Behold a Digitization of “The Most Beautiful of All Printed Books,” The Kelmscott Chaucer

The his­to­ry of the print­ed book stretch­es back well over a mil­len­ni­um, the title of the old­est known book cur­rent­ly being held by a Tang Dynasty work of the Dia­mond Sutra. But what about the most beau­ti­ful book? As a con­tender for that spot, Michael Good­man (pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture for his projects on the illus­tra­tions of Shake­speare and Dick­ens) has put forth the Kelm­scott Chaucer, includ­ing the tes­ti­mo­ny of no less a lit­er­ary fig­ure than W.B. Yeats, who called it “the most beau­ti­ful of all print­ed books.” Good­man has also made the book freely avail­able for our perusal on his new web site, The Kelm­scott Chaucer Online.

“William Mor­ris, the nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry design­er, social reformer and writer, found­ed the Kelm­scott Press towards the end of his life,” says the web site of the British Library. “He want­ed to revive the skills of hand print­ing, which mech­a­niza­tion had destroyed, and restore the qual­i­ty achieved by the pio­neers of print­ing in the 15th cen­tu­ry.”

Pub­lished in 1896, the Kelm­scott Chaucer, ful­ly titled The Works of Geof­frey Chaucer now new­ly imprint­ed, “is the tri­umph of the press. Its 87 wood-cut illus­tra­tions are by Edward Burne-Jones, the cel­e­brat­ed Vic­to­ri­an painter, who was a life-long friend of Mor­ris. The illus­tra­tions were engraved by William Har­court Hoop­er and print­ed in black, with shoul­der and side titles.”

You can view all these ele­ments and more, dig­i­tized in detail and entire­ly down­load­able, on Good­man’s site, orga­nized into sep­a­rate sec­tions ded­i­cat­ed to its illus­tra­tions, full pages, bor­ders, frames, and even its dec­o­rat­ed words — the likes of which we sel­dom, if ever, see in the print­ed books of our own, infi­nite­ly high­er-tech cen­tu­ry. “The edi­tion I have used for this project is a fac­sim­i­le from the 1950s that has sat on my shelf for many years,” Good­man notes. Giv­en how few copies of the Kelm­scott Chaucer were orig­i­nal­ly pro­duced, thir­teen copies on vel­lum, and anoth­er 58 on pig’s skin, “any spe­cial col­lec­tion’s library who are lucky enough to own an orig­i­nal copy are like­ly to be very reluc­tant to embark upon any form of dig­i­ti­za­tion due to the sig­nif­i­cant risk of dam­age that the process could inflict upon the book.”

If you’d like a clos­er look at the gen­uine arti­cle, which is much larg­er than the dig­i­ti­za­tion may let on, you can get one in the video just above, host­ed by Lon­don rare book deal­er Adam Dou­glas. “It’s obvi­ous as soon as we open to the begin­ning how much care and atten­tion has been lav­ished on this book,” he says, high­light­ing the “beau­ti­ful designs in the pre-Raphaelite man­ner,” the wood­cut ini­tials through­out (no two of which are alike), and the “won­der­ful pro­por­tions” that match the Gold­en Ratio. It takes a cer­tain sophis­ti­ca­tion, or at least knowl­edge of the his­to­ry of print­ing and book design, to ful­ly appre­ci­ate the Kelm­scott Chaucer. But thanks to Good­man, younger read­ers — even much younger read­ers — can enjoy it in col­or­ing-book form.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Ter­ry Jones, the Late Mon­ty Python Actor, Helped Turn Chaucer’s Can­ter­bury Tales Into a Free App: Explore It Online

Dis­cov­er the First Illus­trat­ed Book Print­ed in Eng­lish, William Caxton’s Mir­ror of the World (1481)

3,000 Illus­tra­tions of Shakespeare’s Com­plete Works from Vic­to­ri­an Eng­land, Neat­ly Pre­sent­ed in a New Dig­i­tal Archive

The Charles Dick­ens Illus­trat­ed Gallery: A New Online Col­lec­tion Presents All of the Orig­i­nal Illus­tra­tions from Charles Dick­ens’ Nov­els

Down­load Free Col­or­ing Books from Near­ly 100 Muse­ums & Libraries

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

A Creative List of Meat Carving Terms from the Middle Ages: “Splaye that Breme,” “Splatte that Pyke” & More

A less­er adver­tised joy of work­ing in food ser­vice is achiev­ing com­mand of the slang:

Mon­key dish…

Deuces and four tops…

Fire, flash, kill… 

As you may have noticed, we here at Open Cul­ture have an insa­tiable hunger for vin­tage lin­go and it doesn’t get much more vin­tage than The Boke of Kervyn­ge (The Book of Carv­ing).

This 1508 man­u­al was pub­lished for the ben­e­fit of young noble­men who’d been placed in afflu­ent house­holds, to learn the ropes of high soci­ety by serv­ing the sov­er­eigns.

Few fam­i­lies could afford to serve meat, let alone whole ani­mals, so under­stand­ably, the pre­sen­ta­tion and carv­ing of these pre­cious entrees was not a thing to be under­tak­en light­ly.

The influ­en­tial Lon­don-based pub­lish­er Wynkyn de Worde com­piled step-by-step instruc­tions for get­ting dif­fer­ent types of meat, game and fish from kitchen to plate, as well as what to serve on sea­son­al menus and spe­cial occa­sions like East­er and the Feast of St. John the Bap­tist.

The book opens with the list of “good­ly ter­mes” above, essen­tial vocab for any young man eager to prove his skills around the car­cass of a deer, goose, or lob­ster.

There’s noth­ing here for veg­e­tar­i­ans, obvi­ous­ly. And some 21st-cen­tu­ry car­ni­vores may find them­selves blanch­ing a bit at the thought of tear­ing into a heron or por­poise.

If, how­ev­er, you’re a medieval lad tasked with “dis­fig­ur­ing” a pea­cock, close­ly observed by an entire din­ing table of la crème de la crème, The Boke of Kervyn­ge is a life­saver.

(It also con­tains some invalu­able tips for meet­ing expec­ta­tions should you find your­self in the posi­tion of chaum­ber­layne, Mar­shall or ush­er.)

In any event, let’s spice up our vocab­u­lary while res­cu­ing some aged culi­nary terms from obscu­ri­ty.

Don’t be sur­prised if they work their way into an episode of The Bear next sea­son, though you should also feel free to use them metaphor­i­cal­ly.

And don’t lose heart if some of the terms are a bit befud­dling to mod­ern ears. Lists of Note’s Shaun Ush­er has tak­en a stab at truf­fling up some mod­ern trans­la­tions for a few of the less famil­iar sound­ing words, wise­ly refrain­ing from haz­ard­ing a guess as to the mean­ing of “fruche that chekyn”.

(It’s not the “chekyn” part giv­ing us pause…)

Ter­mes of a keruer —Terms of a carv­er

Breke that dere — break that deer

lesche y brawne — leach the brawn

rere that goose — rear that goose

lyft that swanne — lift that swan

sauce that capon — sauce that capon

spoyle that henne — spoil that hen

fruche that chekyn — ? that chick­en

vnbrace that malarde — unbrace that mal­lard

vnlace that cony — unlace that coney

dys­mem­bre that heron — dis­mem­ber that heron

dys­playe that crane — dis­play that crane

dys­fygure that pecocke —dis­fig­ure that pea­cock

vnioynt that byt­ture — unjoint that bit­tern

vntache that curlewe — untack that curlew

alaye that fesande — allay that pheas­ant

wyn­ge that partryche — wing that par­tridge

wyn­ge that quayle — wing that quail

mynce that plouer — mince that plover

thye that pegy­on — thigh that pigeon

bor­der that pasty — bor­der that pasty

thye all man­er of small byrdes — thigh all man­ner of small birds

tym­bre that fyre — tim­ber that fire

tyere that egge — tear that egg

chyne that samon — chine that salmon

stryn­ge that lam­praye — string that lam­prey

splat­te that pyke — splat that pike

sauce that playce — sauce that plaice

sauce that tenche — sauce that tench

splaye that breme — splay that bream

syde that had­docke — side that had­dock

tuske that bar­bell — tusk that bar­bel

culpon that troute — culpon that trout

fynne that cheuen — fin that cheven

trassene that ele — ? that eel

traunche that stur­gy­on — tranche that stur­geon

vnder­traunche yt pur­pos — under­tranch that por­poise

tayme that crabbe — tame that crab

barbe that lop­ster — barb that lob­ster

Here endeth the good­ly ter­mes.

Peruse a dig­i­tal copy of the sole sur­viv­ing copy of the first edi­tion of the Boke of Kervyn­ge here.

Via Lists of Note

Relat­ed Con­tent 

What Did Peo­ple Eat in Medieval Times? A Video Series and New Cook­book Explain

A 13th-Cen­tu­ry Cook­book Fea­tur­ing 475 Recipes from Moor­ish Spain Gets Pub­lished in a New Trans­lat­ed Edi­tion

A List of 1,065 Medieval Dog Names: Nose­wise, Gar­lik, Have­g­ood­day & More

Tast­ing His­to­ry: A Hit YouTube Series Shows How to Cook the Foods of Ancient Greece & Rome, Medieval Europe, and Oth­er Places & Peri­ods

Ernest Hemingway’s Favorite Ham­burg­er Recipe

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo and Cre­ative, Not Famous Activ­i­ty Book.  Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Explore Exquisite Kimono Designs from 19th-Century Japan

Japan’s 19th-cen­tu­ry kimonos blur the lines between art and fash­ion.

Mei­ji era cus­tomers could browse hina­ga­ta-bon, tra­di­tion­al­ly bound pat­tern books, on vis­its to drap­ers and fab­ric mer­chants. These col­or­ful vol­umes offered a glam­orous update of the Edo period’s black-and-white kimono pat­tern books.

Aspir­ing design­ers also stud­ied hina­ga­ta-bon, as many of the designs fea­tured with­in were the work of cel­e­brat­ed artists.

Each page fea­tured a stan­dard kimono out­line in a back or side view, embell­ished with the pro­posed design. These range from tra­di­tion­al flo­ral motifs to bold land­scapes to strik­ing geo­met­ric pat­terns, some arrest­ing, some dis­creet.

As Hunter Dukes observes in the Pub­lic Domain Review, the Mei­ji era ush­ered in a peri­od of tech­no­log­i­cal advance­ment. Rep­re­sen­ta­tives of the Japan­ese tex­tile indus­try ven­tured abroad, embrac­ing and adapt­ing dying process­es they saw prac­ticed in the Unit­ed States and Europe. The abil­i­ty to sten­cil pastes of chem­i­cal dye onto silk helped to indus­tri­al­ize the kimono-mak­ing process. Peo­ple who pre­vi­ous­ly could­n’t have afford­ed such a gar­ment could now choose from a vari­ety of designs.

The explo­sion in kimono pro­duc­tion spurred demand for fresh designs. Pub­lish­ers began to release hina­ga­ta-bon annu­al­ly. Pre­vi­ous years’ pat­tern books were of lit­tle inter­est to sophis­ti­cat­ed cus­tomers clam­or­ing for the lat­est fash­ions.

Unlike today’s dis­pos­able fash­ion mags, how­ev­er, the pat­tern books’ high aes­thet­ic and pro­duc­tion qual­i­ty saved them from destruc­tion.

In her 1924 book, Block Print­ing and Book Illus­tra­tion in Japan, author Louise Nor­ton Brown wrote that cast-off hina­ga­ta-bon could be “found in all the sec­ond­hand book shops of Japan … (where they were) com­par­a­tive­ly inex­pen­sive.”

These days, you can find Mei­ji era pat­tern books in a num­ber of world class institution’s col­lec­tions includ­ing the Met­ro­pol­i­tan Muse­um of Art, the British Library, the Art Insti­tute of Chica­go, and The Smith­son­ian Nation­al Muse­um of Asian Art, which dig­i­tized the kimono designs by Seiko Ueno fea­tured in this post.

Explore four Mei­ji era kimono pat­tern books here.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Explore the Beau­ti­ful Pages of the 1902 Japan­ese Design Mag­a­zine Shin-Bijut­sukai: Euro­pean Mod­ernism Meets Tra­di­tion­al Japan­ese Design

1,000+ His­toric Japan­ese Illus­trat­ed Books Dig­i­tized & Put Online by the Smith­son­ian: From the Edo & Meji Eras (1600–1912)

Hun­dreds of Won­der­ful Japan­ese Fire­work Designs from the Ear­ly-1900s: Dig­i­tized and Free to Down­load

– Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo and Cre­ative, Not Famous Activ­i­ty Book. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

How Stanley Kubrick Adapted Stephen King’s The Shining into a Cinematic Masterpiece

For most of us, the title The Shin­ing first calls to mind the Stan­ley Kubrick film, not the Stephen King nov­el from which it was adapt­ed. Though it would be an exag­ger­a­tion to say that the for­mer has entire­ly eclipsed the lat­ter, the enor­mous dif­fer­ence between the works’ rel­a­tive cul­tur­al impact speaks for itself — as does the resent­ment King occa­sion­al­ly airs about Kubrick­’s exten­sive rework­ing of his orig­i­nal sto­ry. At the cen­ter of both ver­sions of The Shin­ing is a win­ter care­tak­er at a moun­tain resort who goes insane and tries to mur­der his own fam­i­ly, but in most oth­er respects, the expe­ri­ence of the two works could hard­ly be more dif­fer­ent.

How King’s The Shin­ing became Kubrick­’s The Shin­ing is the sub­ject of the video essay above from Tyler Knud­sen, bet­ter known as Cin­e­maTyler, pre­vi­ous­ly fea­tured here on Open Cul­ture for his videos on such auteurs as Robert Wiene, Jean Renoir, and Andrei Tarkovsky (as well as a sev­en-part series on Kubrick­’s own 2001: A Space Odyssey). It begins with Kubrick­’s search for a new idea after com­plet­ing Bar­ry Lyn­don, which involved open­ing book after book at ran­dom and toss­ing against the wall any and all that proved unable to hold his atten­tion. When it became clear that The Shin­ing, the young King’s third nov­el, would­n’t go fly­ing, Kubrick enlist­ed the more expe­ri­enced nov­el­ist Diane John­son to col­lab­o­rate with him on an adap­ta­tion for the screen.

Almost all of Kubrick­’s films are based on books. As Knud­sen explains it, “Kubrick felt that there aren’t many orig­i­nal screen­writ­ers who are a high enough cal­iber as some of the great­est nov­el­ists,” and that start­ing with an already-writ­ten work “allowed him to see the sto­ry more objec­tive­ly.” In deter­min­ing the qual­i­ties that res­onat­ed with him, per­son­al­ly, “he could get at the core of what was good about the sto­ry, strip away the clut­ter, and enhance the most bril­liant aspects with a pro­found sense of hind­sight.” In no case do the trans­for­ma­tive effects of this process come through more clear­ly than The Shin­ing: Kubrick and John­son reduced King’s almost 450 dia­logue- and flash­back-filled pages to a res­o­nant­ly stark two and a half hours of film that has haunt­ed view­ers for four decades now.

“I don’t think the audi­ence is like­ly to miss the many and self-con­scious­ly ‘heavy’ pages King devotes to things like Jack­’s father’s drink­ing prob­lem or Wendy’s moth­er,” Kubrick once said. Still, any­one can hack a sto­ry down: the hard part is know­ing what to keep, and even more so what to inten­si­fy for max­i­mum effect. Knud­sen lists off a host of choic­es Kubrick and John­son con­sid­ered (includ­ing show­ing more Native Amer­i­can imagery, which should please fans of Bill Blake­more’s analy­sis in “The Fam­i­ly of Man”) but ulti­mate­ly reject­ed. The result is a film with an abun­dance of visu­al detail, but only enough nar­ra­tive and char­ac­ter detail to facil­i­tate Kubrick­’s aim of “using the audi­ence’s own imag­i­na­tion against them,” let­ting them fill in the gaps with fears of their own. While his ver­sion of The Shin­ing evades near­ly all clichés, it does demon­strate the truth of one: less is more.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Stan­ley Kubrick’s Anno­tat­ed Copy of Stephen King’s The Shin­ing

Decod­ing the Screen­plays of The Shin­ing, Moon­rise King­dom & The Dark Knight: Watch Lessons from the Screen­play

How Stan­ley Kubrick Made 2001: A Space Odyssey: A Sev­en-Part Video Essay

Stan­ley Kubrick’s The Shin­ing Reimag­ined as Wes Ander­son and David Lynch Movies

The Shin­ing and Oth­er Com­plex Stan­ley Kubrick Films Recut as Sim­ple Hol­ly­wood Movies

A Kubrick Schol­ar Dis­cov­ers an Eerie Detail in The Shin­ing That’s Gone Unno­ticed for More Than 40 Years

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

A Stand-Up Comedy Routine Discovered in a Medieval Manuscript: Monty Python Before Monty Python (1480)

A fun­ny thing hap­pened on the way to the 15th cen­tu­ry…

Dr. James Wade, a spe­cial­ist in ear­ly Eng­lish lit­er­a­ture at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cam­bridge, was doing research at the Nation­al Library of Scot­land when he noticed some­thing extra­or­di­nary about the first of the nine mis­cel­la­neous book­lets com­pris­ing the Heege Man­u­script.

Most sur­viv­ing medieval man­u­scripts are the stuff of high art. The first part of the Heege Man­u­script is fun­ny.

The usu­al tales of romance and hero­ism, allu­sions to ancient Rome, lofty poet­ry and dra­mat­ic inter­ludes… even the dash­ing adven­tures of Robin Hood are con­spic­u­ous­ly absent.

Instead it’s awash with the sta­ples of con­tem­po­rary stand up com­e­dy — top­i­cal obser­va­tions, humor­ous over­shar­ing, roast­ing emi­nent pub­lic fig­ures, razz­ing the audi­ence, flat­ter­ing the audi­ence by bust­ing on the denizens of near­by com­mu­ni­ties, shag­gy dog tales, absur­di­ties and non-sequiturs.

Repeat­ed ref­er­ences to pass­ing the cup con­jure an open mic type sce­nario.

The man­u­script was cre­at­ed by cler­ic Richard Heege and entered into the col­lec­tion of his employ­ers, the wealthy Sher­brooke fam­i­ly.

Oth­er schol­ars have con­cen­trat­ed on the man­u­scrip­t’s phys­i­cal con­struc­tion, most­ly refrain­ing from com­ment on the nature of its con­tents.

Dr. Wade sus­pects that the first book­let is the result of Heege hav­ing paid close atten­tion to an anony­mous trav­el­ing minstrel’s per­for­mance, per­haps going so far as to con­sult the performer’s own notes.

Heege quipped that he was the author owing to the fact that he “was at that feast and did not have a drink” — mean­ing he was the only one sober enough to retain the min­strel’s jokes and inven­tive plot­lines.

Dr. Wade describes how the com­ic por­tion of the Heege Man­u­script is bro­ken down into three parts, the first of which is sure to grat­i­fy fans of Mon­ty Python and the Holy Grail:

…it’s a nar­ra­tive account of a bunch of peas­ants who try to hunt a hare, and it all ends dis­as­trous­ly, where they beat each oth­er up and the wives have to come with wheel­bar­rows and hold them home. 

That hare turns out to be one fierce bad rab­bit, so much so that the tale’s pro­le­tar­i­an hero, the pro­saical­ly named Jack Wade, wor­ries she could rip out his throat.

Dr. Wade learned that Sir Wal­ter Scott, author of Ivan­hoe, was aware of The Hunt­ing of the Hare, view­ing it as a stur­dy spoof of high mind­ed romance, “stu­dious­ly filled with grotesque, absurd, and extrav­a­gant char­ac­ters.”

The killer bun­ny yarn is fol­lowed by a mock ser­mon  - If thou have a great black bowl in thy hand and it be full of good ale and thou leave any­thing there­in, thou puttest thy soul into greater pain —  and a non­sense poem about a feast where every­one gets ham­mered and chaos ensues.

Crowd-pleas­ing mate­r­i­al in 1480.

With a few 21st-cen­tu­ry tweaks, an enter­pris­ing young come­di­an might wring laughs from it yet.

(Pag­ing Tyler Gun­ther, of Greedy Peas­ant fame…)

As to the true author of these rou­tines, Dr. Wade spec­u­lates that he may have been a “pro­fes­sion­al trav­el­ing min­strel or a local ama­teur per­former.” Pos­si­bly even both:

A ‘pro­fes­sion­al’ min­strel might have a day job and go gig­ging at night, and so be, in a sense, semi-pro­fes­sion­al, just as a ‘trav­el­ling’ min­strel may well be also ‘local’, work­ing a beat of near­by vil­lages and gen­er­al­ly known in the area. On bal­ance, the texts in this book­let sug­gest a min­strel of this vari­ety: some­one whose mate­r­i­al includes sev­er­al local place-names, but also whose mate­r­i­al is made to trav­el, with the lack of deter­mi­na­cy designed to com­i­cal­ly engage audi­ences regard­less of spe­cif­ic locale.

Learn more about the Heege Man­u­script in  Dr. Wade’s arti­cle, Enter­tain­ments from a Medieval Minstrel’s Reper­toire Book in The Review of Eng­lish Stud­ies.

Leaf through a dig­i­tal fac­sim­i­le of the Heege Man­u­script here.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

Killer Rab­bits in Medieval Man­u­scripts: Why So Many Draw­ings in the Mar­gins Depict Bun­nies Going Bad

A List of 1,065 Medieval Dog Names: Nose­wise, Gar­lik, Have­g­ood­day & More

Why Knights Fought Snails in Illu­mi­nat­ed Medieval Man­u­scripts

– Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo and Cre­ative, Not Famous Activ­i­ty Book. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Behold a 19th-Century Atlas of the United States, Designed for Blind Students (1837)

In 1835, the New Eng­land Insti­tu­tion for Edu­ca­tion of the Blind (now known as Perkins School for the Blind) acquired a print­ing press.

Under the lead­er­ship of its first direc­tor, Samuel Gri­d­ley Howe, the press was cus­tomized in order to print in raised text that allowed blind and visu­al­ly impaired peo­ple to read unas­sist­ed.

Inclu­siv­i­ty was a prime moti­va­tor for Howe, who strove to make sure his stu­dents would not be “doomed to inequal­i­ty” or regard­ed as “mere objects of pity.”

After inves­ti­gat­ing Euro­pean tac­tile print­ing sys­tems, he devel­oped Boston Line Type, an embossed Roman alpha­bet that could be read with the fin­gers.

It eschewed flour­ish­es and cap­i­tal let­ters, but read­ing it required a lot of train­ing and even then, was like­ly to be slow going. Howe esti­mat­ed that read­ing it would take three times as long as a sight­ed per­son would take to read an equiv­a­lent amount of tra­di­tion­al­ly print­ed text.

Ulti­mate­ly it proved far less user-friend­ly than braille.

Text accom­pa­ny­ing the exhi­bi­tion Touch This Page! Mak­ing Sense of the Ways We Read, notes that braille had been in use in Great Britain and France for decades before being wide­ly adopt­ed in the US:

The amount of time and mon­ey that Perkins and oth­er Amer­i­can schools had invest­ed into Boston Line Type made them resis­tant to adopt­ing a new sys­tem. Boston Line Type was, how­ev­er, much hard­er to learn than braille, and only braille allowed indi­vid­u­als with visu­al impair­ments to read and write tac­tile­ly.

The school used its Boston Line Type press to pub­lish his­to­ry, gram­mar, and spelling books, as well as the New Tes­ta­ment, and a com­plete Bible.

After a vis­it to the school, Charles Dick­ens paid to have 250 Boston Line Type copies of his nov­el The Old Curios­i­ty Shop print­ed for dis­tri­b­u­tion to blind Amer­i­cans.

In light of Touch This Page!’s asser­tion that Boston Line Type’s print forms were “designed to be uni­ver­sal­ly acces­si­ble rather than in those [print forms] most acces­si­ble to the touch”, we sus­pect that the school’s 1837 Atlas of the Unit­ed States offered its read­ers the best val­ue.

While there were many dense descrip­tive pas­sages in Boston Line Type to wade through, it also boast­ed embossed maps to ori­ent geog­ra­phy stu­dents with raised out­lines of each state.

Rivers were chart­ed as sol­id raised lines, while oceans were indi­cat­ed with par­al­lel lines. Sets of tri­an­gles rep­re­sent­ed moun­tains.

Lon­gi­tudes, lat­i­tudes, and city loca­tions were also not­ed, but the pres­ence of neg­a­tive space gave blind and low vision stu­dents the oppor­tu­ni­ty to grasp infor­ma­tion quick­ly.

50 copies were print­ed, of which four sur­vive.

Explore the Atlas of the Unit­ed States Print­ed for the Use of the Blind here.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed Con­tent 

A Tac­tile Map of the Roman Empire: An Inno­v­a­tive Map That Allowed Blind & Sight­ed Stu­dents to Expe­ri­ence Geog­ra­phy by Touch (1888)

Please Touch the Art: Watch a Blind Man Expe­ri­ence His Own Por­trait for the First Time

Braille Neue: A New Ver­sion of Braille That Can Be Simul­ta­ne­ous­ly Read by the Sight­ed and the Blind

Helen Keller Had Impec­ca­ble Hand­writ­ing: See a Col­lec­tion of Her Child­hood Let­ters

– Ayun Hal­l­i­day is the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine and author, most recent­ly, of Cre­ative, Not Famous: The Small Pota­to Man­i­festo and Cre­ative, Not Famous Activ­i­ty Book. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

The 100 Greatest Children’s Books of All Time, According to 177 Books Experts from 56 Countries

Giv­en the size and demo­graph­ic pro­file of J. R. R. Tolkien’s fan base today, it’s easy to for­get that he orig­i­nal­ly wrote The Hob­bit for chil­dren. For gen­er­a­tions of young read­ers, that nov­el has stood as the gate­way into Tolkien’s much more com­plex and ambi­tious Lord of the Rings tril­o­gy — also writ­ten for chil­dren, at least accord­ing to the new poll of 177 experts around the world con­duct­ed by the BBC to deter­mine the 100 great­est chil­dren’s books of all time. In its results, The Lord of the Rings comes in around the mid­dle, but The Hob­bit takes fifth place, behind only the near-uni­ver­sal­ly beloved titles The Lit­tle Prince, Pip­pi Long­stock­ing, Alice’s Adven­tures in Won­der­land, and — at num­ber one — Where the Wild Things Are.

Any read­er who was a child in the past six­ty years will know all of those books; any read­er alive will know most of them. Through­out this top-100 list appear clas­sics that have been in the chil­dren’s canon longer than any of us have been alive, like Anne of Green Gables, Trea­sure Island, and Lit­tle Women.

A great many works, from Good­night Moon and The Cat in the Hat to A Wrin­kle in Time and From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs Basil E. Frankweil­er — joined it in the mid­dle of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry. “Books pub­lished between the 1950s and 1970s were most preva­lent,” says the BBC’s accom­pa­ny­ing notes, “which may be relat­ed to the age pro­file of vot­ers, the major­i­ty of whom were born in the 1970s and 1980s.”

Indeed, a glance through these results can hard­ly fail to bring back any of the ear­li­est read­ing mem­o­ries of any Gen­er­a­tion Xer or mil­len­ni­al. Wit­ness the preva­lence of books by Roald Dahl: Char­lie and the Choco­late Fac­to­ry, The BFG, The Witch­es, Matil­da. Even Dan­ny, the Cham­pi­on of the World, which I remem­ber as rel­a­tive­ly lack­lus­ter, just makes the cut. Of course, “the furor over the rewrit­ing of Roald Dahl’s nov­els for mod­ern sen­si­bil­i­ties” has late­ly brought his work back into pub­lic dis­course; that and oth­er unre­lat­ed con­tro­ver­sies over what books ought to be made avail­able in school libraries have giv­en us rea­son to con­sid­er once again what chil­dren’s lit­er­a­ture is, or what it could and should be — a range of ques­tions that kids them­selves seem rather bet­ter equipped to address than many grown-ups. See the BBC’s com­plete list here.

via Kot­tke

Relat­ed con­tent:

Dis­cov­er J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lit­tle-Known and Hand-Illus­trat­ed Children’s Book Mr. Bliss

Hayao Miyaza­ki Selects His 50 Favorite Children’s Books

Read a Nev­er Pub­lished, “Sub­ver­sive” Chap­ter from Roald Dahl’s Char­lie and the Choco­late Fac­to­ry

Enter an Archive of 6,000 His­tor­i­cal Children’s Books, All Dig­i­tized and Free to Read Online

Mau­rice Sendak Ani­mat­ed; James Gan­dolfi­ni Reads from Sendak’s Sto­ry “In The Night Kitchen”

A Dig­i­tal Archive of Sovi­et Children’s Books Goes Online: Browse the Artis­tic, Ide­o­log­i­cal Col­lec­tion (1917–1953)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities, the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Helen Keller Writes a Letter to Nazi Students Before They Burn Her Book: “History Has Taught You Nothing If You Think You Can Kill Ideas” (1933)

Helen Keller achieved noto­ri­ety not only as an indi­vid­ual suc­cess sto­ry, but also as a pro­lif­ic essay­ist, activist, and fierce advo­cate for poor and mar­gin­al­ized peo­ple. She “was a life­long rad­i­cal,” writes Peter Dreier at Yes! mag­a­zine, whose “inves­ti­ga­tion into the caus­es of blind­ness” even­tu­al­ly led her to “embrace social­ism, fem­i­nism, and paci­fism.” Keller sup­port­ed the NAACP and ACLU, and protest­ed strong­ly against patron­iz­ing calls for her to “con­fine my activ­i­ties to social ser­vice and the blind.” Her crit­ics, she wrote, mis­char­ac­ter­ized her ideas as “a Utopi­an dream, and one who seri­ous­ly con­tem­plates its real­iza­tion indeed must be deaf, dumb, and blind.”

Twen­ty years lat­er she found a dif­fer­ent set of read­ers treat­ing her ideas with con­tempt. This time, how­ev­er, the crit­ics were in Nazi Ger­many, and instead of sim­ply dis­agree­ing with her, they added her col­lec­tion of essays, How I Became a Social­ist, to a list of “degen­er­ate” books to be burned on May 10, 1933. Such was the date cho­sen by Hitler for “a nation­wide ‘Action Against the Un-Ger­man Spir­it,’” writes Rafael Med­off, to take place at Ger­man Universities—“a series of pub­lic burn­ings of the banned books” that “dif­fered from the Nazis’ per­spec­tive on polit­i­cal, social, or cul­tur­al mat­ters, as well as all books by Jew­ish authors.”

Books burned includ­ed works by Ein­stein and Freud, H.G. Wells, Hem­ing­way, and Jack Lon­don, Stu­dents hauled books out of the libraries as part of the spec­ta­cle. “The largest of the 34 book-burn­ing ral­lies, held in Berlin,” Med­off notes, “was attend­ed by an esti­mat­ed 40,000 peo­ple.”

Not only were these demon­stra­tions of anti-Semi­tism, but their con­tempt for ideas appealed broad­ly to the Nazi phi­los­o­phy of “Blood and Soil,” a nation­al­ist car­i­ca­ture of rur­al val­ues over a sup­pos­ed­ly “degen­er­ate,” poly­glot urban­ism. “The soul of the Ger­man peo­ple can again express itself,” declared Joseph Goebbels omi­nous­ly at the Berlin ral­ly. “These flames not only illu­mi­nate the final end of an old era; they also light up the new.”

“Some Amer­i­can edi­to­r­i­al respons­es” before and after the burn­ings, “made light of the event,” remarks the Unit­ed States Holo­caust Muse­um, call­ing it “sil­ly” and “infan­tile.”  Oth­ers fore­saw much worse to come. In one very explic­it expres­sion of the ter­ri­ble pos­si­bil­i­ties, artist and polit­i­cal car­toon­ist Jacob Bur­ck drew the image above, evok­ing the obser­va­tion of 19th cen­tu­ry Ger­man writer Hein­rich Heine: “Where one burns books, one will soon burn peo­ple.” Newsweek described the events as “’a holo­caust of books’… one of the first instances in which the term ‘holo­caust’ (an ancient Greek word mean­ing a burnt offer­ing to a deity) was used in con­nec­tion with the Nazis.”

The day before the burn­ings, Keller also dis­played a keen sense for the grav­i­ty of book burn­ings, as well as a “notable… ear­ly con­cern,” notes Rebec­ca Onion at Slate—out­side the Jew­ish com­mu­ni­ty, that is—for what she called the “bar­bar­i­ties to the Jews.” On May 9, 1933, Keller pub­lished a short but point­ed open let­ter to the Nazi stu­dents in The New York Times and else­where, abjur­ing them to stop the pro­posed burn­ings. She wrote in a reli­gious idiom, invok­ing the “judg­ment” of God and para­phras­ing the Bible. (Not a tra­di­tion­al Chris­t­ian, she belonged to a mys­ti­cal sect called Swe­den­bor­gian­ism.) At the top of the post, you can see the type­script of her let­ter, with cor­rec­tions and anno­ta­tions by Pol­ly Thomp­son, one of her pri­ma­ry aides. Read the full tran­script below:

To the stu­dent body of Ger­many:

His­to­ry has taught you noth­ing if you think you can kill ideas. Tyrants have tried to do that often before, and the ideas have risen up in their might and destroyed them.

You can burn my books and the books of the best minds in Europe, but the ideas in them have seeped through a mil­lion chan­nels and will con­tin­ue to quick­en oth­er minds. I gave all the roy­al­ties of my books for all time to the Ger­man sol­diers blind­ed in the World War with no thought in my heart but love and com­pas­sion for the Ger­man peo­ple.

I acknowl­edge the griev­ous com­pli­ca­tions that have led to your intol­er­ance; all the more do I deplore the injus­tice and unwis­dom of pass­ing on to unborn gen­er­a­tions the stig­ma of your deeds.

Do not imag­ine that your bar­bar­i­ties to the Jews are unknown here. God sleep­eth not, and He will vis­it His judg­ment upon you. Bet­ter were it for you to have a mill-stone hung around your neck and sink into the sea than to be hat­ed and despised of all men.

Keller added the penul­ti­mate para­graph of the pub­lished text lat­er. (See the hand­writ­ten addi­tion at the bot­tom of the typed draft.) Her con­cern for the “griev­ous com­pli­ca­tions” of the Ger­man peo­ple was cer­tain­ly gen­uine. The expres­sion also seems like a tar­get­ed rhetor­i­cal move for a stu­dent audi­ence, con­ced­ing the sit­u­a­tion as “com­plex,” and appeal­ing in more philo­soph­i­cal lan­guage to “jus­tice” and “wis­dom.” The Nazis ignored her protest, as they did the “mas­sive street demon­stra­tions” that took place on the 10th “in dozens of Amer­i­can cities,” the Holo­caust Muse­um writes, “skill­ful­ly orga­nized by the Amer­i­can Jew­ish Con­gress” and spark­ing “the largest demon­stra­tion in New York City his­to­ry up to that date.”

Five years lat­er, how­ev­er, anoth­er planned book burning—this time in Aus­tria before its annexation—was pre­vent­ed by stu­dents at Williams Col­lege, Yale, and oth­er uni­ver­si­ties in the U.S., where pro- and anti-Nazi par­ti­sans fought each oth­er on sev­er­al Amer­i­can cam­pus­es. U.S. stu­dents were able to push the Aus­tri­an Nation­al Library to lock the books away rather than burn them. Keller “is not known to have com­ment­ed specif­i­cal­ly” on these stu­dent protests, writes Med­off, “but one may assume she was deeply proud that at a time when too many Amer­i­cans did not want to be both­ered with Europe’s prob­lems, these young men and women under­stood the mes­sage of her 1933 letter—that the prin­ci­ples under attack by the Nazis were some­thing that should mat­ter to all mankind.”

Note: This post orig­i­nal­ly appeared on our site in 2017.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

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Relat­ed Con­tent 

The Brook­lyn Pub­lic Library Gives Every Teenag­er in the U.S. Free Access to Books Get­ting Cen­sored by Amer­i­can Schools

The 850 Books a Texas Law­mak­er Wants to Ban Because They Could Make Stu­dents Feel Uncom­fort­able

Mark Twain & Helen Keller’s Spe­cial Friend­ship: He Treat­ed Me Not as a Freak, But as a Per­son Deal­ing with Great Dif­fi­cul­ties

America’s First Banned Book: Dis­cov­er the 1637 Book That Mocked the Puri­tans

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Open Culture was founded by Dan Colman.