#16 - Encyclopedia Jones

Encyclopedia Jones

12/29/03

I am going to tell a lie:

"Contrary to popular misconceptions, only 4% of all rock musicians imbibe alcohol of any sort."*

Now kids, I want you to cite that reference in your next high school term paper, and you can cite this page as the source, and it will look very official.

This is, to me, the inherent fallacy of the phrase "Internet research." Visit a site called "Institute for the Study of Musical Inebriation", read the "figure" above, and it might sound plausible. ("These people study this stuff. They aren't just making it up.") The Bush Administration: excellent examples of Internet researchers---find the facts that support your assertion, disregard those that do not.

Now don't get me wrong, the Internet is crucial for many types of research, information that cannot be found in any reference book.** But the Internet is a tool, one of many tools available to a researcher. Yet as we ordain this digital emperor and its new clothes, we simultaneously (and with lessening subtlety) dismiss one of the previous monarchs of information: The Encyclopedia.

My introduction to the encyclopedia was the Funk & Wagnalls set that we had in our living room as a child. Many of you may be unfamiliar with Funk and Wagnalls---clearly a line of encyclopedia not named by the marketing department, and not a brand I have seen alongside World Book and Encyclopedia Britannica in the public library---but as a child, it had every factoid that I needed right through to the years when a visit to the library was a chance to espy the lovely, brainy girls in my class, making home research an obsolete activity. I vividly recall each of my 3 siblings using these at various times to complete book reports, research papers, and take-home quizzes.

But the most valuable use---and the most valuable memory for me---was when we were watching TV, a subject would come up that I didn't know about, and I'd ask my Dad to explain an item or an event.

"Let's look it up."

This was surely the beginning of my reference book affinity: To have a question, to walk over to the bookshelf, find the answer, and have a better understanding of the topic before the next TV commercial was over. Where was this river? How big is that desert? How many people live in that country? I am forever indebted to my Dad and the fine folks at Funk and Wagnalls for teaching me how to learn, how to satiate the thirst for knowledge, and most importantly, to recognize how good that thirst feels.

Ironically, my Dad was one of the people who advised that I should never buy a set of encyclopedias. It's a common recommendation, most frequently from actual encyclopedia owners, and I am cognizant that these are voices that I should heed: After all, if everyone who owned a Yugo said, "Don't buy a Yugo", only a fool would say, "But I really like Yugos. Maybe I'll be the exception to the rule."

The common complaints?

1. They become outdated almost immediately
2. They cost a fortune

To the first, this is a fundamental misunderstanding of the encyclopedia's value. Like the Internet, it is a tool, and like a kitchen or a woodshop, you need a variety of tools to get the job done. Admittedly, the entry in a 1998 World Book for Cloning will be woefully out of date, and I suspect the entry for Pluto will not reflect recent discussions of its planetary status; but I'm fairly certain that since 1998, there have not been any significant changes in the size of the Gobi desert, the life of Oliver Wendell Holmes, or the invention of the steam locomotive. History does not change, only our interpretation of it does. If such a change has occurred, the older encyclopedias point out how we thought as a culture, and newer references demonstrate how we have learned.

As for the cost, that's a very valid point. The full set of Encyclopedia Britannica runs $975.00 (on sale).*** World Book runs as high as $1029.00, though a new set of 2002 volumes runs $459.00. (I wasn't able to find any Funk and Wagnalls new, only on eBay.) But there are options outside of the factory-direct purchase: There is a bookshop locally where I found a 2001 complete World Book set for $325.00. (I'm not saying where in case there are any similar freaks out there who have more financial flexibility than I do. Such nerds are unlikely, I admit, but it would be just my luck.) That's still a lot of money, but not when you imagine your child growing up thinking Pluto is a cartoon character and Gobi is a terrible mispronunciation of a Star Wars hero.

I think that one's sense of the value of encyclopedias depends on one's definition of knowledge. To many, a given bit of missing information is but a chink in one's armor, to be mended quickly so as not to appear vulnerable. But for others, the history of human knowledge is a luxurious pashmina into which we wrap ourselves, an ensemble worn for pleasure, not protection.

To this day, the coffee table in our living room supports a rather large, single-volume Cambridge encyclopedia and the Merriam-Webster College Dictionary. We refer to them often. I have scores of other references books, a collection that will continue to grow, but I am scheming on a weekly basis about how I can acquire one of those used World Book sets. These volumes appear in my day dreams, a wonderful scenario in which my daughter asks me about a particular something, and I say to her:

"Let's look it up."

* by amazing coincidence, I personally know 3.34% of those musicians.
** please refer to my previous column on urinals, researched entirely on the Internet.
*** prices found on the Internet, because I love the seeming irony.

©2003 wpreagan