Let me set the scene. The power has been out for months and months. There is no electricity. There is no piped water, the water pumps need electricity. You can't remember the last time the telephone worked. The national telephone network crashed a bit before the electrical grid went down. The days of denial are over; the power is not going to come back on tomorrow. It's time to leave what's left of your home. You can take what you can carry.
The narrator of Into the Forest finds herself in this situation. She decides that she can take along one book for each family member, that makes three books. She describes how difficult it is to choose a book for herself, just one book. But, in the end she does make an interesting choice:
I had almost decided to save nothing for myself, when a book still standing on the half-emptied shelf caught my eye. I had never read it, had never done more than glance through its thousand pages, but suddenly I knew it was the third book I would take. I lifted it down, traced its title with my finger: Index: A-Z.
I could not save all the stories, could not hope to preserve all the information---that was too vast, too disparate, perhaps even too dangerous. But I could take the encyclopedia's index, could try to keep that master list of all that had once been made or told or understood. Perhaps we could create new stories; perhaps we could discover a new knowledge that would sustain us. In the meantime, I would take the Index for memory's sake, so I could remember… the map of all we'd had to leave behind. (Hegland, Jean. Into the Forest. New York: Bantam Books, 1998, p. 239)
Intriguing, isn't it? What book would you take along? Perhaps I should ask what index would you take along? I did think about it, and quite frankly, if I were leaving civilization behind, I don't think I’d want any of the indexes that I have written to come along with me.
Since I started using a computer for indexing, I have saved most, if not all, of my MBK files (Macrex backup files) for each index. I have considered reading all of the MBK into one, big index and merging it all together. I may still do that someday. However, I would not take along a master index of all my indexes. Too frightening! The only index of mine that I still truly enjoy is the one for Catflexing (Jackson, Stephanie. Berkeley: Ten Speed Press, 1997); yes, the book is about aerobic exercise with and for your cat. That index still makes me laugh. And, if I had to take off for the woods, laughter might be in short reserve.
I could take along what I think is a beautiful index. That is the cumulative index to Volumes I and II of Julia Child's and Simone Beck's Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume Two (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1970). The index is beautiful to the eye; all references to Volume I are printed in red type. However, if I am going off to the woods I will probably be eating roots and berries. I won't need to be reminded of the nuances of elegant cooking.
It's too hard to choose an index to take along. As I skimmed my bookshelves I found it difficult to choose one book. Many might take along a Bible or other religious text for inspiration. Others might choose a book of poetry for the same reason. I could take along one of the tomes I never got around to reading. I will not embarrass myself by providing the list of options for this category.
Then there are those books I take pleasure in opening randomly. Lately, I have been quite enchanted with Thomas Pakenham's Meetings with Remarkable Trees (New York: Random House, 1997). Since my scenario has me heading into the forest, I'm not convinced this would be the best choice. The other book that seems to never be put away is Macrolichens of the Pacific Northwest (McCune, Bruce and Linda Geiser. Corvallis, OR: Oregon State University Press, 1997). Great pictures of lichens! But, again, I don't think this is THE title to take along.
I've now spent quite a bit of time looking at my bookcases, and yes, the stacks of books laying about, and those close at hand on tables. I thought I would end by saying that I really couldn't choose. But, there is one spine that caught my eye. When I told my friends in the early '90s that I had signed a contract with the University of Chicago Press to write a book about indexing, one friend gave me present. It was a book; a bound book with blank pages. That is the book I would take with me along with LOTS of pencils. Yes, if civilization is collapsing and I am going off to the woods, there will be a story to write. I would want the blank-paged book with me.