A Bibliophile's Reading List

This summer I have eschewed more esoteric reading in exchange for books about the stuff I love: pop music history, art, craft, feminism, poetry, and anything that weaves these topics together. It's wonderful to have a break from the Foucaults and Bordieus and the Lévi-Strausses of my academic life. Surprisingly, I've found this experiment to be quite intellectually and creatively inspiring. I thought, perhaps, I might share some of the books I've recently discovered for and about people like us: bibliophiles! Here's my little, late Summer reading list. Please let me know if you have any additions, and I will include them! Check back, as this list will continue to grow.

People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks

I stumbled upon this book quite randomly at my local soon-to-be-closed borders, and snatched up the last copy. People of the Book is a historical fiction novel that tells the story of book conservationist, Hannah Heath, as she restores the Sarajevo Haggadah, a priceless Jewish illuminated text. In alternating sections, it also describes the complex history of that manuscript. The Sarajevo Haggadah is as much a character in this work as Heath is herself. Brooks is a masterful writer, and she manages to capture what it is I (and I suspect a lot of you) love about books: the unusual surprises of antiquity, uncovering buried history, participating in the continuation of that history through craft, the stories objects have to tell about their origins and the people who created them.

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

Ray Bradbury has been one of my favorite writers since my early teen years, and I love Fahrenheit 451 especially. This dystopian, science fiction masterwork takes place in a world where books are forbidden. Intellectuals must hide their collections from firefighters who no longer fight fire, but burn books. Fahrenheit 451 is haunting and poignant, especially in this technological age. It is also deeply hopeful about the enduring importance of books and the written work.

Books, Friends, and Bibliophilia: Reminiscences of an Antiquarian Bookseller by Anton Gerits

This book is, unfortunately, out of print. However, used copies are available on Amazon. As its title implies, it is a charming and lively series of anecdotes by Dutch bookseller Anton Gerits. More widely, however, it provides a fascinating glimpse into the world of prominent book collectors and the history of books and bibliophilia.

Bibliophile Mysteries series by Kate Carlisle

On a considerably lighter note, romance and mystery novelist Kate Carlisle has created a series of books that follow bookbinder and conservationist Brooklyn Wainwright as she stumbles from crime scene to crime scene solving mysteries and waxing poetic about Jeff Peachey knives (from The Lies That Bind, "I particularly coveted a leather-handled set of Jeff Peachey knives. The brilliant bookbinder and craftsman had created a set of cryogenic steel-bladed knives that were hand-honed to surgical percision and beautifully beveled to work with the thinnest calfskin…’Peachey is a genius,’ I murmured, nodding."). There are currently four novels in the series, and with titles like If Books Could Kill, they promise to be entertaining (at the very least) for any bookish gentleman or lady.

This Is Not a Book by Keri Smith

This book and its cousin books, Wreck This Journal and Mess: The Manual of Accidents and Mistakes, are favorites of my lovely friend Lacey. These books ask the reader/writer to engage with their content in unconventional ways. Lacey says these books are "a set of pages with instructions on how to deconstruct, reconstruct traditional journaling. [They are] full of rules that are made to be broken or to be followed to create a challenge for yourself."

Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov

My roommate, Carsen, wisely suggested this labyrinthine novel. Nabokov was never one for simplicity... Carsen describes the narrative as "a book about a book about a poem which pretends to be (or is?) the book it is about." That's just about right.

A Gentle Madness: Bibliophiles, Bibliomanes, and the Eternal Passion for Books by Nicholas A. Basbanes

My tumblr friend iamwrappedupinbooks recommends this book, adding, "I was a research assistant for a rare book collector and he gave me a copy to initiate me into the world of bibliophiles. It helped."

P.S. Due to camera ailments, my forthcoming Mansueto Library post is on temporary hold.

The blog is up and running again!

Hello everyone! It's high summer here in Chicago, which means spending every available moment outside, lots of back porch BBQing, amazing produce, attending art & music festivals, and (in my case) working all the time (rather than attending school all the time). That last part isn't so terrible, since I have a delightful job as a stacks page in the Special Collections Research Center at the Regenstein Library (if you're interested in the SCRC, be sure to check out our digitized collections... I'm especially fond of these two medieval French manuscripts).

Though my job primarily consists of moving heavy boxes filled with the papers of deceased packrat professors and fighting the inevitable disorder any active library faces, I also have the opportunity to handle truly rare, sometimes strange, and almost always beautiful books. As a bibliophile, this is a joy. As an aspiring book artist, this is an incredible resource and tool. I have learned so much about bookbinding, typography, calligraphy, page layout, illustration, book history, and aesthetics by osmosis alone. And get this: they pay me! For any other aspiring book artists, I highly recommend finding a library job if you can, no matter how unglamorous. While Chief Conservator has a certain ring to it, we all have to start somewhere, right? As an added bonus, library and book people are generally lovely people, and lovely people make for a lovely work environment.

Another major component of my job at the SCRC is helping to prepare and load books and archival materials into the new Joe and Rika Mansueto Library. Mansueto, which was designed by architect Helmut Jahn, is a groundbreaking facility. The building, which is planted directly north of the Regenstein Library, is a large, glass dome that houses a spacious reading room, the preservation lab, and a circulation desk all atop a 5-story underground storage facility. It is known variously by University of Chicago students and staff as The Reg Egg, The Brain, The Spaceship, and That Weird Glowy Dome Thing. Though all these descriptions are apt, Mansueto is mostly an architectural breathe of fresh air--especially on a campus dominated by neo-Gothic and Brutalist buildings . Over the next few days, I plan on writing about it in more detail, but in the meantime, I'll leave you with a photo of its gorgeous reading room. Over the next couple of months, I also plan on posting a few tutorials, lots of links and resources, quotes for lettering practice and inspiration, plus the usual calligraphy and book related miscellany. I hope the summer is treating you all well, and I look forward to writing more! Please let me know if there are any topics you'd be interested in reading about.

Photo by Jason Smith (more photos of and info on Mansueto if you follow the link)

P.S. Maryanne has created a new schedule of course offerings for the fall and early winter. See the Calligraphy Course & Trip Schedule tab above for more information and registration forms.

On the Power of Handmade Objects

Maryanne linked me to a letter she sent into the Boston Globe which was published and can be read here (it's the second one). It was in response to an article entitled The Paper Chase about hand-written correspondence vs. e-cards and their ilk. While I do believe e-communications have their place in the modern world, I also think there's a lot of truth in what the author of this piece says. My mind is tangential, so of course reading Maryanne's letter and The Paper Chase reminded me of other, well, stuff. The following is my two cents regarding, not only on the value hand-lettered documents, but more broadly the unique power of handmade objects.

I stumbled upon this image on tumblr a couple of months ago (unfortunately, the artist wasn’t noted in the post--if any of you know who made it, please let me know), and I fell in love with it for a few reasons.

I really enjoy seeing pieces of artwork that use traditional media in non-traditional ways; I enjoy pieces that manage to pay homage to the past while creating something new and different. I certainly aspire to this in my own work. What I really love about this piece, however, is how unusual and expressive it is, and how suits the subject matter perfectly... like Kerouac's words set to the perfect score.

Great calligraphy, above all other things in my opinion, is exuberant. It breathes life into the words on the page in a way mechanized typefaces simply cannot. Why is this the case? Well, that's a tricky question to answer (but I'm going to take a stab at it anyway).

Ok, I’m going to take a slight digression, but there is method to my madness, I swear. The French philosopher and semiotician Roland Barthes wrote an essay called The Grain of the Voice in which he argues that the reason people respond favorably to vocal performances is because they can hear the physicality of the performer, with all the corporeal imperfection that entails. It is this physicality that conveys emotion, that moves us. So, in a sense, it is the very lack of mechanization that allows us to enjoy music. I realize this argument may be flawed: people do, afterall, listen to instrumental (which, however, has its own, less overt type of physicality) and electronic music. Some people don't even care about the emotional content of music. But I do think there is a grain (no pun intended) of truth in Barthes’s argument.

I remember during my time at the North Bennet Street School, Jeff Altepeter (the primary bookbinding teacher) often expressed a distaste for guillotines which give text blocks crisp, regular edges… but also leave little dents in the edge of the book where there are dings in the blade. As a result, the text block looks very much like it was made by a machine—a characteristic which isn’t very desirable in a handbound book. So maybe Barthes notion of the importance of physical presence in performance applies not only to music. Afterall, there’s something magical about hearing the crackle of a vinyl record (which, I would argue, has a physical presence in a way digital music does not), seeing the dance of an artist's arm in a brushstroke, and, indeed, the distinctly human cadence of hand-lettering. These things, with their flaws and occasional rough edges, can move us deeply.

Something about imperfection draws us in. There is beauty in it--perhaps, it reminds us of ourselves. And that is why I believe wholly that the handmade object will never fall wayside to trivial (albeit useful) inventions like the e-vite.

Jacques Brejoux & le Moulin du Verger

A few nights ago, I attended a lecture at the Center for Book & Paper Arts here in Chicago by master papermaker Jacques Brejoux. He was accompanied by bookbinder Nadine Dumain, with whom he often collaborates.

Brejoux (center) teaching, from the Moulin's website

Brejoux makes his fine papers, which are used primarily for conservation work, at the 500-year-old Moulin du Verger in the Cognac region of France. During his presentation, Brejoux showed us a film which details his process and the building of his Medieval stamper. Since I know very little about papermaking and, in usual discombobulated form, forgot to bring a pen and paper along to take notes, I can't tell you exactly how the pulp created using a medieval stamper differs from that of its descendant, the industrial Hollander Beater. If I recall correctly from the lecture, it allows for longer strands of fiber to remain in the pulp therefore creating a stronger paper. Any papermakers out there: feel free to correct me or elaborate on this! In his video, I was most struck by how immense this contraption is (the basin in which the pulp is processed was carved from the trunk of a giant sycamore). For some reason, with its paddles and spindles it reminded me of a machine from a Tim Burton film... or perhaps a Rube Goldberg Machine.

Brejoux's Medieval Stamper, from the Moulin's website

The whole process struck me as quite romantic: Brejoux uses 70-year-old linen and hemp clothes as the fiber for his cloth. He explained that they must be worn and old in order to have the right character for his pre-19th century papers. He sources these antique rags from older citizens in the area who, he said, "do not like to throw anything away." The water he uses to make the pulp comes from a nearby spring. The bacteria and natural debris help in the rotting/fermenting process the pulp undergoes before being made into paper. So the final product is inextricably linked to its place of origin. How lovely. The paper itself is also simply gorgeous. It even has a wonderful smell.

Furthermore, Monsieur Brejoux is an delightfully sanguine man. The whole experience of going to this lecture was just charming. If you have the opportunity to hear him speak about, do!

Several very well-made and artful videos are available on the Moulin's website: here and here. They are in French, but even if you don't speak the language, I think they're worth looking at.

Happy Halloween, Scribes!

On behalf of my favorite holiday, I thought I would share this, well, terrifying illumination from the Hours of Catherine of Cleves. I saw this depiction of the maws of Hell last spring on exhibition at the Morgan during one of the Abbey Studio's manuscript viewing trips... It sure makes you want to stay away from the underworld, eh? Happy Halloween, everybody!

Hours of Catherine of Cleves, c. 1440, Dutch

Oh, and while I'm (sort of) on the topic of the Morgan, today's New York Times had an article and slide show on the new renovations. The slide show is especially good; the photos do great justice to the opulence of the place.

Merchant: Kelmscott Bookshop

I realize as a bibliophile, I'm not exactly unbiased about this kind of thing, but I would love to live in a world proliferated with purveyors of unusual broadsides, and artists' books. While the world may not be brimming with this kind of storefront (just yet), the folks at Kelmscott Bookshop of Baltimore are helping to work towards that goal with a wide selection of prints and manuscripts--modern and antiquarian--at lots of different price points (poor students, be not terrified!).

The owner of Kelmscott, Fran Durako, collects books by William Morris. Below are some images of a beautiful broadside they bought and a manuscript that is currently on consignment, both by Maryanne. Stop by and meet their resident cat/security guard, Madeline (every antiquarian bookshop needs a cat, of course). Or take a look at their website--the catalogue images are lovely.

Also, Kelmscott will be at the Boston International Antiquarian Book Fair from November 12-14, which I had the good fortune of attending last year. It's certainly worth a visit, if only to look at all the beautiful, rare books up close.

broadside and image by Maryanne Grebenstein

Morris manuscript (title page) and image by Maryanne Grebenstein

Morris manuscript (poem) and image by Maryanne Grebenstein

Arabic script-inspired shoes

A friend of mine recently sent me a link to these shoes made by Jordan-based designer Aennis Eunis... and I must say, I find them delightful. If I were the kind of girl to wear shoes like this (I'm more of a low-maintenance flats kind of girl) these would be high on my "to buy" list. I love the idea of letters/words/characters as a kind of ornamentation beyond their ability to transmit information--which, of course, serves to enhance the pure beauty of their form.

image via Manolo's Shoe Blog

For another post on the intersection between calligraphy/illumination and fashion, check out this post about Alexander McQueen and The Book of Kells.