Showing posts with label bookhistory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bookhistory. Show all posts

Monday, August 6, 2007

Jerome Rothenberg, King of Anthologizers

Rothenberg's anthologies show poetic composition in themselves. The Book of the Book, with its reflexive examination of this art that Rothenberg clearly knows so well, is no exception.

There follow responses to a few of the essays.

Karl Young. "Notation and the Art of Reading." pp25-49.

Young notes use of "painted books" for memorization in largely oral societies:
"As teaching tools the books were probably used to engrave myth and history, in a form that could be internally visualized . . . . Their purpose, then, was not to remind readers of things they might otherwise forget, but to help make those things unforgettable . . . . The image of the god Tezcatlipoca would not be in a book to tell students of his existence -- there all were absolutely sure of his presence -- but to fix a concrete image of him in their minds . . ." (27).

Here Young oddly retains a post-Gutenberg sense of knowledge while pointing out the difference in primarily oral culture. As book readers, we feel we either know of Tezcatlipoca or we do not, and Young assumes the same of the Azteca students. But any large illustrations of Tezcatlipoca would naturally enough reflect the written glyphs. In this way, their gods were their words, just as YHWH for the Hebrew scribes, built of aspect and characteristic, entities of spirit and abstraction, intracerebral.

Writing about England in 1620, Young describes the difference in literary form necessitated by different printing and distribution:
The Faerie Queene had become a classic by 1620, recalling an epoch that seemed glorious, however painful it may have been to those actively involved in its political events. The reader may well have heard a good deal of the book read or recited before he bought it and may have already committed some passages to memory -- he may even have used passages as maxims, things he turned over in his mind when making decisions or trying to make sense out of the world. The book he had purchased would probably not be read through and shelved (though some ostentatious buyers might keep a copy on their shelves just for show). It would be used as a script for reading to family and friends, as something to ponder over in private, or as something to commit, in part, to memory (which was still considered one of the basic arts of life). The text is admirably suited to these uses: the narrative allegory could be listened to with varying degrees of attentiveness, its regular rhythms and graceful phrases would be easy to read aloud; and the regular stanzas and rhymes would make passages relatively easy to memorize. Even its inconsistencies and obscurities -- unintentional results of composition in installments -- would make it something to reread many times. When reading the book in private, it would be more a script to declaim than a source os silent information, conveyed from page to brain by an easy activity of the eyes" (36).

Another aspect of early typography may have cognitive implications:
For Shakespeare and Donne and most of their contemporaries a written word was not confined to a single orthographic form: it could change according to the writer's intuitive sense of how it should look or sound, showing shades of emphasis, intonation, color, perhaps even pitch in his own pronunciation" (37).

Another aspect of this were interchangeable letters and variant punctuation:
The use of the apostrophe in possessives had not come into standard usage, and when Donne used a word like 'worlds' he may have primarily meant 'world's,' but wished to leave a sense of secondary meaning: multiple worlds (he was probably familiar with Giordano Bruno's notion of infinite worlds). Letters like 'I' and 'J' or 'U' and 'V' were at that time more or less interchangeable, creating further ambiguities and keeping the reader at a speed approximating serious speech" (38).

Here 's meat for another interpretation, though. Clearly these ambiguities could be used and preserved when they did not signal aural changes. These constitute visual inflections, and by extension, the variant spellings might as easily be taken as visual inflections as well -- particularly since they are not literally aural. I wonder at the resistance of many critics to what seems like the obvious recognition that script one reads is at least as visual as aural. After all, human reception of oral language is also significantly inflected by the visual and, for the speaker, the kinetic. It's altogether typical that Young can go on to discuss Donne's "dramatic gestures" during sermons, apparently without any such relationship occurring to him. The first discussion I have seen of what seems like an obvious fact comes in Jackendoff's recent book (see previous comment here).

Michael Davidson, "The Material Page," (71-79).

"Much of the impetus for calligraphic and concretist experimentation was gained by the increased use of the typewriter and the flexibility of new forms of movable type. Modernist poets such as Pound, Williams, and cummings saw the advantages of this technology in gaining control over their medium. Prior to the modern period, poets had to rely on the skills (and whims) of copy editors and typesetters in interpreting their textual intentions. Modernists poets now could uses new print technologies to indicate exactly what values of spacing and word placement they intended" (74).

Of course, an even bigger jump in this came in the 1980's, with photographic reproduction made relatively cheaply.

Blanchot, Maurice. "The Book to Come" (141-159).
. . . language is a system of highly complex spatial relations whose singularity neither ordinary geometrical space nor the space of everyday life allows us to appreciate. Nothing is created and no discourse can be creative except through the preliminary exploration of the totally vacant region where language, before it is a set of given words, is a silent process of correspondences, or a rhythmic scansion of life. Words exists only to signify the area of correspondence, the space onto which they are projected and which, no sooner signified, furls and unfurls, never being where it is. Poetic space, the space and 'outcome' of language, never exists like an object but is spaced out and scattered . . . .

". . . Mallarmé restores depth to this space" (150).

Wow. (Though let's call it depth and scale.)

I wonder whether Blanchot can possibly gather the meaning of what he wrote in that year. I suppose otherwise I would have to consider it an accident that he would write it, though.

Tedlock, Dennis. "Towards a Poetics of Polyphony and Translatability."
Mayan signs (like Egyptian and Chinese signs) are abundant, providing multiple ways of spelling any given syllable or word. This kind of script is reader-friendly in its own particular ways, permitting the annotation of a word sign with a syllabic hint as to its pronunciation, or permitting a reader to recall a forgotten sign or learn a new one by comparing two different spellings in places where the text would seem to demand the same world . . . . Just as a Mayan poem reminds the hearer that different words can be sued with reference to the same object, so a Mayan text reminds the reader that different signs can be used for the same syllables or words" (268).

Compare this with the comments on John Donne and variable letters in English printing circa Donne and Milton. The effect is similar but far more obvious and probably more extensive in the glyphs. There's a question of visual inflection. In the Mayan texts at the very least, the distinct visuality is clearly and quite specifically allusive, as Tedlock's article (257-277) discusses at length.

Thursday, May 3, 2007

Walter Benjamin

Benjamin the effect on art of the advent of photography:
" With the advent of the first truly revolutionary means of reproduction, photography, simultaneously with the rise of socialism, art sensed the approaching crisis which has become evident a century later. At the time, the right reacted with the doctrine of l'art pourl'art, that is, with a theology of art. This gave rise to what might be called a negative theology in the form of the idea of 'pure' art, which not only denied any social function of art but also any categorizing by subject matter. (In poetry, Mallarme was the first to take this position)" (1237).

Benjamin makes an interesting judgment in calling photos the first "means of reproduction" although printing had reproduced words and their written arrangement for centuries prior. Although he doesn't say so, surely the automation of print in the 1800's and even increased transport and distribution would have contributed to these same effects for similar reasons. Just as painting no longer had to photograph, the novel had less to do with journalism.

". . . for the first time in world history, mechanical reproduction emancipates the work of art from its parasitical dependence on ritual. To an ever greater degree the wo of art reproduced becomes example, one can make any number of prints; to ask for the 'authentic' print makes no sense. But the instant the criterion of authenticity ceases to be applicable to ritual, it begins to be based on another practice -- politics . . . .

With the emancipation of the various art practices from ritual go increasing opportunites for the exhibition of their products. It is easier to exhibit a portrait bust that can be sent here and there than to exhibit the statute of a divinity that has its fixed place in the interior of a temple. (1237).


Here he begs some questions, but the idea is interesting. Just how does reproduction release art from ritual? Does it remove the necessity of a priesthood to interpret or perform it? Would the term ritual be as meaningful if the statue of divinity were in a secular museum instead of a temple? I wonder whether Benjamin might not mean in part that art can be freed of certain socioeconomic trappings, that reproduction removes the objet d'art from social contextualization or from a contextualization.

If so, this seems opposed to the findings of Horkheimer and Adorno, who insist not many years later (Benjamin 1935, Horkheimer & Adorno, 1947) that capitalism and broadcast technology have rendered artistic production uniform.

Either way, publication in 1935 was rigidly linked to patterns of profit and distribution, broadcast even more so, at least in the US, where public airwaves had been given away to now-familiar broadcast corporations.

Perhaps more important to ritual than the physical mobility of the objet d'art is its social mobility, its usability by different classes. In that event, use must refer to consumption, production, and determining decisions over production and distribution.

There may be a general principle here. Contemporary readers may refer to current debates over intellectual property, .torrent files and filesharing networks. Some will remember how similar the dialog was in the early 1980's when the music industry momentarily crashed or played possum in response to the arrival of recordable cassette tapes. But I suspect that technology has impacted power over information for a long time. Papyrus would have also made writing easier to hide as well as transport. It would have made it possible to view writing without the authority of a temple. The early development of Western monotheism has survived more extensively and securely in the Hebrew texts than in the Egyptian record, not because the Egyptians had no paper or less paper, of course, but because the Hebrews may have known early on that their records had to be moved and stored. The religious texts include documents that are in some ways revolutionary; that may in part be because of the draw of the form.

Well, enough speculation in that quarter. Walter Ong has some interesting things to day on the subject, though, if anyone's interested. Benjamin, meanwhile, goes on with some appreciation of film:
"For the entire spectrum of optical, and now also acoustical, perception the film has brought about a similar deepening of apperception. It is only an obverse of this fact hat behavior items shown in a movie can be analyzed with much more precisely and from more points of view than those presented on paintings or on the stage. As compared with painting, filmed behavior lends itself more readily to analysis because of its incompareably more precise statements of the situation. In comparison with the stage scene, the filmed behavior item lends itself more readily to analysis because it can be isolated more easily. This circumstance derives its chief importance from its tendency to promote the mutual penetration of art and science" (1238).

I find the tone here interesting because Benjamin himself has clearly lived through the change. There's something in it that reminds me of trying to convey to students what it felt like typing papers on an old underwood typwriter and swearing and running to the store for white-out. Awareness of the distinction is lost to the population very quickly.

Ten years ago I read in books that The Book was to come to and end. Now I read in blogs that the book will survive. We ain't in Kansas anymore -- though, for all I know, you might be.

Benjamin, Walter. "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction." in Rivkin, Julie and Michael Ryan. Literary Theory: An Anthology. 2nd Edition. Oxford: Blackwell, 2004.

Friday, April 20, 2007

Cathy Davidson

Davidson, Cathy N. Revolution and the Word: The Rise of the Novel in America. Oxford: Oxford, 1986.

Davidson documents the rise of the novel in the US; its relation to women's writing and reading; and to some degree its relation to the history of publishing and distribution technology and economics. She's thorough and perceptive, and provides quite a useful background. The overall picture seems to be that of simultaneous and related rises in secular fiction, women's expression and reading, sequential reading, ease and speed of production and distribution.

I cherry-picked the following quotes from many I might have chosen:

On the beginnings of large-scale popularity for novels:

"Although Susanna Rowson's Charlotte: A Tale of Truth (1791) -- later known as Charlotte Temple -- had sold nearly forty thousand copies by the first decade of the nineteenth century, many of the copies were from pirated editions that brought no recompense to either the author or her American publisher. That publisher's first edition, it might also be noted, ran to only one thousand copies. One of the countries morst prosperous and sagacious early printers, Mathew Carey simply had no basis for predicting the popularity of Rowson's book. In fact, a first printing of a late eithteenth-century AMerican novel typically ran somewhere between three hundred and fifteen hundred copies, so Carey's edition of Charlotte was relatively large by the standards of the itme. In contrast, by 1825 a press run of ten thousand copies for an American novel was not unheard of ; by 1830 the paperback novels or 'story papers' that were distributed as newspapers through the U.S. postal system were retularly run in edition sof thirty thosuand copies" (17).

Davidson gives this account of how to get published in the 1800's:

"An author was required to contact a printer and contract with him (rarely, her) to have a new book brought before the American public. The a\uthor's offical recompense would be whatever the printer agreed to pay for the rights to an edition of a certain number. Often the actual recompense was whatever the printer was finally able or willing to pay. The printer's recompense would come from the sale of those same volumes, so the printing shopo that was also a publishing establishment was usually a bookstore, too. . . . Since publishers were often small local businesses in a large land with a sparse and scattered population, it was difficult to gain a large audience for most books." (18).

She notes also the publishers' and printers' problems.

"How could a publisher gauge the demand (or lack of one) for a specific title? Would a book (especially a novel) offend censorious critics? Would it be lively enough for an increasingly secularized public? Those decisions were all the more crucial in that for most printers there was little margin for error" (19).

"It should come as no surprise that most early printers, like most authors, brought forth only one American novel during the course of a whole career" (19).

This suggests, among other things, that a publisher or printer generally had to make money in some other way, and that the odds were that printing or publishing happened at a net loss or with too little remuneration to be with the labor involved. One might infer that this is a major reason that we find few early minority or underclass authors (white women, as usual, forming a subclass that tries these definitions).

English curriculae generally ignore the economic basis of production and distribution of literature itself, yet Davidson palpably shows distinct correlations between form and circumstance.

A description of Printing methods:

"The early publishers who decided to print a particular volume generally did so in a cottage-industry fashion. His shop might have one or two indentured apprentices, often as young as six or seven years of age. The apprentices took care of such unpleasant chores as 'treading out the pelts,' literally stomping on sheep pelts that had soaked for several days in the slop pail, a first step in making the ink balls necessary to ink the type. Apprentices and the printer's children would help with the cleaning, would sort type, and when strong enough would actually operate the heavy presses. The work was hard. Several eighteenth-century accounts describe the usual build and gait of one who had long served at the press -- an enormously develped right arm, a limp from having used the right foot on the 'step' in order to make the 'pull,' and sometimes even distended or permanently dislocated shoulders. The work was also general. To supplement the income from the press the printer's wife might run the town post office out of the print shop; often she sold books (imported or exchanged from different booksellers as well as thoseprinted in th shop) and other goods -- everything form household items and her own handicrafts o theater or lotter tickets, stateionery, pens, ink , and fancy imported products" (19-20).

My first publisher, William Van Doren, worked for a time in the 1980's by silkscreening a poster-style broadside he called The Wallpaper. He developed the unusual production method himself as a pre-digital way to support extensive experimentation with graphical presentation of text, and did some remarkable things with it. He personally described to me changes in his back and arms that came from the repetitive movements of silkscreening.

Transportation and shipping troubles:

"Joseph Dennie, in a letter to Royall Tyler regarding the Walpole, New Hampshire publication of Tyler's The Algerine Captive, aptly summarizes the too-common consequence of the combined problems of local printing and precarious distriubtjion: 'Your novel has been examined by the few and paproved. It is however extremely difficult fo r the Bostonians t supply themselves with abook that slumbers in a stall at Walpole, supposed, by the latest and most accurate advertisements, to be situated 400 miles north of their meridian.

"Four hundred miles was as formidable distance. To travel by stagecoach from Boston to Walpole might take two weeks or longer. Nor was it an inexpensive trip. In 1800, a stagecoachjourney could cost as much as $1 for ten miles" (21).

Relations with booksellers -

"The imprint on the title page of the first edition of Charles Brockdon Bron's Arthur Mervyn (1799-1800) indicates the sway in which one Philadelphia printer sought to carry his books to the larlger market: ' Printed and published by H. Maxwsell and sold by Messr's. T. TDobson, R. Campbell, H. and P. Rice.

"What effect did the improved transportation systems and the expanding publisher's networks have on the shape of American fiction? Obviously, that is a difficult question to answer. But it is worth noting that nearly all of America's novels published prior to 1820 were first published in the North. There were exceptions, such as George Fowler's A flight to the moon: or the Vision of Randalthus (1813) and John Neal's Keep Cool (1817) both published in Baltmore; . . . . but these volumes were all issued after 1809, with only marginal success, and none enjoyed a second edition. To put he matter in its most general terms, the new American novels tended to do best where they could best be distributed" (22-23).

If the sales item under discussion were gym socks, I doubt anyone would imagine that something so elemental as distribution were not involved in their dissemination.

On Copyright:

"Until the passage of federal copyright laws, there could be no real profession of authorship. Publishing, too, requried some protection. If a printer needed, say, to sell half fo a first edition of a novel simply to recoup his costs, he could not afford to have another printer, impressed by the novel's sales, come forward with a competing -- and perhaps cheaper -- edition. Such a pirated edition deprived both the author and the publisher of the profits they would otherwise have received."

One wonders how this relates to Net-era publication. It certainly has not applied in the straightforward manner described here to music sales. They bombed briefly in the mid-1980's, in response to cassettes, but picked up within a very short period of time, the pause being apparently an industry-wide panic of professionals rather than anything else. Moreover, while one may feel some empathy for authors and first publishers being robbed of their profits, a pirated edition was at least distributed, and perhaps distributed more than it might have been otherwise. So the relation to dissemination of literature in general might not be quite as described here.

Looking altogether at Chapter 2, one must note that

1. The economic difficulties of authorship and booksales prohibited reading and sales

2. The lending libraries were a great boon not only to reading and literacy but to publishing as well,

3. The physical object of the book was a great amount of its value and a great part of the trouble in its production.

4. The value difference between a particularly dense book like Paradise Lost and a new novel would have been immense, and a worthy consideration in terms of purchase. One can read Milton over and over without exhausting its ideas -- something that would be hard to say for Harriet Beecher Stowe. This may be a major factor in the shift from long poems to novels in general. Novels make more sense if one's going to read the work once, consider that one has put enough work into the thing, and set it aside.

5. Economies of scale impeded American publishing because English and european markets were larger, and booksellers could profit more by jobbing britlit than US lit. This would have made the results of any other economic and logistical difficulties more critical.

6. these substantial limits must remain in place to varying extents in third world countries and among minority communities.

Economics and Censorship

A quote for George Bush I, after his recent comments about blogs:

"I thank God, there are no free schools nor printing [in Virginia], and I hope we shall not have these [for a] hundred years; for learning has brought disobedience, and heresy, and sects into the world, and printing has divulged them, and libels against the best government. God keep us from both!

William Berkeley, Gov.
Virginia 1619
Cited p 38

Fiction and Morality

"The opinion of the world in regard to works of fancy has of late years undergone a wonderful change. It is no longer considered an offense against either religion, morality, or prudence to peruse a book bearing the name of a novel. . . . To us it appears as if it were but yesterday, that the grave, the serious, the religious, and the prudent, considered novel reading as an employment utterly beneath th dignity of the human mind . . . . In those days, it was almost as disreputable to be detected reading anovel, as to be found betting at a cock-fight, or a gaming table. Those who had sons would have supposed them forever incapacitated for any useful pursuit in life, if they exhibited an inclination for novel reading; and those who had daughters who exhibited such an inclination, would have considred them as totally unfitted for ever becoming good wives or mothers." (James Mchanry, 1824, cited page 38).

Production and Reading Styles

"Rolf Engelsing, one of the important practictioners of histoire du livre, has argued persuasively that by the end of hte eighteenth century in Germany (and, by extension, throughout the Western world), reading was no longer largely limited to the Bible and other basic religious books for most people. Not only was the number of books increasing apace with the increasing number of readers but, in addition, more readers read more books in the course of a lifetime. Engselsing also argues that this change in quantity also effected a change in the quality and nature of reading. Instead of reading the book 'intensively' (reading the Bible over and over again), books were read 'extensively.' one book regularly replacing another, to result in a proto-mass consumption of print. Engelsing sees the novel as both a primary contributing factor to this change and its chief benefact or. Engelsing's insight is crucial. The whole mentality of reading was changing by the end of the eighteenth century, at least in America, and, clearly, the Bible and Psalter no longer occupied the singular place they once had in the life fo the community of of the individual leader. This is not to say that religion had lost its importance. Rather, other books rivaled the Bible for reading time in early America. Just as clearly, and increased demand for different kinds of books called the novel into being" (72).

I should point out that traditional plotted novels work far better for this kind of reading. One reads through For Whom the Bell Tolls one time in comfort, whereas earlier narrative forms, say Paradise Lost, suggest re-reading. Important exceptions exist, but they're treated different socially. For instance, how many readers of the Ulysses or Finnegans Wake read it straight through and do not discuss it, say in a class? The academic community provides something rather like the old priesthood for these works.

NOTE: On page 95, Davidson has a picture of the title page of The Power of Sympathy, given as the first American novel. It's interesting that the font is obviously old-fashioned in the variation of the typeface, which 20th Century and even late 19th Century readers would find distracting. This suggests that simplified, regular typefaces evolved in part with the need to streamline the reading process for sequential reads, as in novels.

NOTE: It's interesting that the early novels should focus on matters "of seduction," as Davidson describes extensively. This would seem to fit the sequential structure of novels on several counts. What this amounts to in a more contemporary description would be gender roles -- an aspect of human society in which one makes little headway without undersanding of global contexts. How people romance has to do with how they will raise children; how they raise children depends on how economy shapes their lives and how they were raised, and so forth.

And Reproductive Politics

"The high fertility rate of the postrevolutionary period is striking, but what is even more striking is the precipitous fall in the rate during the next century. The fertility rate dclined by 23 percent before 1850, by 50 percent before 1900. Since no new technologies for preventing births (such as the recent [Davidson writes in 1986] birth control pill) were developed during those years and since prophylactics were certainly known in late eighteenth-century American (and used widely in other countries, notably France), this striking decline in birthrate reveals a massive change in American social attitudes even within a generation or two" (117).

For a history of prophylactics, see Sex and Destiny, by Germaine Greer.

Probably true even though CD seems to discount the issues of distribution and marketing of the devices; distribution could only have been impeded by the the social disruption attendent on revolution, particularly given the unsympathetic nature of the Christian institutions that were often the first to re-establish order in outlying areas.

This doesn't mean there was no change in attitude, however; I just wonder in what ways attitude interplayed with distribution.

"Amorphous psychosociological shifts such as an emerging ideal of affectional marriage (rather than patriarchal authority and wifely subordination), a relaxing of parental control over one's offspring (especially in the matter of choosing marriage partners), an increased substitution of affection or authority in the dealings between parents and children, and a new emphasis on the mother's responsibility for imparting to her children both knowledge and principles of virtue have all been traced to the last part of the eighteenth century. All such changes, it has been further argued, became still more institutitonalilzed in the next century through industrialization and the increasing gender specialization within the family. With the father cast as the primary wage earner and more and more employed away from the home, the mother, even if she also worked for wages, was deemed responsibile for childrearing and household management" (125).

The note to this, .on page 293, continues, "The historiographty of changing family patterns is controversial and the picture tends to look different depending on what factors one includes. Class, regional, and racial factors all influence the interpretation in different ways. Degler, Kerber, and Norton, for example, all tend to see a changing family pattern with more options for women by the end of the eighteenth century, although Kerber, perhaps, views the situation less optimiistically than the other historians. Lawrence Stone has charted a change in family structure in England during the eighteenth-century, especially an increase in affectional marriages and affectional modes of child-rearing. See his The family, Sex, and Marriage in England 1500-1800. (NYC: Harper & Row, 1977). A similar pattern is described in the US by Jay Fliegelman, Prodigals and Polgrims: The American Revolution Against Patriarchal Authority, 1750-1800 (Cambridge: Cambridge, 1982.) Daniel B. Smith, Inside the Great House: PLanter Family Life in EIghteenth-Century Chesapeake SOciety (Ithaca: Cornell, 1980); . . . . For a brief overview of the different arguments, see Thomas Pl Slaughter, "Family Politics in Revolutionary America, American Quarterly, 36 (Fall 1984), 598-606.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Book in 19th Century

I'm curious what you-all think of changes in printing and in literary forms in the 19th Century, both in the US and in Western Europe.

Jerome McGann's Black Riders and Cathy Davidson's Revolution and the Word: The Rise of the Novel in America has too, but I still find myself swimming a bit.

I'm curious too about the role of female authors and readers in this. Davidson makes a lot out of this, as do Baym and some of the other femcrits. Some familiar (old fashioned?) constructions describe a 19th Century a progress towards mutually verifiable perceptions and prosaic, plotted narrative -- things held to go together. These people respond with people like Jewett, whose Firs, while temporally sequential, does not seem dependent on a tight sense of causal relations between episodes. Yet these authors seem to accept the dicta of mutually verifiable reality more thoroughly than those who propound the theory.