The auditorium was filled with the sound of people murmuring about Mr. Phillips' "perfect" classification system. I had always known Mr. Phillips was nuts. But I had never, until now, realized exactly how nuts he was.
"The man is insane," I said, scarcely able to speak. "The man is literally in...sane!"
"I have to admit, I really don't get this," said Ivan Large, puzzling over the photocopied handout of the Greater Perfect System. "Am I crazy, or does this make absolutely no sense?"
"No!" I said, no doubt sounding slightly delirious. "You're not crazy!"
There were a few more presenters after Mr. Phillips, but I didn't pay much attention, as my mind was reeling from the unsettling realization that I had been the apprentice to a mad librarian for the last four months.
My classification system was the last one to be presented. When Ivan and I had discussed the contest earlier, he had casually mentioned that I would be required to present my idea before the conference. Sensing my alarm at the prospect of speaking in front of a large audience, he had willingly offered to present it for me, "because," he said, "I really believe in your idea and I think it needs to be heard." However, after the revelation of the true nature of the GPS (and of Mr. Phillips' mental state), I no longer cared so much. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because, after initially thinking of Mr. Phillips as a great genius, the realization that he was actually crazy made me feel more confidence in my own ideas. I hadn't even been completely serious when I thought up my system, and even now I wasn't sure that I meant it completely seriously, at least not for use as an actual library classification system (everything is shelved under "X"?... come on!). But I did feel that there was an important and valid idea behind it, and that beneath its absurdist and seemingly nihilistic surface, there was a deeply significant truth about human knowledge and its limitations, and that truth was what I, and Ivan, believed in.
I told Ivan I wanted to present the system myself, though I would still like for him to introduce me, an unknown non-librarian. "It would be my honor," he said.
We proceeded to the stage. I felt a little nervous but surprisingly calm. Ivan Large took the podium first. "Our final classification system was created by a good friend of mine, Curtis ----. Curtis does not have an MLS, but in my view that should not dissuade us from considering his ideas, for it is, in my opinion, the ideas themselves that we should consider, and not the official credentials of the person who has conceived those ideas. For credentials, though they may mean something in our world, are not in themselves what give thought and originality to a human mind. Curtis has much experience working in libraries and has been developing his own ideas about classification while being assigned to help develop another classification system, which for everyone's benefit shall remain unnamed. His idea may seem shocking at first--though I don't think it will appear as shocking as certain other systems that have been presented here today--but I ask you to look beyond the surface and see what it is that Curtis is really trying to express. I think that if you keep an open mind, you will agree with me that his system--let's call it more a theory or a philosophy of classification--embodies great insight into the very nature of what it is that your noble profession strives to do: namely, to attempt to comprehend and organize human knowledge. I will tell you offhand that this system--Curtis has dubbed it "System X"--is not meant to provide a practical framework for an actual library classification. It attempts to do something else, and that is to make us think about classification itself, indeed human knowledge itself, and the limits of both. Take it, if you will, as a bit of perspective. I've said enough. Now, to speak for himself, I present to you Curtis ----."
I had to admit that was the most comprehensible utterance I had ever heard from Ivan Large. I stood behind the podium and looked out at the hundreds of librarians who stared back at me, waiting. I'm sure that I didn't speak as eloquently as Ivan had, but I think I spoke well enough. I remained calm and presented my thoughts in a logical way. The exact words aren't important, and there would be little point in reproducing here ideas which I have already told you elsewhere in this blog. Suffice it to say that I presented my realization about the infinite complexity of the universe, and how classification is based on perceiving relationships among various entities, and that ultimately all classifications are incomplete. I assured them that this did not mean that there was no value to classifying things--that classifying was, in fact, a necessary and essential part of human life, both in and out of libraries. We have to have a system of understanding the world and what things are and how different things relate to each other. My point, I said, was simply that we realize that all such systems, devised as they are by human beings with incomplete knowledge, are bound to be themselves incomplete, and that this knowledge--about the limits of our knowledge--should keep us humble. I had come to the conclusion, I told them, that classification systems can serve either of two purposes (not mutually exclusive): they can be practical, or they can be works of art. (That was one point on which I had come to agree with Mr. Phillips, though his own work of art was evidently no more than the scribblings of a madman.)
"And so," I said, "I am here to present to you my work of art. As Ivan told you, it is not meant to be a practical system. It is simply an expression. At first glance, it may appear nihilistic, but I can assure you that it is not. Somewhat tragic, perhaps, but not nihilistic. But to me, more than anything else, it expresses the vastness and richness of the universe in which we live, that we can never completely know because we can never get to the bottom of it. Anyway, I won't explain it any further. Here it is."
There was a laptop at the podium for the presenters to use, and I typed something quickly before having it projected. The audience saw a blank white screen with one short line of text in the center:
EVERYTHING=X
The audience was silent. I couldn't tell what they were thinking. I didn't really have anything more to say about it, or at least I didn't want to say anything more about it (that is, I didn't want to overexplain it), so I thanked them and walked off the stage. The audience applauded, with something less than standing-ovation enthusiasm yet something more than mere politeness. It didn't matter, though, what the professionals thought, or if I won one of the top three prizes. I had presented my idea, and that was enough.
"That was absolutely brilliant!" said Ivan as I left the stage. "You really floored them!"
"Well, I don't know if I would say floored, exactly."
"Trust me, you floored them."
"If you say so."
Sometime later, they announced the winners. Third place went to something called the White-Edwards Characteristic Ontology. Second place went to the Automated Referential Metadata Schema (or ARMS). These were a couple of the ones that I hadn't paid much attention to when I was still in shock over the depth of Mr. Phillips' dementia. Was he honestly delusional enough to hope, at this moment, that he would win first prize? Yes, I nodded to myself, he probably was.
"And the winner of Class War III is..." said the presenter, opening the envelope and taking a moment to make sure he had read it right. "System X, by Curtis ----!"
I just sat there, stunned. "Go, go!" said Ivan, pushing me. I stood up, half-dazed, and walked up to the stage. The audience applauded, much more enthusiastically this time. I didn't notice, but I can be sure that Mr. Phillips was none too pleased.
So there you have it. I, the librarian's apprentice, won Class War III. Not that I had much in the way of formidable competition, least of all from my mentor and his "perfect" (perfectly demented, that is) classification system. Ivan, Monica, and I celebrated by going out for drinks that night. The next day we flew back to St. Louis. On Monday Mr. Phillips called me into his office and told me my apprenticeship was complete. I think this was his polite way of saying "you're fired" (not from my job as a shelver, but from my apprenticeship). That was fine with me. And so this blog must come to an end, since it is, after all, my blog about that apprenticeship. I have decided I'm going to go to library school and get my MLS. I've learned all I can learn from Mr. Phillips and at any rate if I want to work as a professional librarian for anyone other than him (which I most certainly do), I need the credential. But I have a feeling that the most important part of my education in librarianship will always be what I learned this summer while I was the apprentice to the great librarian Walter J. Phillips.
"The man is insane," I said, scarcely able to speak. "The man is literally in...sane!"
"I have to admit, I really don't get this," said Ivan Large, puzzling over the photocopied handout of the Greater Perfect System. "Am I crazy, or does this make absolutely no sense?"
"No!" I said, no doubt sounding slightly delirious. "You're not crazy!"
There were a few more presenters after Mr. Phillips, but I didn't pay much attention, as my mind was reeling from the unsettling realization that I had been the apprentice to a mad librarian for the last four months.
My classification system was the last one to be presented. When Ivan and I had discussed the contest earlier, he had casually mentioned that I would be required to present my idea before the conference. Sensing my alarm at the prospect of speaking in front of a large audience, he had willingly offered to present it for me, "because," he said, "I really believe in your idea and I think it needs to be heard." However, after the revelation of the true nature of the GPS (and of Mr. Phillips' mental state), I no longer cared so much. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because, after initially thinking of Mr. Phillips as a great genius, the realization that he was actually crazy made me feel more confidence in my own ideas. I hadn't even been completely serious when I thought up my system, and even now I wasn't sure that I meant it completely seriously, at least not for use as an actual library classification system (everything is shelved under "X"?... come on!). But I did feel that there was an important and valid idea behind it, and that beneath its absurdist and seemingly nihilistic surface, there was a deeply significant truth about human knowledge and its limitations, and that truth was what I, and Ivan, believed in.
I told Ivan I wanted to present the system myself, though I would still like for him to introduce me, an unknown non-librarian. "It would be my honor," he said.
We proceeded to the stage. I felt a little nervous but surprisingly calm. Ivan Large took the podium first. "Our final classification system was created by a good friend of mine, Curtis ----. Curtis does not have an MLS, but in my view that should not dissuade us from considering his ideas, for it is, in my opinion, the ideas themselves that we should consider, and not the official credentials of the person who has conceived those ideas. For credentials, though they may mean something in our world, are not in themselves what give thought and originality to a human mind. Curtis has much experience working in libraries and has been developing his own ideas about classification while being assigned to help develop another classification system, which for everyone's benefit shall remain unnamed. His idea may seem shocking at first--though I don't think it will appear as shocking as certain other systems that have been presented here today--but I ask you to look beyond the surface and see what it is that Curtis is really trying to express. I think that if you keep an open mind, you will agree with me that his system--let's call it more a theory or a philosophy of classification--embodies great insight into the very nature of what it is that your noble profession strives to do: namely, to attempt to comprehend and organize human knowledge. I will tell you offhand that this system--Curtis has dubbed it "System X"--is not meant to provide a practical framework for an actual library classification. It attempts to do something else, and that is to make us think about classification itself, indeed human knowledge itself, and the limits of both. Take it, if you will, as a bit of perspective. I've said enough. Now, to speak for himself, I present to you Curtis ----."
I had to admit that was the most comprehensible utterance I had ever heard from Ivan Large. I stood behind the podium and looked out at the hundreds of librarians who stared back at me, waiting. I'm sure that I didn't speak as eloquently as Ivan had, but I think I spoke well enough. I remained calm and presented my thoughts in a logical way. The exact words aren't important, and there would be little point in reproducing here ideas which I have already told you elsewhere in this blog. Suffice it to say that I presented my realization about the infinite complexity of the universe, and how classification is based on perceiving relationships among various entities, and that ultimately all classifications are incomplete. I assured them that this did not mean that there was no value to classifying things--that classifying was, in fact, a necessary and essential part of human life, both in and out of libraries. We have to have a system of understanding the world and what things are and how different things relate to each other. My point, I said, was simply that we realize that all such systems, devised as they are by human beings with incomplete knowledge, are bound to be themselves incomplete, and that this knowledge--about the limits of our knowledge--should keep us humble. I had come to the conclusion, I told them, that classification systems can serve either of two purposes (not mutually exclusive): they can be practical, or they can be works of art. (That was one point on which I had come to agree with Mr. Phillips, though his own work of art was evidently no more than the scribblings of a madman.)
"And so," I said, "I am here to present to you my work of art. As Ivan told you, it is not meant to be a practical system. It is simply an expression. At first glance, it may appear nihilistic, but I can assure you that it is not. Somewhat tragic, perhaps, but not nihilistic. But to me, more than anything else, it expresses the vastness and richness of the universe in which we live, that we can never completely know because we can never get to the bottom of it. Anyway, I won't explain it any further. Here it is."
There was a laptop at the podium for the presenters to use, and I typed something quickly before having it projected. The audience saw a blank white screen with one short line of text in the center:
EVERYTHING=X
The audience was silent. I couldn't tell what they were thinking. I didn't really have anything more to say about it, or at least I didn't want to say anything more about it (that is, I didn't want to overexplain it), so I thanked them and walked off the stage. The audience applauded, with something less than standing-ovation enthusiasm yet something more than mere politeness. It didn't matter, though, what the professionals thought, or if I won one of the top three prizes. I had presented my idea, and that was enough.
"That was absolutely brilliant!" said Ivan as I left the stage. "You really floored them!"
"Well, I don't know if I would say floored, exactly."
"Trust me, you floored them."
"If you say so."
Sometime later, they announced the winners. Third place went to something called the White-Edwards Characteristic Ontology. Second place went to the Automated Referential Metadata Schema (or ARMS). These were a couple of the ones that I hadn't paid much attention to when I was still in shock over the depth of Mr. Phillips' dementia. Was he honestly delusional enough to hope, at this moment, that he would win first prize? Yes, I nodded to myself, he probably was.
"And the winner of Class War III is..." said the presenter, opening the envelope and taking a moment to make sure he had read it right. "System X, by Curtis ----!"
I just sat there, stunned. "Go, go!" said Ivan, pushing me. I stood up, half-dazed, and walked up to the stage. The audience applauded, much more enthusiastically this time. I didn't notice, but I can be sure that Mr. Phillips was none too pleased.
So there you have it. I, the librarian's apprentice, won Class War III. Not that I had much in the way of formidable competition, least of all from my mentor and his "perfect" (perfectly demented, that is) classification system. Ivan, Monica, and I celebrated by going out for drinks that night. The next day we flew back to St. Louis. On Monday Mr. Phillips called me into his office and told me my apprenticeship was complete. I think this was his polite way of saying "you're fired" (not from my job as a shelver, but from my apprenticeship). That was fine with me. And so this blog must come to an end, since it is, after all, my blog about that apprenticeship. I have decided I'm going to go to library school and get my MLS. I've learned all I can learn from Mr. Phillips and at any rate if I want to work as a professional librarian for anyone other than him (which I most certainly do), I need the credential. But I have a feeling that the most important part of my education in librarianship will always be what I learned this summer while I was the apprentice to the great librarian Walter J. Phillips.
THE END
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1 comment:
Great story! You're a talented writer!
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