In praise of minutiae: my foray into miniatures
In the dark days of Covid, as we found ourselves trapped in our homes, arranging clandestine backyard haircuts, and gowning up for visits to the grocery store, many of us turned to hobbies. There were the bread makers. The plant collectors. The bird watchers. Admittedly, I dabbled in all of these. And then one day, while scrolling through Amazon (one of my less productive hobbies), I came across a page of miniature room kits. I was both moderately intrigued and reaching new depths of boredom, so I ordered a miniature bookstore called Sam’s Study. The package arrived a few days later and I immediately got to work.
As expected, the pieces were teeny-tiny. Following the instructions, I assembled teeny-tiny books, chairs, tables, and picture frames. Even a fully functioning teeny-tiny light fixture! The project required intense focus, some degree of dexterity, and a high tolerance for tedium. But I looked forward to working on it each night after putting my son to bed, and it brought me true delight during that utterly strange time.
Why was I so enthralled by this activity?
Building Sam’s Study appealed to me in much the same way as editing. Editing requires the knowledge and application of minute, arcane rules that are seemingly insignificant. There’s a sizable section in the Chicago Manual of Style (the editor’s Bible) that tells us when to use the en dash (–), the em dash (—), and the hyphen (-). Does it really matter? If the author can successfully convey their message, isn’t that the point? Why should we care about dangling modifiers or misplaced commas?
The answer is best encapsulated by the words of 20th-century architect Mies van der Rohe: “God is in the details.”
Anything we produce that’s interesting, engaging, or useful is the sum of its many smaller parts. An excellent book is comprised of excellent sentences. A gorgeous symphony is a compendium of gorgeous sounds. And what’s a delicious pie if not a whole bunch of delicious ingredients? All the smaller parts in these examples—the sentences, sounds, and ingredients—are themselves the product of great care, precision, and craftsmanship. If they fall short, the book will be less readable, the symphony less enjoyable, and the pie less sweet.
But the smaller parts aren’t just valuable as the constituents of something bigger or grander; they are inherently valuable. As we move through life, we tend to focus on large, impressive feats: job promotions, new houses, and exciting vacations. These proverbial home runs can readily capture our energy. But it’s worth pausing to remember that truth, beauty, and abundance can also be found in the smaller parts that make up the whole. Small things are sometimes inconspicuous; they may be hidden or obscured by their bigger counterparts, so we don’t always notice them. But they are always there, waiting to be discovered.
William Blake’s famous poem, “Auguries of Innocence,” begins with the following stanza:
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour
Big or small, it all counts. A grain of sand, a single hour, and indeed, even a comma.