Reference BackTalk: What Makes a Print Class Act
Mike Bemis, Washington County Library, Woodbury, MN -- Library Journal, 02/04/2009
Mark Twain once said, “Classics are books that everybody talks about but nobody bothers to read.” Reference classics do, in fact, get read, not cover to cover but certainly in passages by patrons, or more likely, librarians. It's not uncommon for standard texts to become shopworn from the constant handling they receive day in and day out. While hundreds of specialized encyclopedias are issued in print each year, only an exalted few reach the rarefied status of a gold standard—those enduring works universally recognized for their excellence that have stood the test of time (and even the advent of the Internet). What, then, specifically accounts for the longevity of, say, a classic like The Merck Manual, the first edition of which came out in 1899, or The Statesman’s Yearbook, which has been in publication for a whopping 145 years? Having made heavy use of reference books, I have some strong opinions about what it takes to put the “class” in classic reference.
The single most important criterion has to be inclusiveness. Anyone who is serious about getting the big picture on a particular topic will not be satisfied with some or even most of the information available; they want the whole enchilada. Sir George Grove realized this. The first edition of his Dictionary of Music and Musicians (1879–89) consisted of four volumes; the second edition had five, the fourth had six, and so on. This constant striving for exhaustive coverage has been well rewarded, as the title has long been considered the last word in its field. Even Sir George could not have predicted that his life’s work would one day become the 29-volume behemoth of its present incarnation, The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (pictured right). Taking up three feet of shelf space and weighing 164 pounds, it might make some people wonder how long this trend can continue. The answer is, as long as scholars and fact fanatics of every stripe demand this kind of attention to detail. It is precisely their loyalty to a specific title that allows publishers to keep cranking out bigger and better versions.
While the amount of material presented is important, it can’t be just an endless stream of conjecture and opinion; there has to be authority attached to it. A good example of a work that has this quality is the McGraw-Hill Encyclopedia of Science and Technology, which is consistently written in a no-nonsense style, in plain English. This latter point is a godsend when attempting to wrap one’s mind around such arcana as quantum mechanics or the biochemistry of proteins. The contributors are, for the most part, working scientists, engineers, and college professors, with more than a few Nobel laureates among their number. New editions have come out in roughly five-year intervals since 1960; the tenth was released in 2007. Often we hear the 
derisive expression, “This isn’t rocket science.” Hey, pal, this is rocket science, and you would be well advised to consult Volume 15!
Information is good; new information is better. Reference classics pack serious currency, although it is admittedly not always feasible or profitable for a multivolume set to come out anew each year. Truth be told, this is not a problem for some subjects, such as history. The facts of the past do not change. Questions regarding the Battle of Gettysburg, for example, could just as well be answered by the first edition of Scribner’s Dictionary of American History (1940), as by the third edition (2003).
Medicine is at the other end of the spectrum. One shudders at the “cures” listed in the brittle and yellowed pages of yesteryear’s clinical companion, which perhaps explains the observation of Frank Lloyd Wright that “doctors bury their mistakes but architects can only cover theirs with vines.” While not having the venerable vintage of The Merck Manual, Lange Medical Books’ Current Medical Diagnosis and Treatment (CMDT), now in its 48th edition, is about as up-to-date as is possible in print, appearing in the autumn of each year with the latest learnings, thus shortening the “bench to bedside” time span. On this point, I must tip my hat to the digital doomsayers, Chicken Littles that they are, the majority of whom constantly predict the death of print reference. Both Merck and CMDT have online versions, accessible for free by purchasers of either work.
Finally—and with all due respect to the advantages of online research—attention to the tactile pleasures of the book as object d’art can and does play a part in the overall scheme of a title’s lifespan. Consider, if you will, the following evidence in the case of Black’s Law Dictionary (was that a pun just now?). Feel the heft of the volume itself, compendious yet compact, the leatherlike feel of its silver-stamped binding, which gives it an appearance not unlike that of a nicely upholstered brick. Notice how the bright white paper provides excellent contrast for the crisply printed text so that the words practically jump off the page. See how the headwords appear in boldface type, a feature that makes them stand out like a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest. Hear the solid thump as the volume lands upon the table, as solid as our Founding Fathers, one of whom, John Adams, declared that ours is “a government of laws, and not of men.” This, I submit, is at least partially responsible for the fact that Black’s, originally published in 1891, is still with us in an eighth edition and very much in use by lawyer and layman alike, ipso facto, another reference classic (by golly, I think there may have been a pun in there).
Irrefutable fact: Mike Bemis previously sounded off in the Reference BackTalk "Stupid Reference Tricks." His reviews appear regularly in the Reference section of the print and web editions of LJ. Check his insightful yet ever so snarkysational take on The Encyclopedia of Libertarianism, a personal favorite of mine.—Heather McCormack
