A book is essentially not a talking thing, but a written thing; and written, not with a view of mere communication, but of permanence. The book of talk is printed only because its author cannot speak to thousands o people at once; if he could, he would---the volume is mere multiplication of his voice. You cannot talk to your friend in India; if you could, you would; you write instead: that is mere conveyance of voice. But a book is written, not to multiply the voice merely, not to carry it merely, but to perpetuate it. The author has something to say which he perceives to be true and useful, or helpfully beautiful. So far as he knows, no one has yet said it; so far as he knows, no one else can say it. He is bound to say it, clearly and melodiously if he may; clearly at all events. In the sum of his life he finds this to be the thing, or group of things, manifest to him; ---this, the piece of true knowledge, or sight, which his share of sunshine and earth has permitted him to seize. He would fain set it down for ever; engrave it on rock, if he could; saying, "This is the best of me; for the rest, I ate, and drank, and slept, loved, and hated, like another; my life was as the vapour, and is not; but this I saw and knew: this, if anything is worth your memory." That is his "writing"; it is, in his small human way, and with whatever degree of true inspiration is in him, his inscription, or scripture. That is a "Book."" ( )

I couldn't decipher who wrote the short commentary in the back of the book entitled "The Personality of Ruskin", Arthur Quiller-Couch or Sybil Wragge probably, but they were right I think. Ruskin came across to me as an opinionated bigot who was very pleased with himself and whom I would not have liked at all. Yes, he wrote and lectured some 150 years ago and our social mores have changed considerably, but he made me uncomfortable. I like the physical book though. The Kings Treasuries of Literature series is delightfully designed and produced. ( )

For years I assumed this book, a gift from my Great-Aunt to my beloved Aunt, was just one of those books of beautiful thoughts. On closer inspection it is two lectures delivered by John Ruskin on the education of boys and girls respectively. It's easy to criticise from our 21st century perspective of course, but in his irritatingly didactic and patronising way ("her intellect is not for invention or creation, but for sweet ordering, arrangement and decision") he was advanced for his time "You bring up your girls as if they were meant for sideboard ornaments, and then complain of their frivolity. Give them the same advantages that you give their brothers". Still, some of his thoughts seem both horrifying and amusing now "You may chisel a boy into shape, as you would a rock, or hammer him into it... but you cannot hammer a girl into anything. She grows as a flower does". My favourite is his suggestion to "Let her loose in the library, I say, as you do a fawn in the field. It knows the bad weeds...". This didn't quite work in my own case, though a lot of my childhood was spent in libraries. I remember puzzling over various pornographic works among others. I guess my "steps of virgin liberty" were astray. So were those of Ruskin's wife who left him for another man. I guess she felt misunderstood.
Anyway, whatever the intended message for my Aunt in the gift of this pretty little book, I don't think she received it. The pages appear not to have been opened flat enough for reading until now.

hardback