Showing posts with label Book Review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Book Review. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Suave Mechanicals, Volume 1: Essays on the History of Bookbinding

Julia Miller (Editor). Suave Mechanicals, Volume 1: Essays on the History of BookbindingAnn Arbor, Michigan: Legacy Press, 2013-. ISBN  0979797454 9780979797453. 538 pages + DVD. $85.00.

Reviewed by Deborah Howe

Picking up the volume of Suave Mechanicals is serious business. Not only is it robust and heavy in physical weight, a well-rounded three and a half pounds, but it contains nine densely academic book history essays which take the reader into a detailed appreciation of what books can tell us when we pay attention and listen. Being a practitioner and not a scholar, I was a bit intimidated to agree to write this review (I thank Peter Verheyen for that), but none the less I was challenged and invigorated by the ways in which this volume creates new pathways and foundational research into our field of book history.

The title of this book is taken from the exhibition of the same name, Suave Mechanicals, held at the University of Michigan in 2003 and curated by the author. In Barlett's review of the exhibit posted 5/1/2003 she says:
The exhibit title is Julia Miller's riff on Shakespeare's characterization of the amateur actors in A Midsummer Night's Dream as "rude mechanicals." It sums up her view of these books as information machines with moving parts that are also objects of sophisticated beauty – that are "suave" – like Cary Grant... with a little age, a little patina, a real character of beauty.
Each chapter in Millers book represents a "Mechanical," with a unique story. Yet much of the research intersects, producing a multi-faceted narrative, many of the stories supporting each other in tangent fashion. Seven of the nine essays concern investigations into a specific collection of books; Evyn Kropf, Sylvie L. Merian, Consuela (Chela) Metzger, Julia Miller, Martha E. Romero, Jennifer W. Rosner and John Townsend, the other two essays, Robert J. Milevski and Jeffrey S. Peachey, focus on a part of book history production.

Reading the table of contents, it appears that the chapters were ordered as an alphabetical list by author and I read them as such. But by the conclusion of the book I think it would better serve the reader to arrange them in a thematic fashion, ordering them so that essays that pair well together would be read succinctly. The similarities would have a continuous reflective flow and would give the book a more united cohesiveness by the conclusion.

In reviewing these essays I have associated them into my own sub groups as I saw parallels, overlaps and associations.

Three of the essays focus on collections that are outside of the American tradition.

Islamic, Armenian and Mexican:

In her essay Kropf focuses on the repair of the books as opposed to how they were bound. Her scholarly approach to the 245 items examined from a collection of 1,090 illustrates the “phenomena observed” in the repair techniques of her study group. The books are from the Islamic manuscript collection at the University of Michigan dating from the ninth to twentieth century CE with texts primarily in Arabic, Persian and Turkish. It is one of the largest collections of such material in North America. The current ongoing cataloging of this collection includes notes stating the types of repair and whether or not it was performed by a craftsman or layperson from the Islamic tradition. Kropf emphasizes the various nuances in describing this new nomenclature; such as the difference between an original wrapper made for an unsewn text block versus a previous cover being reused for a wrapper for a text block that has come unsewn. She references the use of Martha Little's "Evidence of Structure and Procedure in Books: Selected Examples of Potential Clues" as a helpful resource when trying to decode, record and establish the history of a book through physical evidence. This level of description is a valuable reinforcement of how important this detailed information is to the development and comprehension of the history of the book. Kropf and the cataloging team have approached this project in all the right ways.

For a student of Islamic studies or someone with a cursory knowledge of Islamic history, Kropf’s writing will be a delightful read; she highlights vocabulary for specific Arabic words often giving the English/Arabic equivalents such as: Mudarris, meaning teacher and a particular type of paper, Talhi, made in Egypt during the eleventh and twelfth centuries, named after a ruler of the time. These details enrich the essay and help establish the foundation on which her research is predicated.

A refrain that is reiterated throughout this volume is the awareness for the necessity of more research, continuing on the efforts presented here. Kropf solicits suggestions for new venues of research based on her preliminary findings. For the new generations of conservator/scholars or for those of us mature practitioners, who are so inclined, this direct call to duty is stimulating and reminds us of our critical role in perceiving and recording these clues to the past.

Merian’s article focuses on the unusual additions to the covers of Armenian bindings often found between the 17th and 19th century on Christian religious texts which were often gospels. She then explores the history, cultural background, and modern significance of these books. Then systematically illustrates examples of all the different shapes of amulets she has found such as: oval shapes, like that of an "evil eye," hands, faces, coins and engraved seal stones. As she goes through each type of amulet she vividly describes the text and books on which they are mounted, often connecting together the content of the books with why they may have certain types of amulets attached to them. We are familiar with crosses being attached to bindings but as Merian states, these are used as a decorative component. The items she is studying are inferred to be a form of votive offering, placed randomly over the covers, which makes these bindings so interesting.

Many of the mounted objects are in the shape of an eye, "the evil eye" that Merian explains extensively by delving into the Armenian culture and the significance of what it is to have "the evil eye;" it’s not something I would have expected to read in a book about books but it does provide a refreshing diversion to the focused and concentrated study of the books themselves.

She incorporates surveys done by doctors and ethnographers to ascertain current beliefs in the evil eye and reveals how these soldiers of power have been decorated to protect and fortress homes, bodies and even towns and are considered as talisman. The Red Gospels, Karmir Awedaran, hold special power and are thought to work miracles. One of my favorite notes of interest was an example of giving human attributions to these books in the form of kidnappings and then being held for ransom – if a book was kidnapped it was recorded in the colophon.

What I wish to know more about is where or who would have made these objects, and where one might have purchased or obtained them. Merian suggests that for the most part these are only appearing on bindings but could they have also been attached to other items that had power or reverence within the family or church. Some of the images reminded me of the Mexican Milagros found attached to altars to aid in healing.

Since I was not familiar with these types of bindings before, I found the accompanying photos rich in detail. They covered all aspects of her research, even showing these books in the hands of current owners. The footnotes are more than citations and provide the reader with additional relevant information and fascinating details of these amazing books.

In Romero’s chapter we learn that Mexico was the first location of a printing press on the American continent in 1539 with the aim to accelerate the evangelization of the indigenous people. Drawing on a collection of 47 books, printed in Mexico and located in a variety of collections, Romero forms a vision of what publishing and book production was like at the cusp of printing in the "New Spain."

She brings the reader into the streets and the times, where the mix of cultures blended and different races existed side by side, where all text printed had to be approved by the ecclesiastical and vice-regal authorities and every detail of commerce was recorded by the Casa de Contratacion, the agency that kept tight records on what was being imported. This useful information is critical for her study, as she can conclude from it what types of supplies were being shipped. This included types of books, details on how they were bound or not bound, paper coming from Italy and France, these supply inventories reflected what was needed in the new society. They establish what was cheaper to import versus making products from raw materials and considers the question whether or not there was available skilled labor to even produce products. Perhaps these accounts and supply inventories are recorded in ledger or account books which we learn about later in Metzger’s chapter, were they bound in Mexico or shipped over already bound? Once again these types of connections between the essays enrich and create a new broader understanding of the commerce and economic development of the book trade on the American continent.

It is assumed that a book carrying the Mexico imprint was also bound in Mexico. But not many books survived, since they would have been in high demand and received heavy use. Romero breaks the process of binding down step by step, so a reader only somewhat familiar with the binding processes will be able to follow along. The folding of signatures, beating (which we can reference Peachey), endsheet construction, sewing and then lacing on the covers with the variant patterns, all of this she examines with detail and links it with possible European influences, trying to decipher fact with what may be conjecture. Many of the books in the study group are limp vellum showing various styles of lacing techniques, which can help determine the different European influences. The techniques of binding were carried over on the ships by binders and publishers but since New Spain was a mix of all types of peoples there were varied influences on the bindings being produced. Once the book trade established itself in New Spain, there was a need for more bookbinders, this in turn allowed for more adaptations and permutation of technique as the new Mexican binders developed their own styles.

I think as more books are discovered that have been bound in Mexico at this time, Romero, or other scholars, will be able to form more conclusive and definitive facts on how this new society absorbed or rejected those traditions which were carried over from the establishing cultures. We see this same type of dynamic in Metzger, Miller and Townsend, where the examination of Colonial development in America reflects the development of the book trade, such as how printers had to play more than one role and were often the binders and sales men and how local materials were adapted (scaleboard bindings: Miller and Townsend) because other materials were costly to import. What is insightful is that Romero’s study puts Mexico on the map in the history of bookbinding development and is pivotal in examining how a new society grew and developed in regards to its book production.

The American Way:

The next group of essays focuses on book production in America, although there is ample background discussion on the traditions in London and Europe and how they swayed and influenced binding in America. The books examined in this group range from what I would call the street urchins of the time, (Metzger, Miller and Townsend) to the luxury elite society bindings of  papier-mâché or mother of pearl, (Rosner).

The unique world of account books is discussed by Metzger, who examined 63 account books from the Winterthur Library that were produced pre-1800. The beginning of the essay takes us on a brief journey into the history of accounting, where the significant influence of single or double entry or "In the Italian Fashion," was critical in how account books were designed and issued. Book keeping was an elementary aspect of the basic teaching principles, like that of reading and writing. Metzger does a meticulous job in describing the realm of blank book and stationers shops versus the industry of publishing. She uses and refers to standard references of definitions and defines these usages for the reader such as: a blank book is one intended to be written in. The overall sensation and essence of the climate in which these account books were bought, used, and passed on is aptly relayed to the reader through Metzger’s descriptions.

The second part of her essay summarizes comprehensive observations of a select few from the 63, introducing us to the owners and what they wrote, along with descriptions of unique physical attributes from the bindings themselves. These are divided into two groups: "bound in England or in America with the English technique" and the second group, those "likely to be bound in the Colonies." Metzger like Romero is developing the research and background on a pivotal point in the development of the book trade and commerce by studying books bound at this time. It is exactly this type of investigation that is needed to establish important contexts and connections in book history.

The descriptions are intimate, Metzger’s passion and admiration for these books is tangible giving the reader an opportunity to discover a new appreciation of these well-loved and used bindings. She gives as much detail to the contents and owners as to the bindings. Account books were often used for writing personal information, and through Metzger’s eye we see the beauty and grace of each binding and how it bears witness to its time and place. The fact that an account book may travel though many generations of a family and what that family did, as illustrated by Preserved Pierce, who had a boat selling house hold wares, stimulates the reader whereby they might be inclined to take a closer look and find out more about the people within the pages.

Miller and Townsend go hand in hand in describing the setting of the times and reviewing the style of books we know as scaleboard bindings. These are simple no frills simple bindings, using wood for the boards, often covered in plain, sometimes blue paper with very little decoration. These rough bindings have gone unnoticed in the past, not drawing too much attention to themselves. Miller has taken the initiative and has recognized the significance of these, true Sauve Mechanicals, and has brought them out into the limelight to expose their intrinsic value and role in the development of our culture. Describing the various nuances and styles she finds throughout her survey group of 858 books, which derive from six collections, she concludes that perhaps these bindings were mainly produced in Boston and then sent out to the surrounding environs. The number of accompanying photos is extensive and compliments her narrative. Within her essay she compiles a list of firsts; these citations earmark the first date of an example of a particular element, such as: stuck on end bands or gold tooling. There is also a "Scaleboard Binding Typology Survey Form" (long). This is not only practical as a reference guide but it is a tool which can be immediately incorporated into a conservator’s repertoire of documentation.

She acknowledges and evaluates the lack of truly important scholarly work that focuses on the aspect of bindings rather than the history of the decorations. In order to enforce these aspects she says "the history of the book trade in any country is of importance – what people read, what they wanted to read, what they were allowed to read – all enter into the development not only of the reading culture of a particular country but also the social cultural and political life and development of that country." Her goal is to teach and inform us and she asks the reader: "Do you know more about scaleboard binding than you did when you began reading?" I would emphatically say yes, and therefore am fulfilling her first goal.

Townsend’s study group is a narrow one, examining six bindings of the same imprint of the Mohawk Prayer Book, 1715, printed by William Bradford. He is able to establish provenance of some of the copies and comes to conclusions that these are original bindings done by the printer himself, William Bradford. Townsend's echoes much of Miller's descriptive narrative, but he examines some aspects in more detail such as how the boards were fashioned. (with help from Peachey’s research). What he brings to this study by examining such a defined group is the opportunity to really scrutinize a very particular moment in history. His writing is fluid and conversational; it’s easy to follow along his journey in tracking down and examining his books. He is pragmatic and yet engages the reader on a level that is both enjoyable and inquisitive; it’s a bit like solving a mystery.

From the plain everyday simple domestic life of the colonial books, in Rosner’s essay we are transported forward in time into the bustling streets of New York and Philadelphia, where the middle class is tantalized daily with exquisite imports and shimmering objects. These bindings are all about show and finesse. Rosner, started seeing these bindings at the Library Company, where she is the conservator, and realized not much had been written about them. Her essay gives us a thorough background into the development of these book covers, the companies which produced them and how they transformed from an object product to book covers. These could be considered gaudy by some, but I find them beautiful and the vast array of photos only reinforces their splendor. This is an essay about a very select type of binding that was produced for a very short time in the 1850’s for a targeted audience. Rosner takes her study a step further by producing a set of covers herself. Following instructions intended for "ladies" of the time, she explains step by step her experiences and shares the resulting papier-mâché covers. This particular aspect of her essay I find refreshing as it is something that I could envision trying myself and by doing so I would experience firsthand the complexities of such an item that is part of our historical story.

Process and Labels:

I had never really considered the beating process, one of the "three formative elements of bookbinding" until I took Peachey’s class on “Late 18th Century French Binding Structure" taught at the Paper and Book Intensive in 2010. We see the evidence of hammering and beating illustrated in the many images of historical binderies, which Peachey aptly shows us in his many photos, but this process is not taught anymore. The essay does an excellent job in portraying the history and reasoning behind this process, from the first days of hammering to the last days of pressing and rolling, he highlights in details all aspects of this critical process in our book production history. If you are already familiar with his blog, http://jeffpeachey.wordpress.com, you will know that he is our leading expert in all ways of the tools of our trade and his research on them has been an enormous contribution to the surrounding history and development of the book trade.

His descriptions are so vivid that after reading this essay I felt tired from imagining the amount of force and arm strength required to produce the required compression of signatures. As book conservators we are trained to handle these books with care and a gentle touch and yet knowing how they were produced under such harsh circumstances one gets a very new perspective. After doing this myself, it is amazing the difference in the feel of a text block after it has been beaten, I think we feel this intuitively because of all the books we handle, but to actually go through the process is to know it, and understand and see the affects it has on the finished product.

I think everyone interested in the production of books should try beating, as far I am aware it’s not taught anymore and I’m not sure why not. Perhaps my colleagues at North Bennet Street School may be able to change that!

What I enjoyed about Rosner’s and Peachey’s essays was the practical side of them. Each author took the time to investigate actually performing the task at hand.

The last essay to discuss is "A Primer on Signed Bindings" by Milevski. This topic explores naming proprietorship of the binder of the book. The beginning outlines bindings that are signed directly into the cover; it takes a good eye to find the often hidden, signed stamp and Milevski shows us with detailed blow ups where these signatures are. As he moves forward in time he describes how these "signed" bindings become labels often used as advertising, and referred to as binders tickets. One significant binding ticket was found under a paste down and Milevski states this is one of the earliest known binder’s labels. He goes into detail of the many types of tickets with brief summaries of who the binders were and how the labels were produced. The many variations are wonderful to look at including his selection of foreign binders’ tickets. The more interesting labels are those which are quite explicit in an advertising sense, describing different services offered or "Likewise Books Bound after what manner you please."

Each chapter in this volume stands alone, however as a whole they complement each other so well that the cumulative information casts a wide and deep net. The chapters tie together within each topic and yet the cross over is thought-provoking and informative, going from beating books in Mexico (Romero), to the history of this step (Peachey,), both Metzger and Milevski use the same binder ticket image, and Townsend quotes research done by Miller and Peachey. What the reader takes away from this collection is so much more than what is detailed in each essay. It is the collection together with all the various background information and detailed supportive evidence, not only derived from the books themselves but from the times in which they lived and were produced. We are taken down the main streets of the topics at hand but we are then diverted down the side streets and back alleys to the nitty-gritty.

This book highlights the need for further and continued research in these subjects. Some of the research in this volume is predicated on previous established research, especially that of Szirmai, French, Spawn, and work done by Pickwoad that is referred to often, yet in this current generation there is a pressing need to establish new research. Drawing upon the practical knowledge of conservators and practitioners who have a trained eye into the observation of these books is critical to the advancement of our understanding and comprehension of how the book shaped who we were and now, as we face a new brink of changing book distribution and production it is even more critical to reflect on past historical knowledge. This book raises the level of investigative research with an eye towards merging related topics and opening up new ones. This book is definitely a critical addition to anyone’s collection, be it that of a scholar, conservator, or a student of book history.

Townsend summarizes it well as he states at the end of his essay:
"Perhaps the best way to pursue such investigations is to forget what we know, or think we know, and approach the evidence – documentary, bibliographic, physical or cultural – with a critical eye to gain a fresh look that may lead to new conclusions."
I have a great affinity and admiration for many of these authors, as they have become my close colleagues and friends over the years, generously sharing their expertise, knowledge and good will. With their practiced insight and professional standing they have brought new discoveries and awareness to the arena of book history. This book could be used as a quick reference or as a required text in a History of Book class. It establishes a new level of scholarly research and invites each one of us to become more astute and insightful when conserving and or observing these rough jewels.



Deborah Howe is the Collections Conservator at Dartmouth College Library. Previously, she headed the conservation lab at Northwestern University Library. In addition to her conservation work she has been actively involved in teaching book arts. She has taught at Columbia Center for Paper and Book, the Newberry Library, the Paper and Book Intensive and currently binding classes at the Book Arts Workshop at Dartmouth. She is a long-standing member of the Guild of Book Workers and is on the board of directors of the Morgan Conservatory in Cleveland, Ohio.

Monday, April 1, 2013

Insinuendo: Murder in the Museum


Miriam Clavir. Insinuendo: Murder in the Museum.  Calgary : Bayeux Arts, 2012. ISBN 9781897411384 1897411383. 287 pages. $15.56.


Dearest reader,
let me introduce this review by noting perhaps what is the biggest clue in the mysterious case of The Mystery Reader: I am not a reader of mysteries. Instead, I am a book conservator (among other things) who tends to stick to non-fiction and graphic novels.

In fact, I am certain that I read my very first Mystery (with a capital M, for officialness) just a few months ago. It was about a psychic who was an admitted fraud, but then who developed real psychic powers. I felt very smart for figuring out the identity of the murderer several chapters before All Was Revealed.

Insinuendo by Miriam Clavir, was my sophomore effort in the realm of Mystery Reading, and like many such efforts, I did not do quite so well at my second guessing-the-murderer attempt. I do believe this is also Miriam's sophomore effort at writing a novel as well, but I dare say she has made a much better go at it than my own feeble Gumshoe attempts.

The story takes place in the real Museum of Anthropology, part of the University of British Columbia. Our protagonist is Berenice "Berry" Cates, a 53-year old intern in the museum's conservation lab. New to the field, but not to personal hardships (such as a failed marriage as well as a failed internship), Berry finds herself thrust into an uncomfortable spotlight when a well-known antiquities dealer, Cuyler Foley, is found dead in the conservation lab and her boss, the head of the lab, is held for questioning by the Police. She starts examining, with methodical intent, the circumstances, potential motives, and possible suspects for the murder. The interpersonal politics, like the bronze statue of Pan that Cuyler was clutching when he died, turn out to be corroded in a very strange manner indeed. Many red herrings abound, and even when all is revealed at the end, the conclusion is not so much a package of loose ends neatly tied but a more realistic coda that leaves the reader to ponder: just who was the real murderer, after all?

At the beginning of the novel, Berry starts out as a self-effacing wimp who has to be reminded by her 15-years-her-junior boss that she can't just let the curators handle the artifacts any old way they want. In essence, she is still struggling to find her authority as a conservator, and I have to be honest, for the first 40 pages or so, I half-wished that she would turn out to be the murder victim just so I could be spared her whinging. However, as she is suddenly forced to take stock of the situation and avenge the reputation of the conservation department and her own highly-esteemed boss, she finally grows a spine, and becomes much more likable as a character. Her best moments are when she is completely out of her element, such as when she decides to tail one of the murder suspects in her car. She bumbles sometimes, but always in the right direction, and usually with a witty, self-deprecating internal monologue.

Museum (and library) politics can be be more heated than a Texan summer, and Clavir strikes it out of the park again for realism with her inclusion of bitter rivalries amongst departments as a plot device. The tension between curators and conservators is palpably taut. This is the part of a museum, much like the conservation lab (situated in the basement, another home run for accuracy), that most non-museum people never get to see. Because of it’s setting in a Native-art-focused museum, there’s also the added element of indigenous art politics thrown into the mix, which, as a former anthropology major, I found fascinating.

Most importantly, let me just say that this is the only novel I've read, thus far, that uses all the right vocabulary to describe the art and act of conservation. I've read several other novels featuring conservators-as-protagonists; some have been cringe-worthy, others acceptable (Robert Hellenga's The Sixteen Pleasures was my first foray into literary descriptions of the field). Given that the author is herself, a conservator, I'm not surprised about the accuracy of her portrayal of the profession. There's such a dearth of realistic portrayals of conservation and conservators in popular media that it's refreshing when an author uses "conservator" instead of "conservationist". Case in point, this quote by the protagonist herself, who mentally chafes when she is referred to as a "conservationist" by the police:
"What the hell? The "your conservationist" in question, me, Berry Cates - my lab stool was practically behind them, and they were talking as if I didn't exist..."That's conservator, by the way, not conservationist," I wanted to shout, "I have had specialized graduate training in the preservation of art and museum collections. Not trees."
All in all, I found “Insinuendo” to be a rewarding read, particularly since I didn’t have to mark up my copy with notes railing against the inaccuracy of the portrayal of my profession. It’s a compelling story, with a personable narrator, and an interesting setting that allows the reader to peek into the behind-the-scenes world of conservation, minus the rose-tinted glasses.



"The Mystery Reader," Suzy Morgan is a 2009 graduate of the School of Information at the University of Texas at Austin, where she received a certificate in advanced studies in conservation from the Kilgarlin Center for the Preservation of the Historic Record. She has had internships at Northwestern University, Syracuse University, the Cincinnati Art Museum and the Ringling Museum of Art. She is currently the web developer at the Newberry Library and continues to work in private practice as a book conservator and preservation consultant.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

From Leipzig to London: The Life and Work of the Émigré Artist Hellmuth Weissenborn

Anna Nyburg. From Leipzig to London: The Life and Work of the Émigré Artist Hellmuth Weissenborn. New Castle, Delaware: Oak Knoll Press 2012. ISBN 9781584563143. 192 pages. $29.95.

Reviewed by Stephanie Wolff

Anna Nyburg’s book, From Leipzig to London: The Life and Work of the Émigré Artist Hellmuth Weissenborn, was my first introduction to this early twentieth-century German artist and practitioner of the book arts. Nyburg, a lecturer in German at Imperial College London with a PhD in Exile Studies, explains that her book closely considers Weissenborn’s life as a whole, especially in the context of his time in exile. Weissenborn, who died in England in 1982, spent his first forty years in Germany before emigrating in 1938. He taught perspective and drawing at the Leipziger Akademie für Graphische Künste und Buchgewerbe, until he lost his job due to his wife being Jewish. Weissenborn had friends and supporters in England, including other German artist émigrés, but particularly the British writer Victor Bonham Carter. These connections proved instrumental in his ability to make a livelihood as an artist, illustrator, and publisher in his new country.

Nyburg takes the reader through a quick history of the book arts and publishing in Germany during the 1920s and early 1930s and the influx of émigrés in these fields to Britain during the mid-1930s onward. Many exiles brought skills and knowledge that contributed to the cultural life of Britain, and Weissenborn was one such artist. The reader learns of his life and work, with asides concerning other notable people in the art and publishing fields.

Growing up in Leipzig, a center of publishing and book production in the early decades of the 1900s, allowed for a young Weissenborn to learn by exposure to the rich cultural life in the city. His father taught at the Leipziger Academie, where Weissenborn studied, and where he later became a professor. Many practitioners of modern graphic arts were affiliated with this school during these years, including typographer Jan Tschichold.

Weissenborn’s artistic talents included typography, drawing, painting, and printmaking, such as woodcut, linoleum, and wood engraving. His drawing and art practice appears to have been an important part of his daily life, even during his service in World War I and in his six-month internment in 1940 as an enemy alien on the Isle of Man. When released, Weissenborn taught art and created illustrations and fine art. He and his first wife divorced, and he eventually began the Acorn Press with Lesley Macdonald, his second wife. The Acorn Press produced illustrated books, all with close attention to fine design, printing, and craft.

Within her narrative of Weissenborn’s life, Nyburg includes his early bookplate typography in relationship to early graphic arts and design, his art experiences in the war and internment camp, his work as a teacher, and his publishing ventures. Weissenborn used what he saw in his art: the landscape scenes in the villages through which he traveled, common objects from the routines of internment such as garbage cans and vegetables, and the bombed-out buildings in London. While his post-World War II artwork took on less dramatic subject matter, Nyburg tells of his war sketches as source material for the book illustrations in The Diary of Edward Thomas (Whittington Press) some sixty years later.

Weissenborn’s life in internment reveals his commitment to his art and craft and, as Nyburg states in her introduction, a man resourceful and adaptable. She explains how Weissenborn devised alternative materials and methods for creative expression. His printmaking involved using margarine and graphite as ink and floor covering as a printing block. The painted-over windows of his quarters became his canvas, with scratch marks revealing light and image.

Weissenborn’s teaching commenced again after his internment. Nyburg interviewed former students, and these lengthy quotes from those who knew him bring a welcome new perspective to the narrative. His excitement with the work was something he wanted his students to feel. Lola Quaife recalls, “He said, ‘Never draw unless you are excited by what you see.’” And it is a lesson she hasn’t forgotten. (p. 123) Weissenborn himself seemed to find excitement in both the remarkable and the quotidian, as his war and internment artwork demonstrates.

Nyburg portrays a man whose temperament seems to have contributed to his ability to deal with the challenging life circumstances he faced. She draws on what appears to be an extensive family archive, as well as interviews with family and friends, to do so. However, in her attempts to explain the complex nature of his personality, she includes quotations or information that complicates my understanding of him. These often occur in the examination of his familial relationships, such as with his second wife, Lesley. (p. 153). Nyburg tries to explain Weissenborn’s comments and personal feelings, but I am not sure how well this works in every instance. For example, in her discussion of his World War I journal, letters, and sketches, she compares his comments in these materials with the novel of the same war, All Quiet on the Western Front. While I appreciate her attempt to understand Weissenborn’s reaction to his war experiences, I think a comparison of a teenage soldier’s diary to a fictional story somewhat of a stretch. (p. 37) In such a short work, perhaps omitting some of these details or suppositions would have made for a clearer understanding of Weissenborn’s life, if not his character.

Despite these instances, I enjoyed this book and came away with knowledge of people and episodes in history I would like to further explore. Exposure to an artist’s work, life, and process can both inspire and teach. Contemporary practitioners of the book arts can benefit from knowledge of the historical figures in the field, even as they work in the modern practical aspects of the craft. Weissenborn lived through periods of difficult circumstances and great change, in society and technology. Whether a reader has an interest in the European book arts, or in an interesting life of the era, this book would be a good step into that world.




Stephanie Wolff is Assistant Conservator and Book Arts Instructor at the Dartmouth College Library. Her Master of Arts in Liberal Studies (MALS) degree from Dartmouth College focused on the book, including its historical, cultural, and artistic aspects. She shows her artist's books in exhibitions around the country.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Beautiful Bookbindings, A Thousand Years of the Bookbinder’s Art

PJM Marks. Beautiful Bookbindings, A Thousand Years of the Bookbinder’s Art. New Castle & London : Oak Knoll Press & The British Library 2011. ISBN 9781584562931. 190 pp. $49.95.

Reviewed by Beth Doyle

Beautiful Bookbindings is a collection of bindings selected by the staff of the British Library primarily to “please the eye.”[1] The introduction includes a brief history of the book, illustrations of book anatomy and explanations of the economic and design influences that changed the way books were made over the centuries. The bindings are presented chronologically in six chapters starting with pre-16th Century and continue through the 20th Century. Additionally there are several “special themes” that highlight furniture, embroidered bindings, painted edges, and other notable binding details.

The history of bookbinding is a vast and complicated one that spans the globe through many centuries. Beautiful Bookbindings focuses primarily on the Western tradition although the author does acknowledge, and the book briefly highlights, bindings from non-European geographies. There are prime examples of Persian lacquer bindings [2] , Indian pothi [3] , Chinese red lacquer bindings [4] , and traditional North African bindings [5] that give the reader at least a minimal understanding of what books from non-European countries might look like.

Each binding is accompanied by a short text describing what makes it special, how a specific binding was produced, or who may have commissioned or used such a book. It highlights well-known designers and artisans including William Morris [6] , Francis Sangorski [7] , Philip Smith [8] and Alice Morse [9] but also shows work from lesser-known binders. Many of the early bindings represented here are Christian texts and the author accurately describes the religious symbols found on the covers, something that is remarkably missed in many publications. But you would expect this level of breadth and accuracy from a British Library publication.

The bibliographic notes on each page are sparse, listing only the place of publication, size and a brief citation with more descriptive titles and footnotes listed by page number at the back of the book. Be sure to place a bookmark at the “Notes and Further Reading” section so you can flip back and forth to figure out exactly what you are looking at. It may also be helpful to have the British Library’s online catalog open if you are interested in finding additional bibliographic information.

When presenting artwork or fine craft it is important that the design and production aids the close study of the subject. Each binding in this book is expertly and beautifully photographed and presented in a way that you can clearly see very fine details. The explanatory text, however, is fairly small so grab your reading glasses if you want to do more than simply look at the pictures. The binding itself is made with a high quality paper and sewn, not adhesive bound, so it should hold up to many readings.

By the author’s own admission, beauty is an individual assessment, “but who can deny the visual and tactile appeal of a beautifully bound book?” [10] If you are interested in the history of the book, or if you simply love exquisitely made objects that are beautifully presented, you won’t be disappointed with this purchase.



Beth Doyle is the Head of Conservation Services Department at Duke University Libraries. She holds a B.A. in Photography from the University of Dayton, and an MLIS and Certificate of Advanced Study in Library and Archives Conservation from the University of Texas at Austin Graduate School of Library and Information Science.

[1] introduction (pg. 17)
[2] pg. 65
[3] pg. 23
[4] pg. 96
[5] pg. 24
[6] pg. 141
[7] pg. 154
[8] pg. 178
[9] pg. 144
[10] introduction (pg. 8)

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Bound for Glory, the Book Artistry of Richard Minsky

A review by Miriam Schaer

Richard Minsky, foreword by Betty Bright. The Book Art of Richard Minsky, George Braziller, Inc., NY 2011. ISBN 10: 0807616060; ISBN 13: 9780807616062 (hardcover), 136pp, $34.95

It’s no exaggeration to say that Richard Minsky’s bindery is also his soapbox. Across a nearly half-century career, and counting, Minsky has produced a steady flow of bound volumes infused with anger, wit and passion. Expertly crafted, they transform workmanship into artistry by the ideas they embody and the propulsive energy of their maker.

Along the way, Minsky also became Johnny Appleseed to a growing community of people and organizations devoted to book arts, a term Minsky, himself, is credited with coining. In 1974, he founded the non-profit Center for Book Arts in New York, an organization of which (full disclosure) I am a long-time member, and the model for many other centers for the arts of the book.

A natural evangelist, Minsky has taught book art classes, curated book art exhibits, exhibited his own book arts, contributed to book art scholarship, challenged art world orthodoxies, outraged traditionalists, and founded (online) a Book Art Museum. The Book Art of Richard Minsky arrives as a timely, handsome, well-deserved retrospective of his most interesting, most photogenic works.

The Bound and the Beautiful

Book Art in America author Betty Bright sets the stage with a crisp introduction and clarifies the distinction between “art books” and “book arts” which, after Minsky, should nevermore be confused. Following Bright, Minsky himself takes over as tour guide to the Minsky oeuvre. A long section engagingly recounts his early years before tapering off into short takes on individual projects, most notably The Bill of Rights. Notes on additional works follow, anticlimactically ending with a CV.

Completed in the shadow of 9/11 and the ensuing threats to civil liberties, Minsky’s The Bill of Rights consists of 10 volumes, one for each of the first 10 amendments to the constitution. The work’s overall tenor can be seen in its treatment of the Second Amendment, concerning the right to bear arms. The amendment is represented by a Minsky-bound edition of Gathering Storm: America’s Militia Threat by Morris Dees and James Corcoran, its cover enhanced by such interior quotes as “America is quickly moving into a long dark night of police state tyranny.” Other amendments are similarly treated. The series is angry and impassioned.

Members of the Center for Book Arts will be familiar with pieces of the Minsky saga, as it’s long been absorbed into the Center’s creation myth: his boyhood in Queens, his discovery of letterpress printing in junior high, the death of both parents at early ages, his close relationships with his grandmother and sister. All this had an enormous impact on Minsky, and imprinted on him the importance of living at full throttle.

Other parts of the story will be less familiar: how he studied fencing and sang in the Brooklyn College choir, loved music and dance, applied for a job at the CIA to avoid being drafted and sent to Vietnam (hey, it was the Sixties), graduated with an economics degree, withdrew his CIA application, and transferred to Brown University to begin graduate studies in economics. (Believe me, this is not how most people become book artists.)

At Brown, he discovered the university bookbinder and bindery, which he duplicated in his tiny dorm room. The romance was on. Economics became a girlfriend left behind. But not entirely, and Minsky acquired an MA in the subject before transferring, under scholarship, to the New School in Manhattan, where he credits Prof. Horace Kallen’s Philosophy of Art course with changing him “from a bookbinder to a book artist.”

Weary of Nixonian America, Minsky headed to Europe in 1971. He visited master bookbinders, binderies and book conservators, and performed with a traveling folk-rock band, before returning to Queens where, with a loan from the Small Business Administration, he opened a bindery and book repair shop. His formal career had begun.

Those who have known, studied or worked with Minsky will be unable to read of these events without hearing his voice. Those newly encountering Minsky will find his voice an easy companion, and wish only there were more of what in London is referred to as the naughtier bits.

Épater la Bourgeoisie

The Minsky works that receive the most attention share a progressive sensibility and a commitment to civil rights. Volumes like Chemistry in Warfare (1993), with its gas-mask cover; George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-four (2003-2006), a prescient take on the surveillance society; and The Bill of Rights, bristle like leather-bound agitprop with the metaphors of outrage. Minsky’s desire for action traces back to his family. Both parents moved in political circles. His father created The Religious News Service to promote religious tolerance, and his mother worked for the Anti Defamation League and with the League of Women Voters. Minsky, himself, performed for a time with an anti-Vietnam performance troupe.

At the time they were first exhibited, many Minsky bindings were characterized as outrageous or scandalous, but chiefly within the conservative world of bookbinders. Always interested in pushing boundaries, Minsky doesn’t seem to have thought twice about binding Thomas Pettigrew’s A History of Egyptian Mummies (1973) in linen strips, as if mummifying the book itself, without the owner’s permission. Fortunately, he loved it.

Minsky adorned The Birds of North America (1975), submitted to a Guild of Book Workers exhibition at Yale, with pheasant skin, so the first thing the reader sees is a dead bird on the cover. This reportedly caused a conservator to scream on opening the package. Looking at the book now, it’s hard to see what the fuss was about, especially in light of Damien Hirst’s formaldehyde-fueled career. Among the interesting aspects of Minsky’s work is his attraction to unorthodox materials, such as the rat skins he tanned and applied to Patti Smith’s Babel (1979), and the mystery skin covering Barton Lidicé Beneš’ The Dog Bite (1970).

Personally, I find The Geography of Hunger (1988), creepier than the rest. The edge of the binding, embedded with teeth, creates a mouth on the fore edge that makes it look as if the book could bite off one’s finger. Bits of food labels on the outer edges, make one feel the book has already chewed up a meal and is about to spit it back out.

Many Minsky books are off-the-shelf editions re-bound from his perspective. Usually strategic about the books he binds, he often selected hot-button titles and subjects along with binding materials certain to engage readers in a dialog about their content. Minsky decorated George Plimpton’s Fireworks: A History and Celebration (1992) with live fireworks and a box of matches; The Biological Time Bomb (1988) with explosives, batteries, electrical tape and a timer; and Nineteen Eighty-four with a miniature hidden video camera and embedded LED monitor so the reader sees on the cover his or her own image staring back above the warning “Big Brother is Watching You.”

Many volumes were bound deliberately to provoke or make a statement about important issues. For Holy Terror: The Fundamentalist War on America’s Freedoms in Politics, Religion and Our Private Lives (1988), Minsky foil-stamped on Nigerian goatskin a picture of himself as a TV preacher surrounded by the flames of Hell. Laying Waste: The Poisoning of America by Toxic Chemicals (1988) sports a hypodermic needle, crack caps and a phosphorescent death head.

When Minsky develops a book from scratch ­ writing, illustrating and binding both the covers and their content ­ the subject is often sex. In Minsky in London (1980), the artist’s sex life shares the stage with instructions on tanning rat skins. Minsky in Bed (1988) explores the former subject further, continuing a long tradition of artists and writers who have harvested their exploits as artistic fodder, from Casanova and Henry Miller to Tracy Emin’s tent installation, Everyone I Ever Slept With 1963-1995.

Minsky’s twist was to do it in the style of incunabula. Sculpted brass knobs, called bosses, shaped as a copulating couple, protect Minsky in Bed‘s leather covers from coming in contact with any reading surface, while handcuffs chain the whole apparatus to a brass bed rail. Other Minsky projects stretch the very idea of a book. He bound Erica Jong’s Sappho’s Leap: A Novel (2003) in the form of a scroll, and Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Philosophy of Umbrellas (2008) as a Tyvek umbrella to commemorate the late Judith Hoffberg, editor and publisher of Umbrella, long an important resource for information about artists’ books.

At heart, however, Minsky is a traditionalist. His works include numerous traditional bindings, like the ones for Cook’s Voyages (1968) and Tom Phillips’ translation of Dante’s Inferno (1980), as well as many blank books and guest books bound in exotic leathers with Art Deco and other historically inspired cover designs. And nearly all his books use traditional codices, even when attached to a bed, an electric chair, barbed wire, or linen wrappings. The form of the codex, even if not fully intact, is almost always recognizable.

Minsky has also called attention to earlier era’s bindings with compendia like American Decorated Publishers’ Bindings 1872-1929 (3 volumes, 2006-2010) and The Art of American Book Covers 1875-1930 (2010), which revived interest in a number of important book cover designers. Many were women, who were encouraged to find employment creating designs for book covers and other objects of the new industrial age, and who have otherwise been written out of the history of the decorative arts of the period. Their stories are an important addition to the history of artists’ books, and publishing.

The Book Art of Richard Minsky deserves a place on every book arts shelf. It brings us up to date with, and up close to, the career, still active, of an essential book artist. The photographs are clear, bright, inclusive and abundant. Minsky’s vision is no less.




Miriam Schaer (www.miriamschaer.com) is a practicing book artist based in Brooklyn, New York, and a Lecturer in the Interdisciplinary MFA Program in Book and Paper at Columbia College Chicago. She can be contacted at mschaer@colum.edu.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

The Journal of Dora Damage

Belinda Starling. The Journal of Dora Damage. London: Bloomsbury, 2007. 464 pages. ISBN 1596913363. Out of print but available.

Reviewed by John Nove

[In light of recent conversations on Book_Arts-L about anthropodermic bibliopegy a sneak-peak at a review to be published in the upcoming issue of The Bonefolder – in production now. To read the thread, click on the link and the "view by topic..." ]

 A chance meeting with an English woman over dinner on a remote Scottish isle last summer led to the mention of her friend Belinda Starling, recently deceased, who was the author of a novel that, as a bookbinder, she was sure I’d find interesting. No other details were shared, but a week after she left the island a parcel arrived via the Royal Mail containing the paperback version of The Journal of Dora Damage. The several blurbs on the back cover included one from the French women’s magazine Marie Claire (“a riveting tale of bookbinding and Victorian pornography”) and another from The Guardian which proclaimed the book a “scrupulously researched racy tale”.

I immediately began reading it and was transported into the Lambeth district of London in the mid-19th century with all its bleakness, despair and poverty – a very Dickensian setting whose sights, smells and tastes Starling expertly captured. The story’s narrator is twenty-something Dora Damage, a binder’s daughter, then binder’s wife, who sets out to support her severely arthritic husband Peter and their epileptic young daughter Lucinda by taking over the family business at a time when women were seldom permitted to perform other than menial bindery tasks (=sewing). Her options are few – make an attempt at successfully running the bindery or debtors’ prison for the entire family. So with her husband’s verbal guidance and the forwarding assistance of his young apprentice she sets out to resurrect Damages Bindery under the disapproving gaze of her neighbors.

Salvation appears in the form of Sir Jocelyn Knightly, an Africa explorer, physician, bibliophile and exoticist. Attracted by her unusual tooling and choice of cover materials, Knightly and his group of friends, the Noble Savages, likely modeled after Sir Richard Burton and his Kama Shastra Society, begin to provide commissions – along with morphine for Peter, an experimental therapy for Lucinda, and for Dora, entry into an unimagined netherworld of Victorian smut. Courtesy of Lady Knightly, Dora is also sent Din, a freed slave from Virginia, to become her apprentice (and she his!) after Peter dies.

The novel plunges deeper and deeper into the realms of vice, racism and pornography while providing what seem to be accurate details of the day-to-day operation of her bindery and the local tanneries. Dora finally draws the line at the degree of depravity to which she is willing to close her eyes. (For me the line would have been drawn sooner –some of the material in this book, based on well-researched Victorian predilections, is strong stuff.) With all the information she has, however, and the police closing in on their ‘business’, the Savages declare her expendable, and as a fitting termination to their relationship kidnap her and tattoo their logo onto her buttocks, planning to eventually use her skin (vegetable-tanned, we assume) on yet another one of their nefarious volumes. (“The perfect quarto, you said? Mrs. Damage’s arse, I’m afraid, will cover little more than an octavo, and a crown octavo at that.”)

Good finally prevails, as it usually does in these Victorian novels – and their Masterpiece Theatre versions. Dora, Lucinda (now free of epilepsy), and Mrs. Knightly and her newborn half-black son move off to Gravesend as a family. Dora then uses some of newly-acquired wealth to create a support organization for women binders that by 1917 evolves into the Society of Women in the Bookbinding and Printing Trades.

In recent years I’ve seldom devoured a book as voraciously as I did this one. Its depiction of Victorian bindery life, together with its intrigue and malignant darkness – overshadowed by the fortitude of Dora herself – lead me not only to recommend it strongly but to also suggest that it might make an ideal (if somewhat unusual) ‘set book’ for a binding competition.



John Nove is a bookbinder working for private and institutional clients in western Massachusetts. He graduated from the North Bennet Street School and opened the Grey Seal Bindery, named to honor the selkies he hears singing from his summer cottage on the Scottish island of Papa Westray in Orkney. He can be reached at <nove.john@gmail.com>.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Bookbinding: A Step by Step Guide

Kathy Abbott. Bookbinding: A Step by Step Guide. Ramsbury: Crowood Press, 2010. 10.2 x 8.5 inches. 160pp. ISBN-13: 978-1847971531 (hardcover) $29.95.

Reviewed by Anna Embree

Kathy Abbott's book Bookbinding: A Step by Step Guide is a well organized, clearly written manual on bookbinding that fills a much needed gap in the literature that is currently available to book binders about the tools and techniques of the craft. There are certainly flaws in this guide, as there are in every such guide, and it must be noted that this book may be particularly useful for more experienced binders and bookbinding instructors rather than beginners. However, the detailed instructions Abbott provides, coupled with clear photographs and diagrams make this a potentially useful bench manual and a valuable resource.

The book is divided into four chapters containing introductory information about materials, tools and supplies, and nine project descriptions. An appendix provides supplementary information, a glossary and a list of suppliers. In the chapter on materials and tools, the author clearly describes the equipment and supplies needed to outfit a functional bindery. She provides photographs of the items and an explanation of the ways each tool is used.

The chapters containing descriptions of projects are also laid out in a very logical format with step-by-step instructions and additional information about history and practice. The numbered instructions are coded in red to indicate an accompanying photograph, and this little key is very helpful for staying on track with the text. Also provided are boxes with supplemental text that give background information about the techniques that are described.

Despite the careful consideration put into the layout of this book and the wealth of information therein, the book suffers from the serious drawback of trying to appeal to too wide an audience. In the introduction the author asserts that the book is aimed at complete beginners, with the idea that they will be working at home. However, the beginner would be hard pressed to have a fully stocked and equipped bindery and - although she states that the tools and supplies she lists can be easily replaced with other, more available supplies - a beginner would have great difficulty doing this as they would not have the experience to know where to turn. In fact, it takes a strong understanding of procedure in order to see the best ways to make substitutions and yet attain good results. Further, the chapter on tools and materials, though very extensive, does not go far enough in explaining the importance of these items to the craft. For example, the section on grain direction clearly illustrates how grain can be determined in various materials but says very little about why grain direction is so important, both in the construction process and in a finished book.

Most of the projects in this book are also not really at the level of an absolute beginner. Many of the techniques covered in the projects would be difficult for someone absolutely new to the craft to accomplish from instructions alone. Rounding and backing, for example, is a very complex topic and, especially without an understanding of, or access to the proper equipment, would be hard to execute with any degree of success. The same is true for modifying equipment for leather paring and the leather paring techniques. Further, the description of the sewing structures for the book projects may be clear only to someone with some experience. These descriptions would benefit from accompanying diagrams to provide a clearer picture of the sewing patterns.

A section on basic techniques would also be extremely useful for the reader and would improve the overall coherence of the text. Processes such as gluing out, tipping on end sheets, and adhering turn-ins are described multiple times throughout the text, and the instructions would have been easier to follow had all of the information about each of these procedures been listed in one location. In fact, the book continually addresses simple concepts with repetition but glosses over some of the more complicated techniques. While the goal may be to provide something for everyone, I fear that this may make the book less than satisfactory for binders of all levels. As a teacher I believe that repetition can be very useful for reinforcing concepts, however the repetition within the step-by-step format creates a lot of duplicate information. A section on basic techniques would allow the beginner to refer back to these directions as often as necessary without forcing the more advanced binder to read through the fundamental instructions again and again.

Regardless of the limitations of this book, it does contain a great amount of information and is a truly practical bench guide. The repetition found in the first few chapters decreases somewhat as the book progresses, and the value of the content makes up for the inconvenience of replication in the instructions. Importantly, the projects are interesting and are all grounded in traditional craft. The straightforward descriptions of techniques are an excellent resource for any binder with a solid foundation in the craft but little overall experience, and for any advanced binder interested in reviewing procedures or seeing how another binder approaches the work.

While this book may have limited use as a manual for beginners working on their own, it is an ideal resource for the classroom. Much of the difficulty a beginner might face working through this book alone, could be easily overcome with some knowledgeable assistance. One of the greatest assets of the book is the huge number photographs that accompany the text and the strong organization of these images with the step-by-step descriptions. There are very few books on bookbinding that illustrate binding techniques so clearly; and students who have seen binding demonstrations, but are not yet confident in their skills, will find this book instructional and informative. It is a huge accomplishment to put together a manual of bookbinding that covers traditional practice in such detail and with such clarity. This is a book I can confidently recommend as a solid resource for bookbinding instruction.



Anna Embree has been teaching bookbinding for the MFA in Book Arts Program since August 2003. She came to the University of Alabama from Iowa City where she was associated with the University of Iowa Center for the Book. She has worked as studio coordinator for the Penland School of Crafts in North Carolina and in conservation at the University of Iowa Libraries. Ms. Embree received a Bachelors degree in Art from the University of Iowa in Iowa City. She received a Masters degree in Textiles and Clothing from Iowa State University in Ames, and a Graduate Certificate in Book Arts and Technologies from the University of Iowa Center for the Book. In addition to these degree programs, Ms. Embree completed a four-year apprenticeship in Bookbinding and Rare Book Conservation at the University of Iowa Libraries. She taught bookbinding at the University of Iowa from 1998–2003. Ms. Embree is active in the Guild of Book Workers and a Co-director of Paper and Book Intensive.

Saturday, February 26, 2011

How do Books Speak? A critical review of Julia Miller's Books Will Speak Plain: A Handbook for Identifying and Describing Historical Bindings

Books Will Speak Plain: A Handbook for Identifying and Describing Historical Bindings. Julia Miller, The Legacy Press: Ann Arbor, MI, 2010.  511pp. Illus, with DVD. ISBN-13: 978-0-9797974-3-9 (cloth) $80.00.

A critical review by Chela Metzger



“The book is dead” is a phrase that seems to have generated a cottage industry of keynote speakers and opinion pieces over the years. Let’s leave questions of the book’s relative death or life until the end of this review. Let’s agree that both dead and living things can be carefully and lovingly described, and an accurate description may be the best way to honor a book, dead or alive. Julia Miller, conservator, binder and book historian, has undertaken an enormous task in her Books Will Speak Plain: A Handbook for Identifying and Describing Historical Bindings. She has championed the miles of shelves holding historic bindings in America’s research collections. She has tapped into the unique perspectives of book conservators and librarians, as well as book historians.  She has placed today’s books artists alongside the anonymous binders of years past, and she has drawn all these different groups into a continuum. She builds from this synergy, and the synergy lends her book force and weight.


Book skeleton image
Image frrom Letterology blog Monday November 29. 2010, book structure models by British Artist Sarah Mitchell

The Structure

Look through the chapter headings, and you see that the book offers what a handbook needs to offer. Miller lays out well-organized information and images that you would want by your side as a reference. As an introduction, she has four chapters of western book history, starting with the earliest codex forms in the west, and ending with the electronic book reader. She then lays out two chapters on identifying and describing historic bindings, and a final chapter entitled “The Task Ahead and Conclusions”. This final chapter is followed by three appendices offering a set of binding terms in a hierarchy form, a sample historic binding survey with a case studies, and a set of guidelines for book stack maintenance and book condition assessment. She also includes a glossary, a bibliography, an index and a DVD packed with additional images of historic binding features. Illustrations are crucial to this book. Miller has groups of full color photographs, as well as black and white photographs dispersed throughout. Some historic structures are delightfully illustrated with original drawings done by book conservator and book artist Pamela Spitzmueller. Miller has done a thorough job packing an extraordinary amount of information into a single volume (and DVD).

van Gogh “Still Life with Bible” 1885 from Wiki Commons

Passion

Certainly Miller’s book is not entirely new in subject matter, but it offers a new and useful combination of information. Others have given us heavily illustrated books on western bookbinding history, like Szirmai’s The Archeology of Medieval Bookbinding, (1999) or Jane Greenfield’s ABC of Bookbinding  (2002).  And we already have a few handbooks, which focus on dating a national binding style, like David Pearson’s English Bookbinding Styles 1450-1800: A Handbook (2005). Arguments for including binding information in bibliographic description have already been developed by a few bibliographers, as Miriam Foot has shown in her excellent chapter on bibliography in Bookbinders at Work: Their Roles and Methods (2006).  And in his short, highly illustrated Book as History: The Importance of Books Beyond Their Text (2008), Pearson has already argued passionately, as does Julia Miller, for the unique artifactual qualities of historic books in libraries. What Miller’s book does which is especially innovative is offer a set of carefully crafted tools to carry out the bookbinding documentation she has argued so passionately for.

Miller is urgent in her arguments. She wants all who can do so to add to the bookbinding description work that has already been done, and she would like people to do this work SOON. As those of us who work in research collections well know, cataloging is an enormously time consuming and intellectually demanding process.  Given time and money constraints, special collection materials are sometimes very minimally cataloged. (For more on the Council on Library and Information Resources funding to catalog these “hidden collections” see http://www.clir.org/hiddencollections/index.html) This cataloging problem makes intellectual access difficult or impossible. If these sometimes unevenly cataloged collections are moved to remote storage, an additional burden of access will be imposed. To describe a book, it is best to have the book in hand. So, Miller seems to argue, now is the necessary time to begin careful binding description projects. Her fear is that already inaccessible closed stacks will soon become even harder to access after being taken away to remote storage.  Her urgency combined with a crystal clear love for historic books drive the book forward.

"Librarian" merit badge from the Boy Scouts of America

Thinking Like a Librarian

A unique feature of Millers work is her painstaking development of controlled vocabulary for describing historic bindings. This element of her work is one of its greatest strengths, and needs to be addressed in some detail. The task of carefully describing bindings has merit in its own right, and has been done by esteemed scholars for years, though rarely on a national scale, or with a comprehensive visual documentation component. If we consider a book as a technology, and think of how other technologies, from arrowheads to wheels, are documented in archeology then we can imagine books described the same way arrowheads are described, with a controlled vocabulary developed by those who know the most about arrowheads and their gradual changes over time.

Story in Stone by Val Waldorf

Such efforts at controlled vocabulary for describing books have been part of book history for years, and Miller is careful to acknowledge this. Glaister’s 1960 Glossary of the Book is an important effort, as is of course the excellent ABC For Book Collectors by John Carter, which also came out in 1960.  Etherington and Roberts Bookbinding and Book Conservation a Dictionary of Descriptive Terminology (1985?) is a reference book many of us cannot live without. There are certainly other efforts past and present being made internationally in this area, for one example see < http://www.ligatus.org.uk/>.

But librarians, who rightfully claim dominion over the rigorous development of controlled vocabulary for accurate information retrieval, have generated their own somewhat lesser known list of binding terms. Miller is well aware of the American Library Association Rare Books and Manuscripts Division thesaurus of binding terms. She is actively working to have specific terms she considered crucial added to their approved list so more librarians can use them in cataloging of historic bindings. For example, the Rare Books and Manuscripts Section is now considering officially approving her term “visible structure through damage”(see page 4). Imagine if you could go into any rare book library, type that term into the catalog, and could accurately generate a list of every book in the collection damaged in a way that reveals the book’s manufacture and use. This is the power of controlled vocabulary used for information retrieval, and Miller is intent on harnessing that power for research.

Screen shot of capture of RBMS Binding Terms List

Miller’s own descriptive hierarchy lists terms in a way that relates them to each other and ties each “descriptor” to her own survey form. The effort put into this thesaurus and glossary in her appendix is enormous. As she says “ The author …draws on long experience as well as the work of many scholars who have suggested and compiled terms and definitions for hand-bookbinding in the past.” (p. 306). Miller’s “Historical Bindings – Structure and Style Hierarchy” is meant to help in creating and filling out her Historical Binding Survey Form, and terms are all defined in her glossary. Her efforts pay off, not just in the sheer number of terms, but in her work’s intellectual care and sophistication.

It is instructive to briefly compare Miller’s thesaurus with the RBMS thesaurus and with the Getty Art and Architecture Thesaurus. (The AAT is an increasingly international resource Miller does not mention, but which aspires to be useful for library and archival materials--accessible online at http://www.getty.edu/research/tools/vocabularies/aat/)

Getty Art & Architecture Thesaurus

With the Getty’s AAT you see bindings and binding components classified under objects in the information context, narrowed down to gathered matter components, narrowed down to bindings. When finally further narrowed down to “binding by style or decoration” the AAT lists 26 style terms (not all are shown in the illustration above). The RBMS binding thesaurus lists 31 style terms. Miller has 141 style terms listed, and that is just for the common styles with numerous examples. She has 50 uncommon styles listed, where there were few made or few survive. AND Miller defines her terms in a glossary as well as offering a wealth of explanatory photos. Unlike Etherington and Roberts or the AAT she does not footnote individual entries so you can follow them back to a specific citation. We could quibble over what to call a style and what to call a structure and other finer points of vocabulary--but the shear numbers here speak for themselves. Miller’s thesaurus has brought together many more bookbinding terms than two of the standard hierarchies for bindings terms used in the US today.


Documentation

For many conservators, using other people’s documentation forms is an enjoyable professional challenge. In some ways description and condition forms are our special form of literary production in conservation, and a good form helps the person filling it out notice the book in front of them more deeply. It was very useful to sit down and describe a real book using Miller’s “Sample Historical Binding Survey Form—Categories and Sub-Categories” in chapter 6. Her survey form is designed to be used in concert with chapter five “Identifying Binding Materials and Applications”.  Careful use of her appendix “Sample Survey Suggestions and Description Case Studies” helps the reader understand her survey rational and offers a survey designer many workflow tips. Miller moves from the outside of the book to the inside in the survey structure. She warns the reader that one size does not fit all when developing a survey, and that it is to best to first try your survey on a sample section of the collection. These suggestions, along with the form itself, make sense.

Her survey form is emphatically not meant to lead the user into poking and prodding at the book in a damaging fashion. She repeatedly cautions the reader not to assign terms to bookbinding elements they are not sure of, particularly in the case of sewing patterns and endpaper attachments. The wisdom of this is clear. The pages of diagramed endpaper types and textblock sewing styles offered in articles by Nicholas Pickwoad like "The Interpretation of Binding Structure: an Examination of Sixteenth-Century Bindings in the Ramey Collection " (in The Library, 6th series, 17 (September 1995), pp 209-249) and by Bernard Middleton in his History of English Craft Bookbinding Techniques (1963) are extremely useful and important.  But positive identification of one style or another of these often well hidden bookbinding features like sewing and endpaper construction requires more specialized training in bookbinding history than Miller is looking for here.  In her quest for basic historic binding description implemented by interested but not necessarily expert people, she has made choices about the level of binding detail to include in her survey. Some details the conservation reader might be used to seeing in a description form, such as exact collation, layers of endband structure, spine lining types and structure, composition of sewing supports, and board lacing patterns are not emphasized in Miller’s book. This is an important distinction. The survey form Miller offers is not a conservation documentation form, and serves other purposes.

Image by Yukio Miayamoto using Adobe Illustrator. From Image from geekologie.com, posted May 27, 2007.

Worthy Pictures

This book is replete with illustrations, and with photographs in particular. She makes excellent use of photos to explain terms in her survey form, as well as to delight the reader with interesting and beautiful examples of bookbindings. Like many photographic images meant to show technical information, there are occasional limitations. For example, while using Miller’s survey form a reader might want help in identifying the type of board used to construct the binding. Her written descriptions of pasteboard, waterleaf board and pulpboard are very good.  The fully exposed inner board face of pulpboard she uses as a photographic example clearly shows the book edge trimmings and other recycled matter she describes as commonly found in pulpboard. But on simple inspection her pulpboard and waterleaf board photos are similar enough to cause confusion.  In fact the waterleaf board photograph also seems to show the bits of paper and refuse found in the pulpboard. Miller recommends a magnifying glass as basic equipment for describing bindings. To complement that basic identification tool, magnified photographic details of materials like pulpboard could be very useful in a handbook. But this is a small complaint. Miller offers far more photographic references to aid in identifying historic binding elements than any reference book I can think of, and that is not even including the supplemental DVD with its many fine color images. (If you are still hungry for more images of historic bindings, see the British Library’s http://www.bl.uk/catalogues/bookbindings/, one of a growing number of online visual resources.) Miller has used many images from the University of Michigan collections in her book, and from a few other institutions. But her private study collection of historic bindings is perhaps essential to the development of this book. Sensitivity to binding features is finely tuned over time by daily living with these artifacts, and her photographs represent this sensitivity is well.


Image from U of Wisconsin Madison  History of Science and Technology Digital Collection.

Historical Context

This review has not yet touched on the four chapters of western bookbinding history Miller offers the reader of this handbook. Since in some ways Miller’s concerns about description seem to overshadow the context of bookbinding, it is easy to skim these and move on to the more action oriented chapters. One rarely reads a handbook in order from page one to the end in any case. But for those looking for a masterful summary of bookbinding history, these chapters are very useful.

The chapter on the birth of the codex from earlier scrolls and tablets is extremely scholarly and detailed. This is to be expected given Miller’s work with early codices in Egypt, and her access to University of Michigan’s department of papyrology. Miller is careful to note that information on the earliest codices is given in her handbook to show the reader how decorative and structural elements ebb and flow through the long history of bookbinding, not because she expects readers to survey these ancient materials.

Miller’s chapter on the medieval manuscript book gives an especially in-depth look at Gothic bindings.  As she notes on page 61:  “The Gothic board attachment set in motion a train of structural change that remained in force for a long time, apparent in the curves spines of books from the Gothic era right up to the end of the twentieth century”.  While more “typical” bindings dominate her condensed history, she is careful to also cover limp and stationer’s bindings. I think her statement that stationer’s binding were part of a class of binding “plainer, more pedestrian and intended primarily to protect.” (page 84) bears a bit of examining. Her own chosen example of an Italian stationer’s binding from the mid-fourteenth century has a lovely two part scarlet dyed cover, careful lacing patterns, and a buckle closure--all steps that went far beyond basic protection into the realm of decorative. Perhaps it is safer to say stationers and other “limp” bindings had their own traditions. (To be fair, she does specifically note the lack of documentation for this style of binding.) Overall, Miller carefully reminds the reader that manuscript books came in many styles and forms, and does an excellent job setting the stage for the transition to books printed on paper.

Image of  15th century wooden board binding from University of Iowa Library Bookbinding Models Collection

The two bookbinding history chapters covering 1450-1800 and 1800 to 1900 will probably be the ones most referred to by users of this handbook, since most US collections have material created in these eras. It is here that she really delves into the nitty-gritty of bookbinding steps like sewing, endbanding, lining, board shaping, edge trimming and coloring, leather paring, clasps and so on. Some binding steps, like endbanding, are just hard to understand without technical drawings, and adding a few more line drawings here could have helped a less experienced reader. AAs in her earlier chapters, Miller is careful to note different bookbinding formats like stab sewn or stationer's bindings. Her excellent section on Colonial American bookbinding traditions is particularly useful, and we can all look forward to the publishing of her current research into the use of wooden boards(scaleboard) in early American bookbinding. In her last chapter, which romps through the intense innovation and variety in bookbinding from 1800 to 1900, she pays special attention to case binding elements, the changes in paper production, the manufacture of bookcloth, and of course the shift to publisher controlled binding choices. Miller notes that the variation of bindings within 19th century editions, coupled with the wide use of stereotyping to produce the textblocks, can both lead to serious problems dating material from this era. These features can make typical bibliographic research for these under-appreciated materials even more difficult.

All four of these history chapters are well written and delightfully footnoted. Any teacher who wants a comprehensively illustrated introduction to western binding that covers everything from the Nag Hammadi codices to Smyth sewing to would be well advised to send her students to this handbook.


The Death of the Book

At the beginning of this review the dreaded “is the book dead” phrase was used as a red flag, then dropped, with the promise of bringing it back. So here it is again: Is the book dead? In chapter four “The Book From 1800 to 1900”, Miller has already introduced the book-death theme:
“The end of the nineteenth century and the end of making books by hand for the masses could be seen as the end of the road for the making of the handmade book. This occasional feeling of impending doom is magnified by the rush of institutional collections to digitize their books, including their rare collections, and the suspicion that, after digitization, inaccessible storage will be the fate of some of the collections…we have a few years to establish our claim to access artifact bindings, and we must hope our small voice will be heard” (p.190)

Miller’s final chapter in Books Will Speak Plain begins with Emily Dickenson’s voice saying:

“Forever is composed of now—”

This mysterious line of poetry makes the reader stop and contemplate. What does it mean? Taken negatively, the Emily Dickenson’s NOW could be the sad dwarfing of historic bookbindings in the face of massive institutional responsibilities to digitize information and preserve digital information. Taken negatively the FOREVER of Dickinson’s phrase could be the permanent lonely isolation of historic bindings warehoused in cold and remote storage as if in a morgue. Or taken positively the NOW of Emily’s poem could be the current efforts Miller and many others are making to describe historic bindings accurately and share that information. And taken positively the FOREVER in this line of poetry could be the permanent new life historic binding description will have when incorporated into a library catalog accessible to all--the dream of universal and permanent access to information that has been the dream of librarianship since ancient Alexandria.

Miller starts each of her chapters with an evocative line of Emily Dickenson poetry, and the temptation is add more poetry to the mix here is strong. T.S. Elliot writes:
“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time”

(Four Quartets 1943)
Perhaps our special collections are not headed for remote storage immediately, since it seems general collection materials may be first to move that direction, and that could take a long time. Indeed it is often harder to access these historic bindings now than is ideal even though they may live right on campus. Remote storage may not be much of a change, given that reality. But it is easy to share Miller’s sense of urgency about describing our nation’s extraordinary historic bindings. This urgency can be based as much on opportunity as fear. Miller mentions the vital twenty-first century book arts communities, bookbinding communities and book conservation communities. These groups are all passionately engaged with books as physical objects. Couple this synergy with new digital tools and the ease of sharing information.  Then keep in mind the energized interdisciplinary and growing field of Book Studies within academe…these factors all add up to making this a prime time to do the historic binding study Miller is calling for.  Miller has filled her book with her excitement at these possibilities, and they bear repeating.  As we move toward a screen-based world, we may indeed know books “for the first time”.  The book seen deeply and lovingly described for the future is brought alive. The book described and made accessible in new ways is given new possibilities -- it is not dead.

A Footnote

Finally, the comprehensive, articulate, wonderfully footnoted and gently humorous vision Miller brings to her book is a tribute to what might perhaps be called the “heroic” generation of American bookbinders/conservators that she is part of. Many of these people are thanked in Miller’s preface, and it is a long list of names. Those of us who have relied on this group’s energy and teaching in our own work can never thank them enough.

A Footnote to the Footnote

Legacy Press has also recently published Cathleen Baker’s From Hand to Machine:  Nineteenth-Century American Paper and Mediums. (Reviewed in the Bonefolder Jeffrey S. Peachey). The press must be commended for nurturing this level of scholarly work, and presenting it beautifully. 



Chela Metzger started her official association with books by working as a library assistant at the age of 9. She graduated from Simmons College as a card-carrying librarian in 1990, and began her more intimate association with the craft of bookbinding at the North Bennet Street School in 1991, working 2 years with Mark Esser. She followed that with an internship in rare-book conservation at the Library of Congress in 1993, and began her paid conservation career as a project conservator at the Huntington Library in 1994. She began teaching book conservation to visiting Latin American interns in 1999, and moved into full-time lecturer work in 2001 at the University of Texas at Austin. In 2011 she began as Conservator of Library Collections at the Winterthur Museum, Garden and Library in Winterthur, DE. Having been the recipient of amazingly generous teaching in the past, she hopes to help carry on the tradition, integrity and discipline of bookwork in all its facets. On-going bookish research interests include: history of the book, binding in Spain and Latin America, future of books and libraries, the binding of archival materials historically, how books are depicted in art, social life of books. She is also a member of the Editorial Board of The Bonefolder.