The Spoils of the Book Fair

Posted on October 24, 2011 by

If you were at the fair yesterday, you would have seen old postcards and trading cards, manuscripts and maps, posters and prints, ephemera of all sorts, and of course lots and lots of books.

My modest acquisitions were five old Albany postcards for $2 each, a few of which are inscribed and posted, and for $15, a Henry James volume of novellas “The Wheel of Time,” “Collaboration” and “Owen Wingrave” published in 1893 by Harper & Brothers. It’s bound in dark greenish-teal cloth, top edges trimmed, with white endpapers. The cover has a silver triple rule and stamped silver design, and title, device, and author’s name in gilt. It’s in generally good condition, with a small tear in the cloth on the head of the spine, and the rear free endpaper is torn apart from the pastedown.

Without consulting a bibliography, I can’t confirm that what I have is in fact the first American edition. Either way, I don’t imagine it’s valuable or rare, but it’s a very attractive edition of a book I fully intend to read.

Posted in Books, Literary Sites/Events | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

Don’t Miss: Albany’s 37th Annual Antiquarian Book & Ephemera Fair

Posted on October 16, 2011 by

The 37th Annual Antiquarian Book & Ephemera Fair, presented by the Albany Institute of History & Art, will be held at the Washington Avenue Armory at 195 Washington Avenue in Albany on Sunday, October 23 from 10:00 AM-4:00 PM. Admission is $6.

At the fair you will find dealers of rare/antiquarian books and other items, the opportunity to have items appraised, and a silent auction to benefit the research library of the AIHA. I’ve never been, but I’m looking forward to it!

For more information, visit the Albany Institute of History & Art event page or albanybookfair.com.

On a related note, the Albany Institute of History & Art does accept interns and volunteers to work in their library, in a whole slew of positions including bibliography, cataloging, preservation, archives & manuscripts, reference, research, and web assistance. More information here.

Posted in Books, Literary Sites/Events | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A Brief Publishing History of Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse

Posted on October 16, 2011 by

VirginiaWoolf
Virginia Woolf (image from George Charles Beresford [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons)

The first written assignment for IST 655: Rare Books was to research the publishing history of a major twentieth century work. For me, the choice was easy: Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, a novel I first studied at Saint Rose in ENG 340: Novel Capacities, a class that ignited my interest in novelistic form and in Woolf. I’ve not since been able to read a novel without preoccupation with its intricacies of language and rhythm (or lack thereof).

Having already studied To the Lighthouse in the mode of a literary critic, it was fascinating to study its bibliographical history. The first printing of the complete novel To the Lighthouse was published in 1927 in London by Leonard and Virginia Woolf at the Hogarth Press, and was printed by R. & R. Clark (Worldcat). It would become one of the most studied of Virginia Woolf’s novels for its influence in the Modernist movement. Prior to the publication of the complete novel, “Woolf garnered attention for her experimental prose by publishing an earlier version of ‘Time Passes,’” the middle section of the three-part novel, in the December 1926 issue of Commerce, a Parisian literary journal (Winston 75). Translated by Charles Mauron, this was the first time Woolf’s work was published in French (Winston 75). This earlier version could provide insight into Woolf’s revision process, because “the published version [of "Time Passes"] is very different from the typescript translated by Charles Mauron” (Hussey xliv).

As “upper-middle-class” Victorian-era girls, Virginia Woolf and her sister Vanessa toyed with hobbies like printing their drawings with a “silver point press” in 1905; Victoria had begun bookbinding as a hobby in 1901 at the age of nineteen, and found it extremely satisfying as an art form and a craft requiring manual skill, and she experimented with binding methods, cover materials, and tried her hand at gold lettering (Willis 5-6). These interests eventually led to Woolf and her husband, the writer Leonard Woolf, purchasing a hand-press in March 1917 and establishing the Hogarth Press in their drawing room (Willis 2-10). The early hand-printed books of the Hogarth Press did not conform to standard printing sizes or forms (Willis 155). Over the next several years, the Woolfs developed the private press into a small publishing house. With the addition of a treadle-operated press in 1921, they continued to hand-set and print at least one volume a year, while they had many other books commercially printed for the Hogarth Press (Willis 19-20). After 1919, all of Virginia Woolf’s writing was published by Hogarth Press, which also included essays and short fiction, and her experimental writing flourished “free from editorial pressures” (Willis 44). The peak years for the Hogarth Press and “the years of Virginia Woolf’s greatest artistic and commercial success” came in 1927 and 1928, in which the Woolfs published 38 and 36 titles respectively, including To the Lighthouse” (Willis 134). Despite this success, the writing of To the Lighthouse, in some ways a personal novel based on Woolf’s memories of her parents, took about one year, and was complicated by bouts of “almost suicidal depression” for Woolf, who later wrote in a diary: “after Lighthouse I was I remember nearer suicide, seriously, than since 1913″ (Willis 131).

The first printing of To the Lighthouse contained 320 pages; it was bound with blue cloth boards with gilt spine lettering (Dragon Books). The dust jacket was designed by Woolf’s sister, the artist Vanessa Bell, and portrayed: “a misty and mysterious evocation of a lighthouse amid waves” (Willis 382). See images of a first edition here. In a 1931 book collector’s guide, William Targ lists the approximate value of the 1927 edition of To the Lighthouse, cloth bound, as $7-12 (105). Today, a first printing of the first edition with dust jacket intact is rare and can be priced as high as $19,000 (Dragon Books). The closest copy of a 1927 first printing of To the Lighthouse is held at the Smith College Neilson Library in Northampton, MA (Worldcat).

To the Lighthouse “became a commercial and critical success” within weeks of its publication in England, selling more copies than any of Woolf’s previous books (Winston 74). More than 1,600 copies were sold in advance sales, which was more than twice the number for Mrs. Dalloway, Woolf’s popular 1925 novel; Leonard Woolf, anticipating the novel’s success, “ordered 3,000 copies printed by R. & R. Clark (a thousand more than Mrs. Dalloway) and quickly ordered another 1,000 copies in a second impression . . . The American publisher of Hogarth Press books, Harcourt Brace, printed 4,000 copies initially” (Willis 132). Adding to the complexity of the novel’s publishing history is the fact that “Virginia Woolf approved ‘two different sets of proofs that then became two different first editions published on the same day, 5 May 1927’ in Britain and the United States” (Winston 109).

In September 1929, the Woolfs began reprinting books in Uniform Editions, which made Virginia Woolf’s books available in an “inexpensive standard trade edition” conforming to standard printing practices and reducing costs (Willis 155). The books were “reprinted in small crown octavo,” “bound . . . in jade-green cloth boards lettered in gold on the spine” and priced at 5s (Willis 155). The dust wrappers were the only variable aspect of these books. To the Lighthouse was issued in a Uniform Edition in February 1930 (Willis 155). Since 1930, it has been consistently republished and reprinted dozens of times, such as by New York: Modern Library in 1937, London: J.M. Dent & Sons in 1938, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books in 1964, London: Macmillan in 1970, Oxford University Press in 1976, San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich in 1989, and Orlando: Harcourt in 2005 (Worldcat). It was published in Braille by London: Royal National Institute for the Blind in 1978 (Worldcat). The American edition of the novel was first published as an electronic book for mobile devices in 2002 by Rosetta Books (Winston 110). Another notable edition is the Shakespeare Head Press edition, published by Blackwell in 1992, and based on “proofs for the first American edition corrected by Woolf’s hand, which were not consistently incorporated into the 1927 publication” (Winston 109-10). This is another edition that could be of interest to bibliographers; however, it is currently out of print.

To the Lighthouse was generally well-received at the time of its publication; most reviewers and critics writing between the time of the novel’s publication and Woolf’s death in 1941 “recognize To the Lighthouse to be Woolf’s best novel,” noting her experimental use of form and language, such as the stream-of-consciousness prose style (Winston 76). Though her friends were not all enamored with it, Leonard Woolf called it a “psychological poem” and her sister Vanessa praised the character of Mrs. Ramsay as a “portrait” of their mother (Willis 132). The novel won the coveted Femina Vie Heureuse annual prize in France (Winston 76). The fifth of Woolf’s nine novels published between 1915 and 1941, “chronologically and thematically, To the Lighthouse . . . stands at the center of Virginia Woolf’s works. It has attracted more critical commentary than her other novels, earning the praise even of those typically hostile to her art” (Hussey xxxv).

For research into the novel’s bibliographic history, the manuscript is available on microfilm at the New York Public Library and a “transcription of Woolf’s handwritten draft” is contained in Susan Dick’s To the Lighthouse: The Original Holograph Draft” (Winston 110). Because, as many critics have noted, numbers play an important role in the structure and meaning of the novel, it is notable that:

The thirteen sections of the third part of To the Lighthouse . . . were misnumbered in the first British edition, and Woolf apparently failed to notice or correct the numbering at proof stage . . . The second section was misnumbered ’3′ . . . and thereafter they run through consecutively until ’14′ . . . This misnumbering was corrected in the American first edition, but remained in the uniform edition and its immediate derivatives. The Everyman edition (1938) kept the fourteen chapters, but introduced a new division in the first section (Hansen 178).

Such a typographical error or textual variance could be of interest to scholars and bibliographer’s of Woolf’s work.

To the Lighthouse has been translated into more than 20 languages since its first publication, including French by Maurice Lanoire in 1929, German by Karl Lerbs in 1931 and Spanish by Antonio Marichalar in 1938, as well as Italian, Norwegian, Japanese, Swedish, Hungarian, Hebrew, Finnish, Catalan, Slovenian, Korean, Persian, Turkish, Galician, Basque, Chinese, Polish, Russian, Danish, Croatian, and Vietnamese (Worldcat). Several different editions of the novel remain in print and the novel continues to be essential to scholars as one of the most important of Woolf’s career.

For more information, check out Woolf Online, a site with fantastic bibliographical information on the “Time Passes” section of To the Lighthouse, including transcriptions and galleries of the holograph draft, typescript, proof, and several editions, as well as some of Woolf’s diaries, essays, letters, and more.

Works Cited

Hansen, Anne Mette. The Book as Artefact, Text and Border. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2005. Print.

Hussey, Mark. “Introduction.” To the Lighthouse. By Virginia Woolf. Orlando: Harcourt, 2005. xxxv-lxviii. Print.

Targ, William. Modern English First Editions and Their Prices: 1931: A Checklist of the Foremost English First Editions from 1860 to the Present Day. Chicago: Black Archer, 1932. Print.

“To the Lighthouse (Book, 1927).” WorldCat.org: The World’s Largest Library Catalog. Web. 04 Sept. 2011.

Willis, J. H. Leonard and Virginia Woolf as Publishers: the Hogarth Press, 1917-41. Charlottesville: University of Virginia, 1992. Print.

Winston, Janet. Woolf’s To the Lighthouse: a Reader’s Guide. London: Continuum, 2009. Print.

“Woolf, Virginia – To the Lighthouse.” Dragon Books: A Rare and Antiquarian Bookseller. Web. 04 Sept. 2011.

Posted in Books, Library School | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Wuthering Heights, pt. 2: Domestic Violence, Confinement, and Power

Posted on September 17, 2011 by

This post has been brewing for nearly three weeks since I finished Wuthering Heights; the start of the semester brought three graduate classes in addition to my full-time job, and during that adjustment period blogging quite fell by the wayside. Read on for my final thoughts on the novel (until the next time I re-read it, of course).

Before I began re-reading Wuthering Heights, my primary recollection of the novel was of the tragic romance of Catherine and Heathcliff—the intensity of it consumed my attention. This time, however, I found myself frustrated and even, at times, repulsed by Catherine and Heathcliff, and found relief by shifting my focus to minor characters like Isabella Linton. I’m sure I overlooked her in the past, but I now see Isabella as a stronger female character than Cathy.

The novel portrays Isabella as a silly, naive girl from the beginning, and her fancy for Heathcliff is certainly her most grievous error in judgment. While a crush is generally harmless, her elopement is downright reckless. Cathy issues multiple, vehement warnings of Heathcliff’s nature, confirmed by Nelly, and furthermore, Isabella witnesses Heathcliff’s cruelty firsthand. Just before they run away together, he hangs her dog; the animal is soon discovered by Nelly, “suspended to a handkerchief, and nearly at its last gasp” (Brontë 94). Because it’s almost unimaginable that Isabella would have willingly eloped with him at this point, one may be inclined to trust Heathcliff’s statements to Nelly when she visits the newlyweds at Wuthering Heights. He claims: “But no brutality disgusted her: I suppose she has an innate admiration for it, if only her precious person were secure from injury!” (Brontë 110). In other words, Isabella is guilty of much worse than naiveté—she courts a perverse attraction to brutality. However, Brontë presents quite enough evidence by this point in the novel that Heathcliff cannot be taken at his word.

Judith E. Pike was the only critic I could find who really discussed Isabella’s role as narrator; she makes the important point that past critics have overlooked Isabella’s narration of chapter 13, writing: “while both nineteenth-century and contemporary critics largely represent Isabella as arrested in her infantile girlhood, W.C. Roscoe is the sole nineteenth-century reviewer who notes Isabella’s transformation” after marrying Heathcliff (349). Pike cites Melvin R. Watson’s 1949 critique of Isabella: “As weak as Catherine is strong, as conventional as Catherine is unconventional, as superficially attracted to Heathcliff as Catherine was to Edgar . . . she is significant only as the device which enables Heathcliff to gain control of Thrushcross Grange” (353). I think to marginalize Isabella as a plot device in the larger story of Catherine and Heathcliff grossly undermines the complexity of Wuthering Heights; several characters play important roles in the development of themes aside from romance, which include social class and abuse. Pike argues that Isabella “emerges as a very brazen woman when she actively deserts her husband at a time when laws would not protect her from the consequences” (354).

Brontë presents chapter 13 almost entirely in the form of a letter from Isabella’s point of view—she describes to Nelly what has transpired since she ran away with Heathcliff in an “intimate portrait of domestic abuse within a middle-class setting” that “powerfully blights the conventional depiction of nuptial bliss” (Pike 354). Isabella’s letter is essential to providing an alternative to Heathcliff’s version of events. Significantly, when Isabella is given a first person narrative voice (rather than being interpreted by Nelly, Heathcliff, or someone else) she comes off as much stronger and more articulate than the reader might have previously given her credit for. Her letter is not hysterical or melodramatic—she doesn’t dwell on the abuses suffered at Heathcliff’s hands, and leaves the details to the imagination. By the end of the letter she is reflective, admitting her realization: “I have been a fool!” (Brontë 106). I believe that Isabella eventually emerges as one of the most mature and self-aware characters in the novel. When she arrives at the Grange after her final stand, throwing a knife at Heathcliff and fleeing, pregnant, across the moors in a state of half-dress, she still comes across as decisive and clear-headed rather than hysterical, “command[ing] herself with force and conviction that is daunting to Nelly,” disposing of her wedding ring in the fire before she “collects herself, sips her tea, dons her bonnet, and departs from the Grange without a tear” (Pike 370, 379).

Most of Heathcliff’s abuse of Isabella is implied; we can only wonder what he did to make her write to Nelly: “Is Mr Heathcliff a man? If so, is he mad? And if not, is he a devil?” (Brontë 99). Heathcliff’s abusive tendencies are foreshadowed by his gruesome statement to Cathy earlier in the novel: “You’d hear of odd things if I lived alone with that mawkish, waxen face: the most ordinary would be painting on its white the colours of the rainbow, and turning the blue eyes black, every day or two” (Brontë 77). He confines her to Wuthering Heights, exercising his right to imprison and control his wife and consciously restraining his abuse just enough that she does not have grounds to end the marriage (Brontë 110). Pike’s essay provides extensive discussion of of “wife-torture” and 19th century coverture laws that allowed a husband to physically confine his wife and did not criminalize marital rape.

Jamie S. Crouse explores the motif of confinement in Wuthering Heights, observing that characters are often confined either psychologically or literally within Wuthering Heights or Thrushcross Grange (179). Crouse makes the argument that Catherine and Heathcliff are “the primary instigators of confinement . . . they exhibit patterns of confinement that exemplify the different methods which nineteenth-century men and women, operating within traditional gender roles, used to exert power and gain control over others” (Crouse 179). In other words, Heathcliff is outwardly destructive and aggressive, imprisoning Isabella, Hareton, Linton, etc. in various plots to exact revenge, establish dominance, and gain property. Even after Cathy’s death, he views her as a desired possession, using possessive pronouns: “I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!” (Crouse 187-8). By contrast, Cathy is primarily self-destructive, driving herself into fits of illness.

Crouse’s essential point, for me, is the idea that Catherine’s “Nelly, I am Heathcliff” speech signifies her subsuming her identity to his; the more Cathy is involved with Heathcliff, the more she loses herself to him (Crouse 185). Catherine dominates the household of Thrushcross Grange until Heathcliff returns and the power struggles recommence, with Cathy locking Isabella in a room with Heathcliff, locking herself in a room with Heathcliff and Edgar, and finally locking herself in her room and starving herself for days (Crouse 185). Her statement “I’ll try to break their hearts by breaking my own” exemplifies her use of illness to manipulate Edgar and Heathcliff (Brontë 85).

It struck me that Heathcliff, although supposedly in love with Cathy (it’s more complex than that, but bear with me) and feeling only hatred for Isabella, uses every patriarchal advantage to exert his iron will over both women, attempting to possess them in ways beneficial to his own desires and with disregard for the negative effects on their persons. The manner of each woman’s response to Heathcliff reveals a great deal about their respective characters. The vital distinction is that while Catherine’s relationship with Heathcliff compels a loss of her identity and drives her to madness, illness, and death (and the appearance of her ghost to Lockwood suggests that even in death she is not free), Isabella’s relationship with Heathcliff pushes her into adulthood, maturity, and the strength to escape from him (although, regrettably, she does not manage to save her son from Heathcliff’s possession) and reinvent a new life for herself.

Works Cited

Brontë, Emily. Wuthering Heights. Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Editions, 2000. Print.

Crouse, Jamie S. “‘This Shattered Prison’: Confinement, Control And Gender in Wuthering Heights.” Bronte Studies 33.3 (2008): 179-191. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 17 Aug. 2011.

Pike, Judith E. “My name was Isabella Linton”: Coverture, Domestic Violence, and Mrs. Heathcliff’s Narrative in Wuthering Heights.” Nineteenth-Century Literature 64.3 (2009): 347-383. Academic Search Premier. EBSCO. Web. 17 Aug. 2011.

Suggestions for Further Reading:

Cobbe, Frances Power. “Wife-Torture in England.” Contemporary Review (1878).

Doggett, Maeve E. Marriage, Wife-beating and the Law in Victorian England: ‘Sub Virga Viri’ London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1992.

Posted in Literary Analysis and Criticism | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Mount and the Restoration of Edith Wharton’s Library

Posted on August 21, 2011 by



I recently spend a day at The Mount, which was once the estate and gardens of Edith Wharton, prolific twentieth-century writer of The Age of Innocence, The House of Mirth, and Ethan Frome, first female to receive the Pulitzer Prize and an honorary doctorate from Yale, bad-ass intellectual, close friend of Henry James, designer, gardener, and long-time resident of France. Wharton designed and built The Mount and its surrounding gardens in 1902 in Lenox, MA. The house was of great personal importance to her, embodying her spirit and aesthetics, the design influenced by English country houses as well as neo-classical Italian and French architecture.

Although some areas of the home have been restored and re-decorated to contemporary tastes (I found the leopard-print carpet runners particularly jarring), areas like Wharton’s bedroom and boudoir have been restored to historically accurate condition. At times I was genuinely moved by intimate glances into her life here. For example, on a small hill overlooking the estate I found the headstones of five of Wharton’s beloved dogs. Her bedroom overlooks the gardens and lacks the ornate details of the public areas of the house. It has been restored to a simple, unfurnished condition, and I could imagine her sitting in bed each morning, writing with a dog at her side—it was in this room at The Mount where she wrote The House of Mirth and Ethan Frome. Entering her library, I was literally trembling with excitement at seeing the remains of Wharton’s personal book collection. Wharton designed the library with large bookshelves built into three of the four walls, so the room is positively brimming with gorgeous leather-bound books. It is easy to imagine her entertaining friends with a reading in the armchairs in front of the fireplace.



According to my tour guide, Wharton’s personal library contained thousands of books, going back to her childhood copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Sadly, she only lived at The Mount until 1911, when she divorced her husband, Teddy Wharton, who did not share her intellectual interests, and moved to Paris, taking her books with her. When Wharton died, unmarried with no children, she left half of her book collection to each of her godsons. One half of the collection was transported to London, where the books were destroyed in air raids during the Blitz. The other half, however, survived, and were purchased by Edith Wharton Restoration in 2006. According to a New York Times article, a British book collector, George Ramsden, was paid $2.6 million for the 2,600 volume library; Ramsden worked for decades to complete the collection and resisted selling because he wanted the books to stay together (Cowell). The books have now been returned to the library at The Mount after nearly a century abroad. Many contain handwritten notes by Edith Wharton, and are now available for research and study. This represents a monumental acquisition for Wharton’s estate, and will surely offer unprecedented glimpses into her personal life—one volume is inscribed by Morton Fullerton, Wharton’s lover in Paris. The collection is also helping to inform a new Wharton biography by Hermione Lee, a scholar at Oxford University (Cowell).



See more images of Wharton’s library and books here.

The estate is now entirely maintained by Edith Wharton Restoration, a non-profit organization that is working to restore the house, and also holds cultural events such as readings, lectures, and plays. It’s well worth a drive out to the Berkshires to spend a day admiring Edith Wharton’s home and library, and roaming the gardens and surrounding woods. And students, take note: The Mount has had at least one intern (read her blog post here) working with this collection!

Works Cited

Cowell, Alan. “After a Century, an American Writer’s Library Will Go to America.” The New York Times. 15 Dec. 2005. Web. 21 Aug. 2011.

Additional Resources:

Edith Wharton Collection, Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library of Yale University

The Edith Wharton Society Information about her life, works, conferences, publication opportunities, and teaching resources.

Posted in Books, Libraries, Literary Sites/Events | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Masters in Library and Information Sciences: To Dual or Not to Dual?

Posted on August 10, 2011 by

At my current job at a law library, I do a lot of digitizing and preservation of documents, and it’s interesting enough that I’m now planning to follow the archives track in my MSIS program at UAlbany. For the fall semester I’ve signed up for IIST 546: Introduction to Records Management and IIST 655: Rare Books. I’m excited for both of these courses, and hoping to confirm that this is definitely the track I want to pursue.

In the meantime, another debate is waging: to dual or not to dual? UAlbany offers joint MSIS programs with an M.A. in either English or History. The dual-degree requires fewer overall courses (about 9 credits fewer than completing the degrees separately) so it’s advantageous in that respect. The idea of graduate studies in English was appealing to me long before I even considered library school, and as much as I’m looking forward to my archives courses this fall, I daydream about the English course listings daily. It almost seems like a no-brainer. However, with my full-time work schedule and part-time school schedule, I estimate it would take approximately five years (possibly more) to complete both Master’s degrees. I have to wonder whether the potential career benefit is worth the additional commitment of a second Master’s degree.

Having witnessed many of my dear library friends’ arduous, and often fruitless, job-searching, my outlook is centered on doing everything possible to make myself stand out from other candidates. To this end, I’ve been scouring the job listings to try to get a better understanding of the requirements for jobs, specifically oriented in academic archives, preservation, or special collections.

Some recent postings:

Archivist/Librarian, Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts

Digital Preservation Librarian, University at Iowa

Curator, Modern Literature Collection/Manuscripts, Washington University Libraries, St. Louis, Missouri

In a nutshell, academic jobs are more likely to require a second Master’s degree in addition to the MLS (even if not required, it obviously helps). The curator of Modern Literature collection/manuscripts is basically my dream job as I currently imagine it. However, I fear that jobs like this one could be going the way of the Chinese river dolphin or printed books.

There are also many archival jobs popping up that don’t require the second Master’s, but lean more toward IT/digital library skills. It seems like it would be prudent to bulk up on programming and digital library courses so that in the event that I do not find myself curating the papers of Virginia Woolf, I can at least be somehow gainfully employed as an archivist of some kind.

This recent post at HackLibSchool and the comment thread got me thinking about how difficult it can be to find a job in a niche archival field, especially without a strong history background.

I’d love to hear from anyone that did or did not pursue additional Master’s degrees, and why. And realistically, what could I do to better my chances of finding a job in literary archives?

Posted in Library School | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Wuthering Heights, pt. 1: Wild Moors and Passionate Natures

Posted on August 5, 2011 by

  • I did some travelling around the English countryside in the Fall of 2009, but to my incalculable disappointment, never made it to the moors, and found everywhere I did go to be perpetually sunny and mild. The above photo, taken on the grounds of Leeds Castle in Kent, is a rare exception.

A Confession: it takes me an abysmally long time to read a novel; not for lack of enthusiasm, but due to a deliberate slowness, re-reading key passages and indulging in long pauses to savor language and images before moving on. Consequently, as much as I adored being an English major in undergrad, in order to keep up with the syllabi, I rarely had the time to read in the manner I desired. Summer has always presented an ideal time for luxury reading and re-reading.

It may have been this summer’s 90 degree days and oppressive nights (have you tried sleeping on damp bed sheets?) that made the wild and blustery moors of Northern England a welcome fantasy for me, because I found myself choosing a novel that’s not so much a light beach read as it is evocative of a thunderstorm: Emily’s Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. It is a novel that I have read only once previously, in my senior year of high school, and in a regrettably abridged fashion. I’ve spent the past week reading this novel in little bits and I’m now about halfway through.

My strongest recollection of Wuthering Heights is the way in which Brontë uses the setting to create a palpable atmosphere of desolation and unruliness that entirely sets the tone of the novel, and how she mirrors the harsh environment in the moody, intense characters of Cathy and Heathcliff. Emotions run rampant, particularly when Cathy and Heathcliff are involved, and their relationship is fraught with tension, reminiscent of the air before a thunderstorm.

It’s a strangely compelling and paradoxical novel, perhaps because it goes to such extremes; I find myself simultaneously fascinated and repulsed by the characters. On one hand, I can’t help but admire the ferocity of Cathy and Heathcliff’s passion for one another. Critic Nicole Plyler Fisk takes a feminist perspective, arguing that Cathy’s passionate nature defies social conventions. Fisk identifies Nelly Dean, a maid and one of the novel’s narrators, as attempting to enforce patriarchal values, as she disapproves of the way Cathy runs amuck with Heathcliff when they are children; she states: “She was much too fond of Heathcliff” (Brontë 29). Nelly scolds Cathy for her “‘wayward’ passionate nature” and calls her a “wicked, unprincipled girl” when expresses her reluctance to marry Edgar, because she does not love him the way she does Heathcliff, whom she identifies with on an essential, spiritual level (134-137). Cathy uses a nature metaphor, once again drawing a parallel between the characters and their natural setting: “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton’s is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire” (Brontë 58).

Fisk interprets Cathy’s statement, “‘Nelly, I am Heathcliff’ as an expression of gendered bodies becom[ing] ‘one’ through her words, revealing passion that is, if not literally, metaphorically sexual” (137). Fisk interprets Cathy as a repressed female forced by the constraints of society into a “passionless marriage” to Edgar Linton which eventually destroys her (134). However, Cathy’s (self)-destruction halfway through the novel has another cause: her statement about being “one” with Heathcliff suggests her sense of identity is so deeply enmeshed with Heathcliff’s that when they are forcibly separated, she quickly succumbs to madness and illness. Cathy explains her relationship with Heathcliff:

If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn into a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it. My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being (Brontë 59).

This is a key example of Brontë’s drawing on nature metaphors to illuminate the primal connection between Cathy and Heathcliff. While Cathy’s declaration of becoming “one” with Heathcliff could function as a sexual metaphor, I prefer the interpretation offered by John S. Whitley: “Various elements of the Romantic might be discerned here, particularly the notion of an organic connection between humankind and nature, the rejection of society in favor of individual striving, freedom from social and familial oppression, and the search for forms of primal unity” (XI). This exemplifies the idea that the novel’s setting is at the core of its thematic development.

However, the overwhelming feeling I’ve had reading this novel is disbelief at the selfishness, cruelty, and violence that Cathy and Heathcliff perpetuate. Not only do they destroy themselves with their obsessive attraction to one another, they cause turmoil and torment to those around them. Whitley argues that their childhoods, characterized by “patriarchal brutality” caused them to remain “too much ‘in child’, with both the positive aspects of that (spontaneity, love of nature) and the negative (narcissism, wilfulness) (XIV). Their fits of passion suggest overall immaturity. Although Cathy seems to suffer from mental illness before her death, she also threatens to intentionally drive herself into fits and illness in order to punish Edgar, who dotes on her ceaselessly. Heathcliff’s cold, reserved front hides a fiery temper—and although one can’t completely fault his determination for revenge against Hindley, his childhood abuser, this cannot excuse the almost psychopathic cruelty he displays toward Isabella. More to follow on the character of Isabella…

Works Cited

Brontë, Emily. Wuthering Heights. Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Editions, 2000. Print.

Fisk, Nicole Plyler. “‘A Wild, Wick Slip She Was’: The Passionate Female in Wuthering Heights and the Memoirs of Emma Courtney.” Brontë Studies: The Journal of the Brontë Society 31.2 (2006): 133-143. MLA International Bibliography. EBSCO. Web. 4 Aug. 2011.

Whitley, John S. Introduction. Wuthering Heights. By Emily Brontë. Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Editions, 2000. V-XXII. Print.

Suggestions for Further Reading:

Reader’s Guide to Wuthering Heights

CUNY Brooklyn Nineteenth Century English Novel page

Posted in Literary Analysis and Criticism | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I want to take a real book to bed with me, not an electronic device.

Posted on July 23, 2011 by

I covet books as objects. The physical details are what distinguish a must-have edition from today’s typical mass market paperback. These could include: a striking cover design, original artwork, aged leather binding, gilded or deckled page edges, curiosities found in antiquarian books, like hand-written inscriptions and old photos behind tissue paper, and remnants in old library editions, like stamps and due date cards.



Crane, Stephen. The Red Badge of Courage. New York: Pocket Books, 1925.

Conrad, Joseph. Heart of Darkness & The Secret Sharer. New York: Signet Classic, 1910.



Andersen, Hans Christian. Fairy Tales. Philadelphia: Henry Altemus, 1898.



Inside cover of Fairy Tales, with an illustrated frontispiece and title page, copyright date 1898.



Keats, John. The Poems of John Keats. London: Frederick Warne and Co., [1937?].



Inside cover of Keats’ book, with previous owners’ “Ex Libris N” sticker and inscription: “[illegible] London–37″

It’s hard to imagine an eBook ever having this much character.

This topic has been on my mind since I noticed James Gleick’s article, “Books and Other Fetish Objects,” on the New York Times opinion page a few days ago. Gleick credits the scholarly advantages of digitization, and I wholeheartedly agree that it’s counterproductive to feel like certain materials lose value when they lose obscurity or scarcity. I think any reasonable person would agree that when it comes to historical materials, increased accessibility can only be a good thing.

Gleick once had the opportunity to examine an original 1659 Isaac Newton notebook, and describes the scholarly “exhilaration that comes from handling the venerable original. It’s a contact high”; however, he repudiates this attitude as “sentimentalism, and even fetishization. It’s related to the fancy that what one loves about books is the grain of paper and the scent of glue.” However, when it comes to my personal library, I don’t see anything wrong with fetishizing books. I dread eBooks taking over the publishing industry to the extent that printed books become scarce. While I appreciate the advantages of digitization, I find that I derive enormous satisfaction from the physicality of books, particularly when reading for pleasure. I will mourn the loss of that type of reading experience.

In another blog post, Mike Shatzkin argues that advancing technologies in eBooks will inevitably tip the market in this direction: “Print books aren’t getting better. Ebooks are.” Given the growing popularity of mobile devices, it seems undeniable that book culture is headed in this direction. He estimates “that in no more than twenty [years] the person choosing to read a printed book will not be unheard of or unknown, but will definitely qualify as eccentric” (Shatzkin).

I don’t mind being labeled eccentric, but what do these trends mean for libraries? A few weeks ago, my library classmates debated the advantages and disadvantages of a library shifting its collection entirely to eBooks. Advantages mentioned include 24/7 remote access to the collection, preservation of materials against physical damage and theft, fewer staff needed in circulation, and features like changing the size of text and multi-lingual translation. Disadvantages mentioned include the complexities of vendor contracts, including many vendors not allowing for interlibrary loan or restricting the number of times an eBook can be accessed, the lack of physical assets in a library collection once subscriptions expire, and the continuing costs of software, equipment, and maintenance.

On her blog, Meredith Farkas touches on many of these same issues regarding eBooks in libraries. She writes: “There’s no doubt at this point: Ebooks do have a real place in the future of reading. Unfortunately, the way most people are using eBooks at this point completely bypasses the library, and this is what publishers and ebook manufacturers seem to want” (Farkas). Many libraries, including the urban public library where I work, now offer downloadable eBooks through OverDrive. However, the process is not as simple as one might think. As Farkas writes: “Getting an eBook from a library is often a circuitous and confusing process; so confusing that libraries have to create tutorials on how to do it.” In general, I don’t get the impression that our eBooks are extremely popular. It seems that the patrons who use them are more likely to download them from home and not come into the library at all. There is a disconnect between these eBook converts and the majority of our regular patrons, most of whom are not likely to buy eBook readers any time soon. There is a socioeconomic factor that must be considered with advancing technologies. Some libraries lend eBook readers, but the number we would need to purchase would represent a significant financial burden. My point is that digitization only increases accessibility to the extent that people already have access to computers, ebook readers, and the Internet. Until we can bridge this divide, our patrons rely on the continued development of our print collection.

Works Cited:

Farkas, Meredith. “Ebooks and Libraries: A Stream of Concerns.” Information Wants To Be Free. 18 Jan. 2011. Web. 23 July 2011. http://meredith.wolfwater.com/wordpress/2011/01/18/ebooks-and-libraries-a-stream-of-concerns

Gleick, James. “Books and Other Fetish Objects.” The New York Times. 16 July 2011. Web. 23 July 2011. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/17/opinion/sunday/17gleick.html?_r=1

Shatzkin, Mike. “The Printed Book’s Path to Oblivion.” The Shatzkin Files. 15 Aug. 2010. Web. 23 July 2011. http://www.idealog.com/blog/the-printed-books-path-to-oblivion

Suggestions for further reading:

Basbanes, Nicholas A. A Splendor of Letters: The Permanence of Books in an Impermanent World. New York: HarperCollins, 2003.

Institute for the Future of the Book blog

Wallace, Lane. “Brains, Books and the Future of Print.” The Atlantic. October 16, 2009. http://www.theatlantic.com/national/archive/2009/10/brains-books-and-the-future-of-print/28511

Posted in Books | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Bibliophile Goes to Library School, or How Did I End Up Here?

Posted on July 19, 2011 by



Where does this story begin? Getting started has always been the hardest part for me.

I believe nothing in my life would have been the same without books. My third grade best friend and I penned our earliest tales in Lisa Frank notebooks until I graduated to a typewriter of my own; I never tired of the clicking of the keys, the hammer slamming each letter on the page, perfectly formed, black on white. I built my childhood library upon a complete collection of Nancy Drew mysteries in lurid yellow hardcover, and before long I was down the rabbit hole, through the wardrobe, and boarding a train to Hogwarts.

By the time I was in my sophomore year of undergrad, studying English and writing, the college library had become a second home; I would too often emerge only at closing time, squinting and dusty, from another adventure into the basement’s compact shelving. I got so excited about libraries, I decided to quit my part-time retail job in favor of a circ. clerk job at a local public library. The short version of this story is I fell in love, or if that’s too sentimental for you, I found a job that fit. Though I had originally planned to pursue graduate studies in English, that plan was murky at best; maybe write, maybe teach, maybe…? By the time I completed my B.A., I was torn between pursuing graduate studies in Information Science, or English, or both.

My indecision and anxiety at this stage can hardly be surprising. I had walked across the stage with my fellow graduates into a floundering job market. Brilliant and talented friends of mine, teachers and recent M.S.I.S. grads alike, had struggled for years to find any meaningful employment in their fields. So as many moved on to graduate studies, I deferred.

For one year, I pondered, debated, and immersed myself in work. I continued to work at the public library, spent an entire summer stage-managing a community theater production of Macbeth, and worked as a high school secretary, handing out detention slips to tardy teenagers. Then, in January, I secured a coveted full-time position in a law library, and a lot of things came together at once—the feeling of job security, the longing for the rigors of academia, and the fear of growing stagnant, losing my drive.

So: I applied on a non-matriculated basis to the M.S.I.S. program at the University at Albany (SUNY). I’m two-thirds of the way through my first course, Fundamentals of Information Technology, for which I created this blog as my independent technology exploration project. Once again, I’m considering applying to the dual-degree M.S.I.S/M.A. in English program (more on that to follow).

However, I constantly remind myself to take my time in making these decisions, and to remember how I got to where I am.

Posted in Library School | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment