A happy cohort of undergraduate students were hired last term to devote their energies to systematically comb through a portion of the stacks in Rare Books and Special Collections in order to stabilize books most in need of protection. Working over several months, this time allowed the opportunity to get acquainted with significant printings and bindings. Most of their conservation work was accomplished on the Cutter Collection, an assemblage of early accessions, encompassing a range of dates, languages and subject matter. Five students have selected a book (or two) and explained in the texts below why it resonated with them. I enjoyed sharing their enthusiasm on these selections – all of the copies are unique in some way. It became clear that the task of item-by-item stabilization was a mutually beneficial book history learning experience. These gems encapsulate the evolution and variety of book production as well as eye-catching binding techniques. They are just a small sampling of the marvellous surprises sitting on our shelves. We hope that you will appreciate these insightful and intimate narratives. – From the editor and student supervisor, Ann Marie Holland
Eden Autmezguine
Johannes Crotus Rubeanus (1480-1539).
Epistolae Obscurum Vivorum. (Letters of Obscure Men).
Francoforti ad Moenum:1599. With former manuscript used as covers.
I love stories and anything with a story to tell, even if most of it is lost to time. When I am working on a book, I often find myself wondering about the many hands it has passed through before mine—especially those hands that have brought it into being—and whatever visible traces they may have left behind. Sometimes, these hints make its story both more fascinating and more enigmatic to me, as is the case with this book. It’s written in Latin, and was published in Germany in 1599. Inside, the text is ornamented with decorated woodcut initials and tailpieces. On the front and back covers, faint marks from the pair of ties that once bound it are still visible. The type of binding is limp-bound vellum with overlapped fore-edges, stiffer than a modern-day paperback but more flexible than a hardcover. What makes this book truly special to me, though, is that it is bound with a Hebrew manuscript.
In the Middle Ages, because vellum was both valuable and durable, leaves that had once been books were often kept and reused to bind other books. Additionally, Christians often used materials from Jewish libraries for this purpose. This binding fragment is a leaf from what would have been a larger book. The main column of text, written in a large, beautiful hand, extends from the middle of the front cover to the middle of the back cover. I was able to identify it as a portion of Kohelet (Ecclesiastes), specifically the end of chapter eight and beginning of chapter nine. The ktav (traditional script) is 14th– or 15th– century Ashkenaz, likely German, featuring both the nikud (diacritical marks) and te’amim (cantillation marks). There are masoretic notes in the upper and lower margins. The column of smaller text on the right-hand side of the back cover, of which only a small part is visible, is likely a commentary. Upon careful inspection, faint letter-impressions from the writing on the other side of the page are visible.
Surprisingly, there is some connection between the binding fragment and the book’s contents! Letters of Obscure Men is a collection of satirical letters in support of the German Humanist Johann Reuchlin which mock scholasticism and monasticism, largely by pretending to be written by fanatical Christian theologians who discuss whether all Jewish books should be burned or not. Interestingly, these letters were based on the real-life public disputes between Reuchlin and Johannes Pfefferkorn, a former Jew who converted to Christianity and tried to have all copies of the Talmud destroyed. It is somewhat ironic, then, that this particular volume should have been bound with a fragment of a Jewish book, and in Hebrew no less. (Special thanks to Prof. Deborah Abecassis and Jen Taylor Friedman for their assistance and expertise.)
Jamie Farr
Henry Scholey Saunders (1864-1951).
Whitman Photographs.
Toronto: Henry S. Saunders, 1939. With mounted photographs. Copy no.4 of a limited ed.
Presented to the library by Lady Amy Redpath Roddick.
Something I have discovered working at Rare Books and Special Collections is that the old saying is true: you can never judge a book by its cover. This binding is rather dull – beige and sturdy, holding up impressively well for a book from 1939. The pages are made of cardstock – not typical for books of the era – and the closer you look, more eccentricities begin to reveal themselves. This book by H.S. Saunders is part of a larger collection. Nine volumes comprise the entirety of the collection, containing over 300 items that preserve the clothing, company, and overall spirit of Walt Whitman throughout the course of his life. Each book was made entirely by hand, numbered and signed by Saunders himself. In it, mounted reproductions of portraits, paintings, drawings, and busts of poet Walt Whitman adorn the pages. Turning the pages, it is possible to see the spots where he pasted each picture onto the pages, some askew slightly. Saunders scrawled captions under each of the 100 pictures, sketching out the context of Whitman’s life, which provides unparalleled access into the life of a literary great. Saunders’ dedication to archiving and honoring Whitman is exemplified in his handmade book, and is a deeply moving piece of history to hold in your hands.
It goes without saying that Whitman’s prose transcends time. These photos, however, are grounded in the minutiae of Whitman’s life. Items 28 and 29, are a photo and drawing of Whitman and his longtime partner Peter Doyle. In matching derby hats, they sit next to each other, Doyle’s arm brushing against Whitman’s leg. Though Whitman’s poetry is rife with exploration and appreciation of the male figure, Whitman would die before the turn of the 19th century and queer liberation movements. During his life, Whitman lived under an increasingly strict set of ‘morality’ legislation, policing his relation with Doyle and pushing his queer personal history into the margins. Even Saunders’ own book, compiled years after Whitman’s death, was circulated only amongst a trusted circle of friends. Out of sight and out of mind, the queer spaces that Whitman inhabited are rewritten and forgotten. However, the donation of this book to the Cutter collection by Lady Roddick has allowed this history to claim its place in modern academia. Whitman can now be conceptualized as a poet, and queer man, and (arguably most important) a New Yorker.
Maggie Nielsen
Chiang T’ing Hsi. Active 18th c.
Chinese Encyclopedia. ca. 1716. 2 volumes. With woodcut illustrations, housed in a brocade 4-flap enclosure.
I’ve always been drawn to aesthetics, and find that it’s my most fundamental means of experiencing the world around me. Given this, it’s often unique materiality that catches my eye at Rare Books. I first glimpsed this Chinese Encyclopedia’s blue silk brocade cover from the height of the top shelf. The box opens with great dramatic effect, by way of interlocked swirls, revealing two gold-flecked paper-bound printed book held together by gold thread. A handy inscription inside the box translates the Chinese lettering to explain the set contains two books on the “vegetable kingdom”, as part of an encyclopedia made in 1716 by Imperial order. A careful flip-through shows vertical rows of neat Chinese characters, possibly printed with copper movable type. My favorite part, however, are the illustrations of the various flora. In keeping with Chinese landscape tradition, the delicate lines of these printed illustrations trace the gentle, curving contours and bark patterns of various trees, placed in situ with snatches of scraggly rocks. By means of materiality, this item offers a brief lesson in cultural history, demonstrating not only fine binding techniques and materials, but also an interest in standardizing knowledge in an increasingly modernizing age.
Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832).
Poems of Sir Walter Scott. Edinburgh: W.P. Nimmo, 1861. With bespoke wood covers.
The second book I chose, a collection of poems by Sir Walter John, is a very different example of fine materiality. The back and front covers of the book are a varnished wood embellished by four mother-of-pearl pin-heads at each corner. Centered on the front board is a finely painted miniature of a castle on a bluff overlooking the sea. A small inscription at the bottom of the cover says “made of the wood of the Douglas Room Stirling Castle, saved from the fire of 18th of November, 1855.” This inscription leads me to believe that the unique cover has a significant sentimental value as a vestige of a former home.
Through my time here, I’ve learned to appreciate books as personal items, and this book is a prime example. People collect them, carry them around, bookmark pages, and scribble in the margins. Seeing these sorts of personal micro-histories reflected in the pages’ margins (or their covers) means bearing witness to quotidien marginalia from lives past.
Adrienne Roy
The Canadian Birthday Book. S. Frances Harrison (1859-1935), ed. Toronto: C. Blackett Robinson, 1887.
Presented to the library by W.D. Lighthall (1857-1954).
For better or for worse, I consider myself to be a bona fide Leo. Although I contest the notion that Leos are stereotypically vain — I think we are simply passionate — it’s not particularly surprising that I spotted The Great Canadian Birthday Book with (too much) ease. After a couple of months spent in the East Wing of Rare Books, me and the other students responsible for stabilizing Cutter were starting to get a bit weary, but finding this easter egg in the last row has kept me entertained ever since. Now, whenever I come across the little square book with a dark green binding, I can’t help but open it, re-read my birthday poem, and ask my colleagues when their birthdays are so I can read them their poems too.
Published by C. Blackett Robinson in 1887, The Great Canadian Birthday Book is not an anthology of Canadian poetry, because, as it mentions in the preface, the “necessarily limited space in a Birthday Book would prevent it from achieving that position.” Not only does this treasure chest of Canadian poetry include verses in English and French dating back to 1783, but there is an additional treasure to those who dare to read this book with the seriousness it merits: pressed between the pages of December 13th and 14th is a dried flower, and next to it, a pencil note that reads “A rosebud from the young lady”. Having finished my third year as an English major, I can assure you that my penchant for literature extends beyond birthday-related books. However, one of my favourite things about working in Rare Books has been witnessing the ways that people have loved these items long before I stumbled upon them.
William Wordsworth (1770-1850).
The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth. London: George Routledge and Sons, 1833.
Extra-illustrated, fine binding, signed F. Maullen. A gift of Alice Redpath.
Beyond encountering materials from the world’s most prolific literary figures, one of the most fascinating things about working in Rare Books and Special Collections is coming across beautifully bound books. This copy of The Poetical Works of William Wordsworth spectacularly blends these two elements. Adorned with embossed floral patterning and stamped with gold foil, my colleague made the apt observation that this book would make an elegant gift. Whether it was a gift or not is still a mystery, but the reverse side of the book’s silk flyleaf reveals that it belonged to Alice Redpath, a notable benefactor of McGill Libraries. Her contributions continue to make our shelves much fuller and more ornate, and for that we are so grateful.
Olivia Wong
Louis Hémon (1880-1913).
Maria Chapdelaine: Récit du Canada Français.
Paris: Librairie Delagrave, 1916. Bound in original textile art.
This Barbie is Rare Books’ resident classics student, whose second love (books being the first, obviously) is textile art. I love crocheting, sewing, needlepointing, embroidery, cross-stitch — pretty much anything art that has thread in it. That’s why one of my favourite finds from Cutter is Maria Chapdelaine: Recit du Canada Français, a book that was handbound in fabric. The outside is a hodgepodge of fibers sewn directly onto the board. The endpapers are also fabric, a blue and white gingham reminiscent of a picnic blanket, or perhaps Dorthoy’s dress from The Wizard of Oz.
The stitching may be wildly uneven, and the thread may be falling out in some places, but the care that was put into the binding of this book is evident. In an era where everything is mass produced, it’s commendable to hold an object that was made by hand, with love. I only hope that the original artisan knows that their creation is in good hands, and that their creative legacy lives on.
Our thanks to all our dedicated students.
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