A 150-Year Slumber: What This Overdue Book Says About Us

The return of Antiquities of Athens to Kiama Library, 150 years overdue and stored behind a fireplace in a tea chest, has garnered international attention. On the surface, it’s a charming tale of lost books and forgotten fines – but scratch beneath the surface, and we find a nuanced reflection of our relationship with knowledge, power, and time.

John Simmons’ great-grandfather was an apprentice stonemason who worked on the Houses of Parliament, and his interest in architecture and building led him to borrow Antiquities of Athens. The book’s likely purpose was as a reference for his own projects. We often label individuals like Simmons as “culprits” or “borrowers,” implying malicious intent in not returning the book. However, this simplification overlooks the complexities of the past.

We judge past actions through contemporary lenses, viewing what was acceptable – or even admirable – in days gone by as flawed or irresponsible today. John Simmons’ use of the book, stored among family records and eventually forgotten, might seem careless to us now, but in its time, it was likely seen as a necessary tool for his craft.

The return of Antiquities of Athens highlights the transience of knowledge and power. The Kiama Library’s collection of 1872, with fewer than 1,000 books, seems modest compared to today’s digital behemoths. Yet, in that era, these volumes were precious commodities – markers of a community’s intellectual aspirations. The fine imposed for late returns was three pence per week, a sum that could have made a significant difference in people’s lives at the time.

The story of Antiquities of Athens raises questions about our current relationship with knowledge and history. We’re accustomed to instant access and infinite storage, thanks to digital media making physical books increasingly relics of the past. However, as we move further into the digital realm, we risk losing touch with our own history – not just in terms of tangible artifacts but also in the stories they tell about us.

The book’s return serves as a reminder that knowledge is not solely possessed by individuals or institutions; it’s an ongoing conversation between past and present. As we look to the future, let us remember that our understanding of ourselves and our place in time depends on engaging with this narrative – rather than dismissing it as a quaint relic of the past.

The library’s decision to add Antiquities of Athens to its special items collection might be seen as an act of preservation, but also one of erasure. The story of John Simmons and his great-grandfather is now tied to the book itself, frozen in time – rather than allowing it to continue influencing future generations through circulation.

This brings us back to the book’s return, not as a triumph of justice or a cautionary tale about overdue fines, but as an opportunity for self-reflection. What does it mean that we’ve lost sight of the value in our shared cultural heritage? As we rush towards a digital utopia, are we sacrificing the very things that once made us who we are – and what will be left behind when we finally look back?