A few years ago, I was watching Inkheart with my sister and her kids. We had to stop the movie at one point to explain why it was such a bad thing to burn books. They’re just ink and paper and cardboard and glue, after all. It was hard to put the feeling of profound sadness I was feeling at seeing books burn. I told my niece and nephew that burning books was an attempt to destroy ideas. I didn’t tell them about the destruction of libraries in the past, like the burning of the National Library of Bosnia-Herzegovina in 1992. That burning was an attempt to destroy the history and heritage of a people.
|Mosul Public Library, March 2015|
The feeling of sickness is growing more and more, day after day, against these imperialist Muslims. Daesh wants people with no memory, with no history, with no culture, no past, no future. (Source)
That’s why people burn books. It’s not the books themselves; they’re trying to erase an idea that they abhor.
I’m not sentimental about books, in and of themselves. I get sentimental about what books represent, about the memories of reading books that transported me when I was a kid, of the amazing facts and perspectives I found between the covers (digital or otherwise) of a book. Still, scenes like the one above of the burning books of the Mosul Library make my heart break.
I will leave you with this image of Vedran Smailović playing the cello in the ruins of the Bosnian National Library. This haunting image speaks to me of the futility of book burning. The books themselves—the ink, the paper—may be gone, but the ideas and history can never be destroyed.