Souvenirs

I spent yesterday at the British Library. Yes, the British Libary, in London. About two weeks ago, my husband called and asked if I would like to join him on a short trip that he had to make for work. In uncharacteristic style, I said yes,without considering the consequences, like childcare and my daughter's winter band concert and deadlines. Had I thought about those things, I definitely would not be here.

And I would not have seen Jane Austen's hand written manuscript of Persuasion, the pages on which Charlotte Bronte wrote the death of Bertha Mason, the madwoman in the attic. Or Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Within the manuscript were revisions suggested by her husband Percy Shelley. Beside the manuscript was a letter from Lord Byron describing it as "wonderful book considering it was written by a nineteen-year-old woman."

The previous day, I toured Windsor Castle, where I saw handwritten journals pages from Elizabeth I, a letter to Queen Victoria from Abraham Lincoln, and my personal favorite, the diary of 11-year-old Elizabeth II, opened to the page describing her parents' coronation as King and Queen of England. The young future queen describes the gentleman she didn't know who led them out of the cathedral to a room, where they had tea and cakes before.... at this point she reaches the end of the page, which I cannot turn as it is behind glass. The words are written in pencil, and for some reason, this strikes me as remarkable.

I have already purchased a pencil in the gift shop, my standard souvenir. It is red, with WINDSOR CASTLE written down the side and a tiny gold crown on top. I like pencils as souvenirs, for many reasons. One, I don't have to worry about size. It is easy to pack and inexpensive. But pencils are also usable, and as such, do not last forever.

And perhaps that is why I am intrigued by the young queen's diary. A pencil seems so small and unsophisticated, especially for a queen. At the library, the sketches in William Blake's notebook are done in pencil, and so Leonardo da Vinci's drawings studying the flight of birds, and Michaelango's notes about his work on the Sisteen Chapel ceiling. Even those writers whose manuscripts are written in ink are not precious with words. Percy crossed out and rewrote things in his wife's writing, as did Charlotte and Jane and so many others.

What I see in looking at these manuscripts is their humanity, of queens and presidents and artists. Somewhere along the way, these are people whom we have exalted, but there was a time where each of them was a person at a desk, trying to find the right words to tell a story.

This morning, when I sit down to copy lines of Anna Karenina, I feel a tiny bit closer to what I have been trying to find through this project. I am trying to find the magic that moves words from my head to the piece of paper in front of me. Like my decision to come to London, I must not overthink this, or I will lose the magic that can be created by taking up a pencil.

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