Three Branches of the Golden Bough

Popular conceptions of folklore and mythology can be a funny game of telephone. In high school, for instance, you may have learned about the “hero’s journey”, a concept developed by Joseph Campbell (Dartmouth Class of 1925, non-graduate) to describe a "universal" narrative structure. It has a tendency to come up in English classes as a useful framework to apply to assigned texts, mapping well onto classics like the Odyssey. And it can be useful in that narrative context, but it’s terrible as any sort of comparative mythology. Still, the trope of the hero’s journey persists in the arts and in pop culture, even though its value as scholarship has been dismissed for decades.

One of Campbell’s influences was James Frazer (1854-1941), a Scottish classicist who sought to collate myths and ritual practices from around the world into evidence of universality. At the time, Darwinism had done a number on the Victorian world, and the social sciences were trying to figure out what it could imply for them. The results were theories like Frazer’s, who proposed that all cultures went through a linear evolution in belief from magic to religion to science. This positioned his own culture as the most evolved and his personal secularism as more evolved still.

Frazer’s interest in the topic began with research into a specific Roman rite, but it did not stay there. He consumed and cataloged a truly impressive amount of data about various cultures, though he never attempted any fieldwork himself, nor was he disposed to question his sources. The result was The Golden Bough, an anthropological work consisting of two volumes when it was first published in 1890, and increasing to twelve by 1915. It had its critics from the start — Frazer’s conclusions were quite speculative, as even he tended to admit — but it was also an exciting and entertaining read, so it gained an audience outside of its academic aspirations. The Golden Bough is no longer creditable, but Frazer’s work had a significant impact on scholarship as well as an influence on the arts.

Rauner has three versions of The Golden Bough, each a bit different. The earliest is a pair of books from that twelve-volume series we mentioned earlier, this pair being Part V, “Spirits of the Corn and of the Wild,” published in 1912. This is Frazer’s most expansive and uncertain version of his own work. The second is Leaves from the Golden Bough, a 1924 book of stories selected by Frazer’s wife Lilly and re-framed for children. The third is a fine press abridged edition from 1970. This last version comes with an introduction from the literary critic Stanley Edgar Hyman, whose analysis bridges the gap between the work’s failure as anthropological scholarship and its success as “imaginative literature.”

Each of our three versions was meant for a different audience. Each also appeared at a different moment in the perception of Frazer's work, both within and outside of the academy. They're interesting to compare! Ask for Hudson 7, Sine Illus B762leav, and Presses L629fraz to do your own investigation.

Our Bodies Our Selves

If you are a woman of a certain age and your family of a certain social/political persuasion, at some point your mother or your most awesome aunt might have given you a copy of Our Bodies Our Selves. By the 1980s it was a huge book with hundreds of pages covering all aspects of women's health and sexuality, but it started out as a pretty humble, stapled mimeograph in 1971.

We recently received a generous gift of the eighth printing from July 1972, priced at only 35 cents. The printing history on the inside cover reveals a lot:

1st printing December 1970 5,000
2nd printing April 1971 15,000
3rd printing September 1971 20,000
4th printing December 1971 25,000
5th printing March 1972 25,000
6th printing May 1972 25,000
7th printing July 1972 10,000
8th printing July 1972 25,000 

That's incredible. A book printed by the Boston Women's Health Collective, with no real advertising or marketing plan ran through four printings in less than six months and sold 150,000 copies in its first year and a half. Clearly there was a need for some honest information about reproductive health and sexuality that included things not talked about (hell, not even acknowledged to exist) in many circles. This is not your grandmother's gynecologist.

To see it ask for Rare RA778 .B69 1971. 

Surveying the Field

In 1871, Thayer School of Engineering at Dartmouth officially opened for business. The fledgling school boasted just three students and one professor but also a proud lineage and a bright future. General Sylvanus Thayer, a member of Dartmouth's class of 1807 and the fifth superintendent of the United States Military Academy at West Point, had turned his sights back to Hanover in 1867 at the ripe old age of eighty-one. He had accrued by then a stunning list of life accomplishments, including the establishment of the country's first school of civil engineering during his time at West Point.

Thayer intended for his alma mater to establish a similar program: he donated a total of $70,000 to the college as well as an impressive library of books and manuscripts related to engineering, many of which we still have to this day. He also recommended a West Point graduate, Joseph Fletcher, to be the first (and only) faculty member and dean of the new professional school. His mission accomplished, Thayer passed away in 1872 but he is still remembered to this day in certain circles as "The Father of the Military Academy" and one of the earliest proponents of engineering education in America.

Perhaps Thayer's influence is what made Dartmouth faculty insist that all undergraduates take a surveying course, even before the School of Engineering was formally established. We have several of the student field notebooks from those classes, and it's obvious from looking through them that at least a few of the undergraduates struggled to appreciate the science of engineering. Robert Bolenius, a member of the class of 1870, certainly seemed more interested in creating whimsical doodles in his assignment book than demonstrating his surveying prowess. His drawings, whether of a naked man fighting with a dog over a pair of pants next to a data table or an abstract geometrical shape converted into a Civil War tent, make us hope that Robert went on to discover a profession less rigid in its approach to seeing the world than engineering.

To look through the surveying notebooks of Robert Bolenius and other undergraduate surveying students, come to Rauner and ask for DA-31, Box 2912.

Exhibit: "Reading Sentences: Prison Libraries and Literature"

Beyond punishment for social wrongs, imprisonment has long functioned to silence or remove voices from the public forum. As we have seen with figures from Cervantes to Martin Luther King Jr., however, prison can also give inmates copious time to articulate their thoughts and the fame or notoriety necessary to draw attention to them.

This exhibit examines both the literature consumed and produced by prisoners as well as the evolving depiction of the prison in popular culture. Its scope spans hundreds of years and thousands of miles, from the chivalric romances dreamed up by imprisoned knights (and aspiring knights) of the medieval and Renaissance eras to the cheap, sensational prison dramas peddled to the working classes and the reformist prison library catalogs whose titles sought to educate and equip inmates with secular knowledge and employable trade skills in late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century New England. It highlights the electrifying prison manifestos of several prominent civil rights leaders and concludes with contemporary artist and children’s books which grapple with the psychosocial impact of incarceration.

The exhibit was curated by Sophie Chadha, Edward Connery Lathem '51 Special Collections Fellow at Rauner Special Collections Library. The poster was designed by Chadha and Max Seidman, Exhibits and Graphic Arts Designer for Dartmouth Libraries. It will be on display in Rauner Special Collections Library's Class of 1965 Galleries from April 6 through June 19, 2026.

Wealth of Nations at 250

We have a lovely first edition of Adam Smith's An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations published 250 year ago in March of 1776. A lot happened that year and the Enlightenment was having a pretty dramatic (one might say revolutionary) impact across Europe and into the colonies. Oddly, it had never occurred to me to think of Wealth of Nations as a product of the Enlightenment until about ten years ago when a faculty member in the Economics department asked me to talk about the book next to Diderot's Encyclopédie. At first I was confused, then it all made sense.

You see Adam Smith was one of the book buyers for the University of Glasgow and he persuaded the university to invest in the acquisition of Diderot's epic project to create an encyclopedia that would wrest control of knowledge from the church and the monarchy and put it into the hands of anyone literate and able to gain access to his encyclopedia. Smith would have been an avid consumer of the work, so is it any wonder that his first and most famous example of the division of labor came right out of the Diderot's project? You can look at Wealth of Nations alongside the fabulous illustrations of pin manufacture presented in volume 4 of the plates of the Encyclopédie. This is old news to anyone well versed in the history of economics, but for me it was an enlightening experience that made me rethink the rise of capitalism.

To see the first edition of An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, ask for Val 330.1 S643i 1776. For Diderot's Encyclopédie, ou, Dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des métiers you'll want Rare AE25 .E53 (ask for volume 4 of the plates).

The Road to Redemption

On a Tuesday in May of 1831, President Nathan Lord of Dartmouth sat down at his writing desk to pen an awkward letter to Reverend Jacob Cummings, a member of Dartmouth's class of 1819 who was a friend of Lord's and the minister of a small congregation in Stratham, New Hampshire. Cummings had written to Lord to inquire about a recent incident involving Daniel Clark, a member of the class of 1834 and a Stratham boy. Lord began by telling Cummings that although he was "unwilling to give pain", he felt "obliged to correct [Cummings'] impressions" about the story that Clark had told him.

The facts of the case, as per a faculty investigation, were as follows: that several nights earlier, a sizable group of pious and concerned young students had gathered at 1am before the front door of local resident Mr. Holton, whose home was known to be a den of ill repute; that they had peaceably gained access with the intention of relocating the ladies of the night from the establishment; that Mr. Holton had drawn a knife and threatened them when they tried to enter a back room; and that when they had finally been able to enter said room, they had discovered Mr. Clark hiding within. The investigation resulted in Clark's suspension from the college for a year.

Apparently, soon after being dismissed from the college and returning home, Clark had entreated Cummings to intercede with Lord on his behalf; the young man claimed that he was merely out for an evening walk to get some exercise and stopped for a rest at Holton's without realizing the nature of the dwelling. Lord's incredulity is palpable as his letter lays out Clark's story in detail: a casual stroll down the darkest road in Hanover at one in the morning followed by a random visit to an unknown residence? Nearly two hundred years later, one can almost feel the force from Lord's eyes rolling. The president ends the letter by openly acknowledging Clark's intellectual gifts and his potential, expressing his hope that Clark will repent of his sins, and praying that the young man will return to Dartmouth to finish his studies after a year's suspension so that he may "yet become a blessing".

Lord's prayers were ultimately answered, though perhaps not quite in the way that he would have hoped. Clark did repent and return to Dartmouth to finish his studies. Several decades later, he was elected to represent New Hampshire in the United States Senate where he served from 1857 until 1866. In contrast to Lord, who was well-known for his support of slavery, Clark was a staunch abolitionist who gave eloquent speeches denouncing slavery as well as supporting suffrage for all men regardless of race. His colleagues in the Senate held him in such high regard that they elected him president pro tempore for the Thirty-Eighth Congress (1865-1866).

To read Nathan Lord's frank assessment of a youthful Daniel Clark's indiscretions, request MSS 831317.1 online and then come to Rauner.

A Most Weird Look

A couple of years ago, we were lucky enough to be near the path of totality for a total solar eclipse. Upper Valley residents may have dealt with traffic and crowds, but a jaunt north of about 56 miles would get you in range of something quite spectacular. Today we're looking at a pair of artifacts from someone who traveled much, much further to see the same kind of event. In August of 1896, a total solar eclipse took place that was visible from parts of Russia, Japan, and northern Scandinavia. A group of British astronomy enthusiasts identified that last location as their best bet and made plans to head for Vadsø, Norway, near the northernmost point of that country where it converges with Sweden and Finland. Vadsø was about 1,600 miles away as the crow flies. 

This excursion included one Lawrence Neville Holden, a lifelong amateur scientist and fellow of the Royal Astronomical Society. We have his diary and photo album from the trip, so we have record of his great disappointment when the weather that day was overcast:

"As it was obviously no good trying to use telescopes everyone stood up & looked round. The scene was most curious. It was light enough to read print & the time on my watch & the lamps which we had lighted to record observations by were certainly no required. No stars could be seen even with our field glasses which we used, in the few clear patches of sky. We could see right across the fjord & the hills there had a blue black light over them, further away we saw hill tops lit up with a bright light & there were probably outside the line of totality. The temperature fell about 3°. The color of the sea did not change but at one place just beyond Vadso pier we saw a great glittering caused it was said by fish jumping out of the water. Round about us nothing appeared out of the ordinary but the whole landscape had a most weird look, & it was quite a different darkness to night. Then like a flash almost light came back & the long looked forward to Eclipse was over & the result of all our preparations was 'absolute failure' in every way."

The photo album is a bit less dour, filled with pictures of party members, the landscape, the locals, and the group's scientific instruments. There are two photos taken during the eclipse itself and while they aren't particularly compelling to look at, the  film's exposure is undeniably different than that of the other daytime shots. This was probably cold comfort to Holden, who said that afterwards "everyone had a long face & the disappointment was very keenly felt."

The next total solar eclipse will be this August, almost exactly 130 years after Holden's disappointing excursion. Totality will miss the United States entirely, but will reach parts of Greenland, Iceland, Spain and Portugal. The next one to reach Vermont and New Hampshire won't be until 2079.

To see Holden's diary and album, ask for Stef Mss-296, Box 1, or check out the scans attached to the finding aid.