Bumazhnink

The Russian has been rushing in.

Not long after I posted yesterday's ramblings about my desire for a pocket book, honorary Penquod crew member Stefan informed me that Tolstoy's original text has Anatole removing a 'bumazhnik' from his pocket. 'Bumazhnik', Stefan explained, literally means 'paper holder'. Perhaps, he continued, 'billfold' would be a suitable translation, and he added that Anthony Briggs had clearly avoided 'pocket book' in his recent translation of War and Peace because the term has distinctly feminine connotations not present in 'bumazhnik'.

I'm fascinated by how complicated this apparently trivial issue has become, and I have no doubt that Ink Quest's readers will feel the same. The OED definition and Stefan's email have made me realize that 'pocket book' has shades of meaning in the United States that it does not on this side of the Atlantic. As far as I know, the term doesn't have specifically feminine connotations in Britain, but that's probably because it's hardly used at all. I've never heard of a woman carrying a 'pocket book' here. A 'handbag' or a 'purse', yes, but the latter word doesn't mean here what it means in, say, Stefan's native New York, of course. (Are 'purse' and 'pocket book' interchangeable, though?)

But back to the real question: where am I going to find a 'bumazhnik', a 'paper holder'? Once again, Stefan's email has suggested a way forward. In addition to giving me information about Tolstoy's Russian, he happened to mention that he has a special wallet that he uses when travelling by air. 'It's one of my favorite possessions', he wrote, 'with pockets, marked in gold lettering, for Passport, Currency, Landing Card, and Baggage Checks.'

When I read these words, I experienced a moment of revelation. I own a Smythson travel wallet that fits this description to an elegant gold 'T'. It's an absurdly decadent object, but longtime readers of Ink Quest will hardly be surprised by its extravagance, I'm sure. As I have noted in previous posts, I don't really like travelling, but I do get excited whenever it's time to prepare my travel wallet for a journey. I've often considered using it for the 15-minute train ride to work, ink fact.

It seems to me that the object in question would make a wonderful 'bumazhnik', for its various compartments offer plenty of space for storing letters and other ink-covered sheets of paper. The only problem is that it could never fit in a pocket -- it's 15cm x 25cm -- so its future as a 'pocket book' is a little doubtful. Will I have to carry it around in my hand, as if it were a handbag or one of those marvellous little bags that men are permitted to carry in their hands certain parts of mainland Europe? (That trend has never caught on in Britain, sadly, and I believe that the practice is technically illegal in South Wales. Viewers of Seinfeld will be familiar, of course, with what happens to Jerry when he dares to step out onto the streets of New York sporting a 'European carry-all'.)



Or could my travel wallet become a pocket book? I've often felt that men's modern jackets and coats (cue the old Welsh question, 'Whose coat is that jacket?') aren't made with sufficient attention to pockets. I am, for instance, currently looking for a new summer jacket, and I've found myself putting countless offerings back on the rail because the pockets are too small or, worse still, non-existent. There is, inkidentally, a lovely moment in Roland Barthes' Incidents where he complains about a new windbreaker that he's purchased while in New York. '[I]t fits badly', he complains, 'the sleeves are too long and there is no inside pocket, so I feel crammed with objects, at risk of losing them -- the way I lost my cigar case from this same jacket; already I am not comfortable this Evening.' (Don't ask me why he chose to capitalize the final word.) Like my great hero, I am not comfortable in a jacket if it lacks suitable pockets, and the inside pockets, I feel, are the most important of all.

I have begun to think that I will never find a suitable jacket for the summer; I am, for this reason, already eagerly anticipating the death of the leaves and the onset of winter, when I can once again dress happily (I use the term loosely) in my long coat. But perhaps I can kill two birds with one sartorial stone. I have always dreamed of having my clothes tailor-made on Savile Row, so maybe I should take my first step into the world of bespoke luxury by having a summer jacket made to measure. When the tailor asks me what kind of pockets I would like inside the garment, I will say that I need something big enough to hold a 15cm x 25cm travel wallet. ('Oh, and while you're at it, could you make space for three fountain pens, a travelling inkwell, some blotting paper, a bag of French Roast coffee beans, a bottle of Floris No. 89, and six volumes of Proust?')

Yes, dear readers, my travel wallet will, thanks to an excessively large pocket, become a pocket book, and I will be able to carry my sheets of ink-filled paper close to my heart at all times. The bumazhnink is born.

Inks in use today: Waterman Blue-Black; Noodler's Nightshade.

PS (4 June, 10.30am): Following a recent promotion at work, I have just received an invitation to a celebratory reception with the Vice-Chancellor. While I have no intention of attending, I couldn't help being intrigued by the dress code for men signalled at the bottom of the invitation: lounge suit. I'm not quite sure what a lounge suit is -- a colleague who also received the invitation has proposed that I wear a smoking jacket and slippers -- but it sounds like something that would go rather well with a pocket book. Everything's coming together very nicely, I'd say.

PPS (4 June, 12.40pm): A little internet browsing has revealed that a lounge suit is not as exotic as I initially thought. According to several websites, 'lounge suit' is essentially a synonym for 'business suit', so I suppose that it's used on invitations to make it clear that evening wear is not required. As I wear a 'business suit' to work every day, I could clearly make a seamless transition from office to reception with the V-C. Or could I? I'm a little alarmed by what Dresscodeguide.com has to say about the conventions of the lounge suit. Under 'Accessories', it declares 'Avoid novelty items'. My entire life is novelty items -- pens, inks, luxury notebooks, and so on -- and I regularly have at least one of these items in the inner pocket of the jacket of my suit. Beyond that, I find the suggestion that a watch is optional rather scandalous: a fine watch is, like a fine pen, absolutely essential (de wrist-geur, perhaps). And then there's the commandment about fastening the top button of the shirt. I'm all for crisp elegance, but I feel positively strangled if I don't have my top button undone. (I can't, incidentally, wait to hear what honorary Penquod crew member and bow-tie-defender Stefan has to say about the declaration that bow ties are 'acceptable but are very unusual and should be avoided'.) Lounging is clearly not for me, although I have to say that the term 'lounge' has a certain aptness. I have just checked the OED, and the term is possibly derived from 'lungis', which the dictionary explains in the following manner:


[a. OF. longis:L. Longnus apocryphal name of the centurion who pierced our Lord with a spear, by popular etymology associated with L. longus long.]

a. A long, slim, awkward fellow; a lout. b. One who is long in doing anything; a laggard, a lingerer.

I may no longer be slim, but I am quite tall, and I have been told on many occasions that I am awkward. I hope that there is nothing loutish about me, but I do my best to be a laggard and linger behind the ways of the modern world. Maybe, then, 'lounge' suits.