrayed the most magnificent collection of books. Let me acknowledge right away that at this point it is not unusual to suffer a kind of dreadful premonition in which you see the selfsame books stuffed, dog-eared and slightly mildewed, in cardboard boxes outside some depressing second-hand bookshop, tagged with a handwritten label announcing '15p each - 5 for 50p' Should this happen - and it is inevitable from time to time - there is nothing else for it but to leave the shop immediately. Go and do something else; this isn't the right time.

But today the books are looking pristine and inviting. Where do you begin?

Well, you have to narrow down the choice and this should be done in the most efficient way possible - that is with your hands in your pockets. The first selection criterion is a simple one - thickness. You are looking for books that are between 1 and 2 inches thick. Less than that and, I guarantee, it's going to be heavy going. It's difficult to explain - but there's a certain quality of meanness about a thin book. You can be sure the author considers himself very clever and is somehow justified in receiving a small fortune for the privilege of parting with a few pages of incomprehensible gobbledegook. The only exception to this rule applies to those cases where the title alone is so enigmatic and impressive that it might be worth acquiring the book for it's spine alone. Tastes vary but something along the lines of In Defence of Failure or Cloud Geometry would be strong candidates for my own shelves.

The very opposite can be said of thick books. Though it is a somewhat arbitrary threshold, anything over 2 in thick has to be considered distinctly suspect. There's an increasing tendency in this direction with books of 4-5 inches thick regularly on offer.

Who are these authors who can say so much on a subject that only a month ago was completely outside the sphere of human knowledge? The suspicion is that these books are not so much written as generated. For some reason only known to the publishers they are invariably red and have titles that are either boastful: The Guru's Guide to Goo or simply enigmatic: FffD Secrets. If you were to heave one of these tomes down from the shelf - and be warned, this can be dangerous - you will be presented with a photograph of the author while, at the same time, your fingers unconsciously trace the outlines of a CD glued into the back cover. In case 900 pages is not enough, you are offered a 600 Megabyte memory dump of the author's own personal computer.

Only now, having narrowed down the field somewhat, should you give serious attention to titles. Titles are important. When you are interviewed on the Horizon programme in a few years time you will be filmed against  the backdrop of your bookshelf and, however clever you sound, the impression is going to be seriously compromised if titles such as The Beginners Guide to Basic or First Tottering Steps in Computer Programming  are clearly visible over your shoulder. Avoid these books like the plague. They serve no purpose whatsoever. As long as they remain unread they will only serve as a source of anxiety, causing you to wake up in a cold sweat the night before you are due to address an international conference on Image Recognition Architectures with the unshakeable conviction that there was something in Fun Pictures on your PC in 3 days that you completely overlooked. If you do choose to read them (and as we shall see later, this should be considered a strategy of last resort) then you will want to heave them out of the house as soon as possible.

So you have eliminated about half the books on the shelves without touching any of them  and now you're left with books between 1 and 2 inches thick with good, dependable titles - like Comprehensive C++, A Lisp Primer and so on. Even so there are still an awful lot to choose from and, there's nothing else for it, this is where you're going to have to reach up and handle them.

First thing to look for is the front cover. It’s difficult to state hard and fast rules here but a few simple guidelines can be stated.

Animals are good. If the book has an animal on the cover it is definitely worth looking at more closely. So keep that book with the picture of the amphibian on the cover for further consideration. Another good indicator is the cover illustration that looks like it might have been painted by the author - you know the kind of thing: a wizard or suchlike, floating awkwardly against a background depicting badly painted castle walls with maybe a medieval maiden in a wimple. Is that the right word? You know, one of those conical hats with a bit of gauze draped from it. The whole composition is enough to make you feel sick of course, but let's try to understand this. The author, being some arch-nerd, has thought it a really Great Idea to provide his own cover illustration and the publishers (shrewdly) have the insight to appreciate that Like Attracts Like (or some other such principle) and, ignoring the protestations of the art department, have gone along with it. The guy must have something about him to be worth flattering in this way and the publishers have no doubt calculated that the nerd-market alone is going to be sufficient to bring in a healthy return. No - put aside your understandable distaste and keep the book on one side for further consideration.

The cover illustrations to reject are easily recognisable. Anything that looks vaguely technical - flow charts, circuit diagrams and the like - these go straight in the reject bin. There's no safer indication than this that the book has been commissioned by serious business people. It is going to be boring. No, worse - it's going to be deeply depressing. Don't take my word for it though. Go on, open it up, turn to the Preface or Introduction or whatever it is that immediately follows the horribly long and turgid Acknowledgements. Read the first sentence. It starts: "In today's dynamic business environment … "  doesn’t it? Need I say more?

To go any further, you're going to have to open the book and look inside but don't despair - a glance at the dedication is sufficient to eliminate a good 50% of the volumes remaining. What you're looking for is something distinctly quirky like:

To Annette for feeding the marmosets

A dedication of this sort should be readily distinguishable from the more pathetic:

To my wife for her patient and selfless support.

In the first case, we're talking about someone who is clearly deeply in love with the author. Even though Annette is clearly somewhat afraid of the small animals, doesn't like touching them, let alone changing their soiled bedding, she willingly does it simply to be occupying the same space as her brilliant partner, who spends every evening hammering out his life's work on the PC.

The second dedication, on the other hand, speaks of an abandoned and resentful woman whose selfless support consists of nothing more than a willingness to tolerate, endless lonely evenings patiently explaining to the children how their father is very busy earning the money to pay for their riding lessons. See the difference? You don't want to spend good money on a book written by someone so uncaring.

So now, finally, we come to the part where you must delve deeper. This doesn’t need to take as long as you might imagine. Raise the book to your nose and riffle through the pages. Does it smell right? Tastes differ but you’re looking for something like new-mown grass or the smell of rain on stone paving after a long dry spell.

If you follow the principles outlined above you will find yourself with a technical library that not only provides you with the comforting assurance that you have a vast body of knowledge at your fingertips but will also be the envy of others.

Books undoubtedly have a number of additional qualities that I might have touched upon. There are some individuals, for example, who are passionate about the contents of the book – specifically by the detailed way in which the words are grouped into sentences, paragraphs and chapters. This is something of a specialised topic which I do not propose to embark on here and is one that, in my own experience at least, I have not felt the need to trouble myself with.