The classroom is very like the ones I taught in 15 years ago; the desks, in particular, have not changed. Each one comprises a wooden bench seat, a wide, single-slatted wooden back, and wooden lidded desk. A metal U-shaped support curves from the front of the desk on each side, down to form the front legs, backwards across the floor, and up to form the back legs and provide a place to attach the backrest. I wonder if the desk lids are nailed closed, as in every other school I know, the authorities having given up trying to keep the insides clean of half-eaten sandwiches, staples, and crib-notes. (I make a mental note to check.)
The class - the learners - are very different to most of those I've taught before: a small group who have chosen this extra, after-hours English Literature class. They take an interest, join in discussions, aren’t hesitant to offer ideas. And they don’t hesitate, either, to use their phones to look up anything I or they are unsure of. This includes the meanings and connotations of words.
In one session, "esoteric" (understood by a few people with specialised knowledge) comes up and I reach for the dictionary. It is in the cupboard behind me, and by the time I’ve got it out, someone is already offering a definition found online via their phone.
I hand someone else the thick, heavy book and insist we use it.
I don't think my choice is just based on "tradition". There is real merit in opening the actual book, rather than using a search engine. But what are the differences? Why does it matter?
Before even the act of turning pages or typing, there is the engagement of the other senses: the scent of the printed page (and dust!) versus no scent at all; the weight of the book (my Concise Oxford Dictionary is 1.58kg) and how it must be held or supported, versus the weight of the phone; the sound of rustling pages versus tapping (or no sound at all).
Then there is the act of turning the pages versus typing or tapping a word into a device. The eyes and hands work differently, requiring diverse skills. As you turn the page, eye and brain must coordinate: is this the word? Have I paged too far (scanning not just the head word, but others on the page, checking the alphabet)? In the digital version, you see only a pop-up list of instant, almost identical options. Some selection might be required: do I choose the Wikipedia definition, or might Britannica be more reliable? Whichever I choose, it will only give me one word, not two columns (four, if I glance at the opposite page) that show off the variety and flexibility of the language.
Opening my tome now to look up "flexibility," I open on fuchsia / fuliginous and realise I've always spelt "fuchsia" incorrectly and have no idea what "fuliginous" means ("sooty, dusky"). I page back to find fluvio / flysch (the spellchecker on the laptop doesn't recognise "fluvio") and finally fleshy / flinch: the page I need. I am distracted by some writing on the inner flap of the dictionary's cover, with an arrow pointing to some regular small gaps in the edge of the cover. They are teeth marks from a long-departed pet rat (his cage was on the shelf next to the book, at least until the gnawing incident.)
Back to "flexibility": first comes the verb "flex," then the noun; then the adjective "flexible," with "flexibility" (ability to change readily to meet new circumstances) as one of its derivatives.
Where an online search would have taken a few seconds, this has taken a minute or two, and been so much more enriching and enjoyable. It makes me want to stage a protest in support of the printed word, and dictionaries in particular:
Viva print dictionaries, viva! Long live print dictionaries, long live!
I hope you will join me.
