Marginalia in a digital world

I found some interesting discussion on David Weinberger's blog Joho about the loss of handwritten marginalia in digital books. But not the loss of marginalia itself. Weinberger foresees highlighting and annotations flourishing in a digital format, perhaps even the dawning of a Golden Age of Marginalia.

The example used is the literary marginalia of famous authors, such as Twain or Kerouac--marginalia the average reader is unlikely to ever see. But it serves to illustrate a point about loss and gain.

Weinberger concedes it would indeed be a loss not to hold the book Kerouac held, read, and interacted with by transcribing his thoughts upon the text and margins of the page that inspired those thoughts. He uses the word "thrill" to describe the experience of handling a book containing such marginalia.

Ian Frazier used the word "sublime" in his New Yorker article on the same subject, albeit in a setting more conducive to using that word. It was Frazier's article that led to Weinberger's blog post. The distinction between "thrill" and "sublime" might parallel the distinction between attitudes toward traditional formats for literary matter. "Sublime" would certainly seem to connote an incomparably greater connection or attachment to the annotated codex than would "thrill."

Weinberger sees a trade-off looming, one that should actually be more beneficial to readers in the digital book arena. The potential to create digital marginalia, especially in a social reading environment, will negate (and then some) the loss of of an author's handwritten notes in the margins of the printed page. Specifically, Weinberger asserts:

We will gain the ability to learn from the digital traces left by all of today’s Kerouacs, Kerouac scholars, and Kerouac readers.

To that, I would add: As long as those digital traces can be read or accessed via whatever medium is currently in vogue. Will historically significant digital marginalia from the year 2016 survive more than 200 years as has the marginalia in John Adams' books, which are currently being shown around the country in a traveling exhibit? I pondered the ephemeral nature of all things digital in this Bibliophemera blog post last year.

An interesting thread of comments follow Weinberger's thought-provoking post (Joho link above).

Back to the Future with Morris the Cat

Here's a curious gift inscription written on the half-title page of Morris: An Intimate Biography, by Mary Daniels:

To Mom--1965
From--Michael

This 1965 inscription is curious because the book was published by William Morrow & Company in 1974. Something to do with nine lives and time travel?

A Flying Tiger's inscription mystery

Here is a 1991 reprint of the 1949 Flying Tiger history, Way of a Fighter: The Memoirs of Claire Lee Chennault, by Claire Lee Chennault, Major General, U.S. Army (Ret.); James Thorvardson & Sons, Tucson.

Chennault was commander of the 1st American Volunteer Group (AVG) of the Chinese Air Force in 1941-42, otherwise known as The Flying Tigers. Hired by the Chinese government to defend China against the Japanese, their training actually began before America's entry into the war, and just days after the the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, the Flying Tigers were flying combat missions.

I found this book at a library sale and was thrilled at what I discovered inside. The blank page preceding the title page (verso of the frontispiece) has a wonderful inscription from famed World War II ace fighter pilot for the Flying Tigers, "Tex" Hill, who flew for Chennault:

To my dear friend and fellow Fighter Pilot, a man I admire most. Thank you for the sacrifice you made for our country. All the best. "Tex" Hill

My first thought, after getting over the excitement of finding this inscription, was whose book was this? As Chennault died in 1958, he's quickly ruled out, but would have been the top contender otherwise. So who, or which fellow fighter pilot, did "Tex" Hill admire most? Perhaps some biographies of Hill would shed some light on the provenance of the Chennault book.

A few years ago on Archaeolibris, I blogged about another Flying Tigers fighter pilot named Joe Rosbert, who died in 2007 in the Houston area, where I found his signed autobiography and later Chennault's book. So I entertained the idea that the Chennault book signed by Hill could have belonged to Rosbert, but I can't find anything to connect the two in such a way that would lead to Tex Hill's inscription.

However, Tex Hill's fighter pilot experience was not limited to the Flying Tigers, so the fighter pilot in his inscription is not necessarily a Flying Tiger and maybe not even a fighter pilot he served with.

At any rate, I now have a companion book to for the Rosbert book and what looks like the beginnings of a Flying Tigers collection.

Unfinished inscription to a linksman

I don't remember ever having seen an inscription in a book that stopped mid-sentence.

In Gene Sarazen's Better Golf After Fifty (Harper & Row, 1967), I wondered if a better memory after fifty were needed, when I came across this incomplete inscription:

Dear Lindy, I've wanted to repay your many wonderful favors you

That's it. Favors you... What? We're left hanging like a putt on the lip of the cup.


It's easy to assume that Lindy didn't get the book and he didn't get repaid with this book for all his favors, whatever they were. Afterall, why give a book to someone with an incomplete gift inscription?

So what happened? Several possible scenarios come to mind.

• The writer had a senior moment or ADD and set the book down somewhere, never to return to it.


• The writer liked the book and kept it for himself after it occurred to him mid-sentence that he really wanted it. No need to complete the inscription at that point.


• The writer had second thoughts about whether a cheap book was really the appropriate way to express gratitude for the many wonderful favors.


• The writer developed a serious case of writer's block and never recovered. Too embarrassed at this point, he put the book away somewhere and years later after a house cleaning or estate sale, the book wound up in a resale shop where some blogger picked it up and wondered about the inscription started forty-something years ago.


• The writer dropped dead after the word "you."

Whatever the reason, it is unusual, perhaps even unique in the annals of documented book inscriptions. Make that annal, singular. At present, I know of only one creative soul out there who is actually doing this: The Book Inscriptions Project

Poor Leah: A postcard for the psych chapter

What we have here is an example of written interaction with a book, not from the reader's notation, but from her mother's writing via a postcard strategically placed, one could argue, in the book. And there does appear to be a meaningful relationship between this particular book and the written message on the postcard.

A whimsically imaginative tale ensues...


A mother forgot her daughter Leah's birthday and belatedly sent her this postcard with a flimsy excuse and a lame greeting that included her activities with other family members (perhaps adding insult to injury). Poor Leah.

At least four years later, Leah was reading the book Doctors and Specialists, by Morris Fishbein, M.D. (Bobbs-Merrill, 1930). She got to the chapter, The Neurologist and Psychiatrist , and thought of her mother's postcard. Remember, the postcard was written in 1926 and the book it was found in was published in 1930. Did Leah have the postcard handy to use as a bookmark? If so, had she obsessed over it so much as to keep it within reach all that time? Or was there something even worse at play here? Did Leah's mother write the belated birthday acknowledgment (it was hardly a greeting) in 1926 and not give it to her until 1930 (it was not mailed), at the time Leah was reading Dr. Fishbein's book? If so, poor Leah all the more!

Whatever the reason, in a fine Freudian twist, a mother's late birthday remembrance marks her daughter's book some four years later at a chapter that addresses the mental health specialists.


This is how I found it (I swear!) no telling how many years or decades later. Perhaps a depressed young woman used her mother's written admission of procrastination to mark her place in a book. Or maybe she marked this particular chapter to return to for some kind of therapy necessitated by her mother's neglect.

Dear Leah, Thought I could get time to write you a letter for your birthday but I did not get time but this will let you know I thought of you and you will know we are both well & had a dinner at six o'clock for Ed & Family, Robert & Family on my Golden Wedding day they gave me a camio pin it is very pretty Love to all Mother. Will write a letter soon

Mother seems to be absorbed with herself... her party, her gift... Poor neglected Leah. And that postscript about writing a letter soon was placed at the top of the postcard upside down. Unconscious motivation (anyone?) for that choice of placement? Dr. Freud might have enjoyed this one.

I wonder (with my Freud cap on) if Leah bookmarked that chapter specifically for insight of some kind or perhaps some bookish psychotherapy? If so, she might have been disappointed, as the chapter, indeed the entire book, pokes fun at the medical and mental health specialties. To wit:

Oh for the day when there were but two types of mentality, the wise man and the nut! To-day there are as many forms of mental disturbances as there are types of streptococci. They have taken the human mind and split it into layers with the conscious at the top, then the subconscious and finally the unconscious... It was a beautiful symbolism that the high priest should have been named Freud, a name which requires only the exchange of a single letter to make it sound exceedingly doubtful.

Maybe Leah did find some relief in this chapter. Afterall, laughter, it is said, is the best medicine.

A Christmas gift for Frederick W. Skiff

The writing in the book featured here comes from two sources--the author and the owner of the book. Further, the book was a Christmas gift from the author, as documented in the writing of both Frederick W. Skiff (owner) and Lilian Whiting (author).

The book is The Joy That No Man Taketh From You, by Lilian Whiting; Little, Brown, and Company; Boston (1907). The author's inscription:

To Frederick W. Skiff, Esq. with grateful appreciation of his most kind courtesy & the faithful regards of Lilian Whiting, Boston. Christmastide, 1916.

And she didn't stop there. On the next page (blank page before the half-title page) she quotes a passage from William Vaughn Moody:

From wounds and sore defeat
I made my battles stay,
Winged sandals for my feet,
I wove of my delay.


I guess it will be impossible to know what, if any, meaning that passage held for Mr. Skiff. Perhaps it was just something Ms. Whiting came across, liked, and thought to amend to her inscription.

And although Ms. Whiting thoroughly documented the presentation to "To Mr. Frederick W. Skiff, Esq." and the year and time of year with "Christmastide, 1916," Skiff desired to repeat the information in his own hand above his bookplate (and a touch on the bookplate):

Presented to me by Miss Whiting Christmas 1916 F.W.S.

That line of penciled inscription and its location is the icing on the cake for me.

Frederick W. Skiff (1867-1947), of Portland, Oregon, was a notable bibliophile and prolific collector of Americana. He also authored a few books: Adventures in Americana: Recollections of Forty Years Collecting Books, Furniture, China, Guns and Glass, Metropolitan Press, Portland, Oregon (1935) and Landmarks and Literature: An American Travelogue, also by Metropolitan Press (1937).

After Skiff died in 1947, his collection went to the San Francisco auction house of Butterfield & Butterfield, in San Francisco. The auction catalog (left) featured Skiff's bookplate.

William Fowler Hopson (1849-1935) was the Connecticut-born, American artist/engraver who created Skiff's ornate bookplate. Hopson was a well-known and well-respected artist, drawn (pardon the pun) to bookplate illustration. And if you've got a late 19th-century Webster's Unabridged Dictionary lying around, you might find between the covers a few thousand engravings by Hopson, who was commissioned to do the work.

A good bit of bookish history here thanks to the collective provenance provided by the writing found in this book.

Remembering JFK

November Twenty Six Nineteen Hundred Sixty Three is the title of a 1963 poem by Wendell Berry, comprising a single volume. Ben Shahn's illustrations were added to this 1964 Limited Edition publication by George Braziller.


The poem memorializes President Kennedy, who was assassinated November 22, 1963 and laid to rest on the 25th of November. The next day, November 26, Berry begins his elegy: "We know the winter earth upon the body of the young president, and the early dark falling..." Berry and artist Shahn both signed this limited edition copy of the book, which makes the book collectible.


But it's the commemorative lines in a gift inscription from the book's previous owner that make the book truly appreciable in the context of cultural reaction to a written text. The sentiment of both poet and book owner symbolizes and echoes what a nation felt and struggled with in the aftermath of the death of a very popular president.

To commemorate the greatest personal tragedy we have ever known together--November 22, 1963.

For Elizabeth because I love her more than life itself and because we both--if from afar--loved John, Jr., Caroline, and Jacqueline, and J.F.K.

Carl
May 18, 1964

A newspaper clipping about the death of JFK was also laid in the book.

Writing about writing in books

Ain't nothin' new under the sun. I'm discovering that writing about writing in books, while new to me, is not new per se. But it has been referred to as one of the most dynamic new fields of study about book history.

I now have two books in my library that deal with the subject of writing in books: Marginalia: Readers Writing in Books, by H.J. Jackson (Yale, 2001) and Owners, Annotators and the Signs of Reading, by various contributors (Oak Knoll Press and the British Library, 2005).

These titles are scholarly studies (this blog is not, but this blogger is fascinated with the subject!) of primarily antiquarian books and examine the reading culture of the day through the annotations left behind by those affected enough by the material to do so. One of the goals of such research is gaining an understanding or better perspective of the context in which readers throughout history have interacted with contemporary writing. Such insight can lead to a deeper understanding of book-trade history.

As books enter the digital age, rendering obsolete the marginalia and annotation of texts, this academic research may also inform us about what we have already lost in our culture and portend what we stand to lose.

Jackson's book, Marginalia, is hailed as a "pioneering work--the first to examine the phenomenon of marginalia." Having only read the author's Introduction to this book, I can say that I like her style of writing with bits of humor and use of modern culture for frames of reference. Jackson's writing feels more accessible than the more formal conference papers of the other book mentioned. Her book has the better chance of the two in reaching a broader audience, but both are still concerned with a very narrow field of academic research.




Conference essays comprise Owners, Annotators and the Signs of Reading. The papers are from then 26th annual conference on book-trade history, held in December 2004, at Swedenborg House in Bloomsbury and, for the last time, at Birbeck College. H.J. Jackson, author of Marginalia, is also a contributor to this book.



This book's Introduction includes a paragraph that starts "How books should be read..." I stopped right there and got my pencil out. Instant recall from 10th grade English class made me do it. If I don't remember anything else from that class, I'll always remember Mrs. Brennan saying to her students more than 35 years ago that she could never read a book without a pencil and she encouraged her students to do the same thing. Write in the margins, underline passages, annotate. And so I reread the Introduction with a pencil in hand and noted my thoughts in writing.

One passage that puzzles me:

Annotation is likely to be, in all periods, a vital clue to the reader's thought processes in the mysterious act of reading.

I underlined mysterious and added a bit of marginalia with a question mark and suggestion of the word artful instead. There is a science to reading, surely, but in the context of this book and field of study, it seems that the art of reading, with respect to reader reaction and interaction with the text, is what yields the greatest insight to cultural and book history. Perhaps I don't understand the context in which the author views reading as mysterious. I'll have to give that one some more thought and annotation.


In addition to the books I have found on the subject of writing in books, I have also found various sites on the Internet that deal with the subject in one way or another. And all these sources give new meaning to the phrase Reading and Writing.

http://www.levenger.com/pagetemplates/wellreadlife/wellreadlifesubcat.asp?params=category=686-726|level=3-4|pageid=3221-4329

http://yalepress.yale.edu/yupbooks/book.asp?isbn=9780300088168

http://knowledge-in-the-making.mpiwg-berlin.mpg.de/knowledgeInTheMaking/de/index/Veranstaltungen/WritingInBooks.html

http://www.folger.edu/template.cfm?cid=2204

http://www.english.utoronto.ca/newsevents/calendar/_Magic_and_Margins__Children_Writing_in_Books__Medieval_to_Modern_.htm

http://www.uiowa.edu/~ctrbook/events/index.shtml

http://michigantoday.umich.edu/2009/09/story.php?id=7526

http://wynkendeworde.blogspot.com/2008/08/do-you-write-in-books.html

The first Bishop of Brownsville, Texas

I found the inscription above in a copy of the book, The Council, Reform and Reunion, by Hans Kung (Sheed & Ward, 1961). The book deals with the Catholic Church and ecumenical issues. The presentation signature, an unusual name, inspired a quick search for any connection to the author or the Catholic Church.

I found two prominent figures by the name of Adolph Marx. I was able to rule out this guy below pretty quickly. Harpo was not Catholic Bishop material, considering he was Jewish and didn't talk much (not at all in his movies).


The Adolph Marx who signed this book was the first Bishop of Brownsville, Texas. The photo below and following information were found in an online article by Travis Whitehead of the Brownsville Herald.

Bishop Adolph Marx, of Cologne, Germany, was appointed Brownsville's first bishop on July 6, 1965 and installed at his post Sept. 2.

"Shortly after he was installed as bishop, he left for Rome to attend the meetings of the Second Vatican Council," said Brenda Nettles Riojas, spokesperson for the Brownsville diocese.

The Second Vatican Council took place from 1962-1965 and was attended by bishops from throughout the world, said the Rev. Robert Maher, vicar general of the diocese and pastor at St. Joseph's Church in Edinburg.

"Pope John XXIII, who convened the council, said that he saw the secularized world in many ways in a state of spiritual poverty, and he saw that the church possessed a treasure of spiritual riches bequeathed by Christ," Maher said. "So he wanted to find new ways to bring the riches of the church to people today. And so he called for an updating of the church."

Marx's attendance of such a notable event would be short-lived, however; he died of a heart attack Nov. 1.

The article also mentions that Marx had been the Auxiliary Bishop in Corpus Christi, Texas. This information erased any doubt that this Marx was the one who signed the book because the book also contained this presentation card from Marx, which identifies him as Auxiliary Bishop of Corpus Christi (1962):

Fred Bason's 2nd Diary

I have a copy of Fred Bason's 2nd Diary, by Fred Bason, of course, but edited and with a Preface by L.A.G. Strong. The book was published in London by Wingate, 1952.


Fred Bason was a Cockney bookseller who published four diaries, among other works, about bookselling and his life. Known for his sense of humor, he had this to write to an anonymous reader of a copy of his 2nd diary (my copy now):

This is sold at a loss in a genuine endeavour to make one new friend. I am now entirely alone in this world--& that situation isn't pleasant.

There are said to be over 30 good laughs in this book. If you do not laugh I hope you will soon be well!

Very Sincerely
Fred Bason
1962

I did laugh. Read more about Fred Bason in this 1951 Time Magazine review of his first diary.