THANK YOU VETERANS, AND YOUR FAMILIES!
Remember footnotes? Those notes in tiny print under a black line
at the bottom of the page? What happened
to them? Where did they go? Did they get tired of hanging onto the black
line and slide off the page to be eaten by the dust bunnies under the bed?
Rainy Day reads a lot of nonfiction,
and she reads it for enjoyment as much as to learn, and because she reads
everything, she reads the footnotes.
When they were at the bottom of the
page, it was easy to glance down and see if the author added something worth
reading, or merely a reference bibliography.
A quick glance and it was either read, or ignored, and then back to the
rest of the story. Mere seconds
required. Nano seconds.
Footnotes now only exist when Rainy
Day (Mary Roach and John Man) type them.
And if Rainy Day writes them, she already knows what they say and she doesn’t
need to glance to the bottom of the page, except to proof.
Now, someone in his infinite wisdom –
probably someone who isn’t a ‘true reader’ – has changed the publishing of
books. Footnotes are passé. They are old fashioned. Nota
non grata. They ain’t used no
more. They have become the red headed
orphan. Why?
The best answer Rainy Day has found
is a slam to all who are not working in academia. Footnotes have migrated to endnotes for the
sole reason (so she's been told) because people found them irritating and in
the way, and no one but academes read them anyway, so why not put them in the
back, out of the way, allowing the text to flow more beautifully. Say what?
In an era when the mantra seems to be
‘time is money,' and more and more items are put on the market to tout the
saving of time – pocket computers, electronic dictionaries, wireless phones,
wireless computers (and wireless brains?) – all geared to save one time, books
have devolved into endnotes.
While it’s true Rainy Day may have
more time than money, she still has lots of books to read, quilts to make,
things to do, and people to see. She
must spend her time as wisely as she spends her money. Time, like money, is not to frivolously twitter away on
endeavors of questionable quality. Like
endnotes.
Now, instead of one bookmark, and
mere seconds to scan a footnote to determine whether it’s something to read or
not, Rainy Day must flip to the back of the book and find the endnotes. She now needs two bookmarks (She actually
read one book that required three bookmarks.
She admits, it was a textbook of sorts, so some silliness could be
expected). Every time Rainy Day comes to
one of the small, superscript numbers in the text, she must now stop reading,
disrupt the flow, hold her place, go to the back, scan until she finds the
matching number, and determine whether or not to read the note. Then she must go back to the book. This process no longer takes mere
seconds.
Admittedly, some authors are kind
enough to use endnotes as bibliography notes, with no text – a quick scan and
Rainy Day can tell she doesn't need to keep up the flipping and flapping of
pages. And sometimes, she can scan down
the notes and make a mental note that she doesn't need to check them until she
gets to number 347. But too often, there
is good stuff in the notes that she doesn't want to miss.
And chapter endnotes. Oy veh! Rainy Day hopes the person who came
up with notes at the end of the chapter spends eternity flipping through pages
trying to quickly find the end of the chapter.
Eternity is a long time. He may
get his just rewards. (Rainy Day hopes
he sits next to the person who invented white baby shoes, and spends his
eternity polishing them.)
Furthermore, Rainy Day doesn't
believe the argument that paper is saved any more than she believes that nonacademic
readers aren’t interested in footnotes.
Alright, perhaps had she learned to
enjoy reading while sitting in a chair, possibly at a table, endnotes might not
hold the dire amounts of frustration they currently do. Yes, Rainy Day learned to read sitting in a
chair at a desk, but for pure enjoyment, her favorite way to read a book is
stretched out on her back in bed. Or on
the sofa. Or maybe a hammock. And, at her age, she has earned the right to
read where she wants to. If it’s
technical, or job related, she reads at her desk. But Rainy Day doesn’t have a job any more. She's retired.
Footnotes. One of many things that quietly slipped into
the history box labeled “The good old days” of which Rainy Day is more and more
convinced does exist -- someplace.
And yes, she reads cereal boxes.