Drove T. home and looked at her books, huge numbers of them, all nicely arranged in clumps -- women's history, medieval history, philosophy, poetry, fiction, science unread. Confessed I wanted to do so in order to understand her mind more clearly (as far as I could.) I could never match the philosophy. Shelves of "unread" shown and explained with enormous disclaimers and apologies. I felt so happy as I recognized many old friends among the books and thought with interest of the dense clouds of other books related which branched off from the points of recognition I could find. & a bit awed at the scope & depth of feminist histories & knowledge & envious & determined also to get there. (In depth & volume & also, orderliness.) Then fiction -- extremely enticing. A whole wall of anthologies. I have more scribbled recommendations. Oh if only I could find and keep all the green virago paperbacks. (And all the women's press sf black and white ones.) And read them, of course. In the fiction especially I felt honored and full of love as if in a beautiful cathedral of minds. We talked about feeling comforted by their presence all around. & scared we wouldn't have time to read everything. & yet happy that there were always more wonderful books beyond imagining that someone would tell us about suddenly & to devour.One thing I love about this is the way it expresses a yearning for connection through reading with both a specific person ("to understand her mind more clearly") as well as with ideas and the authors of books. The way Badger trusts the ocean of knowledge as it's expressed in books -- the way someone might say that a certain brand of sneakers always feel comfortable, she seems to have a sense of trust and reliance upon ideas and knowledge itself.
I find this perspective uplifting and inspiring because I have a hard time seeing things this way. German society was highly educated, and knowledge was prized and respected, but look what happened in the 20th century.
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To comment on my own posting -- thinking of Germans made me remember how on "Star Trek" the Cardasians -- a cruel, martial society -- were totally into family and loved their children (as in the episode "Chain of Command, Part II," in which Picard is tortured by a Cardassian officer who shows sincere affection for his little girl who wanders into the room from time to time). I thought that was a particularly sophisticated (for TV) point to make: fascists are not inhuman monsters without the capacity to love.
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