Earlier this month at the Frankfurt Book Fair, the Nelson Mandela Foundation offered for sale the rights to a 100,000-word archive of notes, diaries and letters by Mandela.
Its name is taken from the Finnish word for "archive" (the Finnish names reflect Minagawa's affinity for that country's simple yet refined aesthetic), and it, too, is high on my Tokyo to-do list; I recently made my annual pilgrimage to both shops.
The author, David Thomas, uncovered it while editing a previously undisclosed million-word tape archive of interviews with the writer's family and close friends conducted in the 1950s and 1960s.
Maria LaCalle, who came to a Round Table lecture on Google wearing a jeweled nose stud and the kind of toned biceps that come from hoisting 40-pound boxes all day, still will not breathe a word about the archive she managed years ago for Rolling Stone magazine on the rock 'n' roll era.
Her job, to collect and archive words in a post-apocalyptic.
"Not many people have the first month of their relationship documented and archived word for word," she mused.
In 1988, one of his curators got word that the archives of Stuart Gilbert, who had been James Joyce's translator and friend, might be for sale.
Most libraries archive words, our better parts, but one library holds only water: Iceland's Library of Water offers twenty-four volumeacheach a melt, an archive of a separate glacier or its future state.
This article will be used as a point of focus to garner interest in the Riverina region to talk to local historical societies about the information beyond the written word in the archives and the vigilance needed in measurement of change where citizen scientists can contribute.
