The Morgan Library. I finally made it. Wow.
Gentle reader, I wasn't exaggerating: An original Paradise Lost manuscript! Letters from Hemingway, Cather, Ben Franklin, even! A copy of Frankenstein marked up in Mary Shelley's own hand! Original sketches and paintings of everyone's favorite French elephant! The only intact surviving Caxton edition of Le Morte D'Arthur! (OK, maybe only I care about this one).
Oh, and if Mary Shelley's handwriting doesn't qualify as art itself, there's plenty of official art, too -- right now, an impossibly rich collection of Rembrandt etchings, including some adorable young self-portraits that gave me a better feeling for the man than many of his great works have. Not to mention all the gorgeous medieval manuscripts, bejeweled Anglo-Saxon Bibles, and an impressively well-preserved 15th century Italian tarot deck.
As for the much-buzzed-about renovation itself -- I'm no architecture critic, so I'll only say it seems to suit its purposes, I guess. Lots of light and loftiness in the new Renzo Piano-designed section, though we noticed a few details (odd floorboards around the indoor trees, exposed mechanics around the glassy elevators) that detracted from its clean lines and looked all the more sloppy against such a spare and bright environment. A more architecturally-savvy visitor observed that there's a lot of big, empty space that eats up the middle of the floorplan, and I thought the amount of the original wing left open to the public seems kind of stingy. But it is airier and more comfortable than some NYC museum experiences, anyway.
And ... EXCLUSIVE! ... I overheard a security guard tell a tourist that the new structure's flat roof, incapable of dealing with the abundance of precipitation we've had lately, already has caused problems. I assume this means water. Water in a building housing the aforementioned Paradise Lost MS and Caxton Malory plus did I mention the Wilde plays corrected with his own notes, the impossibly precious journals of the young Brontes, Byron's inky Don Juan notes, the painstakingly illustrated letters from Richard Doyle to his family, proofs of Through the Looking-Glass with illustrator Tenniel's own corrections, three Gutenberg Bibles and a partridge in a pear tree (probably)? Yes, I hope they take care of that leak.*
Oh, the old wing, back where J.P. smoked his cigars amidst his millions, is pretty impressive, of course -- smells and looks just like a rich guy's library should, complete with catwalk to reach the three stories of priceless books, and a huge bolted vault built exclusively to house his medieval manuscripts. Coincidentally, that's what I'm aiming for in my next place, too.
Anyway, it's a satisfying collection, almost too much to take in at once. Perhaps I should set up a Paypal donation button for my "Young Associate" membership, while I still qualify? The clock is ticking ...
EXCLUSIVE, Part Two! While clearly struggling with her grief over the dearth of Mark Twain materials on exhibit, Miss Maud was observed valiantly scribbling notes during her visit, so you may be treated to a much more insightful review of the place later on ...
*(Of course, according to the erudite LM: "as the monster in Frankenstein said, 'what were rain and storm to me?'")
