Hi folks! Still scanning the Jones field notes with little new to report, so I’m going to take a bit of a detour and talk about book gutters.
Because, sure.
Back when Jones was creating these notes, his writing would occasionally drift achingly close to the bound edge of the book page, or its gutter. Which was all well and good for Jones in 1915, back when he could open and close his notes willy-nilly without a care in the world about damaging them. But a hundred-plus years of aging have rendered the paper and binding brittle, and thus difficult to fully open. And so a number or letter carelessly left at the precipice of the gutter can easily be obscured from the otherwise eagle-like gaze of the book scanner.
Â
Which, fine. Given enough time, effort, and paperclips (don’t ask), a book can eventually be propped up and properly scanned.
But what if?
What if Jones became too careless, if he wrote too greedily toward the guttery abyss without moving on to the next line? And what if that particular book became too fragile to fully open and recover the wayward symbol, thwarting even our greatest library and archival technologies of the present (including paperclips)?
What if that letter or number was really important? Perhaps some researcher of the future will one day write her entire dissertation on Jones and his many field notes, and she will puzzle over this slightly obscured letter. Assuming it is a letter. Maybe it’s a number? She can’t be sure. She tries to enlarge the image, but to no avail, the screen mocking her with pixelated mystery. Perhaps she will contact Special Collections to see the field notes in person, as any tenacious researcher would, only to learn that the original was lost in the Great Silverfish Infestation of 2095 or whatever. For all perishes eventually, even field notes.
I forgot where I was going with this. Something about gutters? At any rate, that’s about all the time I have this week. See you next time, and stay out of the gutter!