The Mating Habits of Unicorns

In 1671, publisher and writer John Ogilby created a compendium of all relevant information about the New World. In true 17th-century form, the title boasts of the book's expansive mission: America: Being the Latest, and Most Accurate Description of the New World; Containing the Original of the Inhabitants, and the Remarkable Voyages thither, the Conquest of the Vast Empires of Mexico and Peru, and other Large Provinces and Territories, with Several European Plantations in those Parts. Also Their Cities, Fortresses, Towns, Temples, Mountains, and Rivers. Their Habits, Customs, Manners, and Religions. Their Plants, Beasts, Birds, and Serpents. With an Appendix containing, besides several other considerable Additions, a brief Survey of what hath been discovered of the Unknown South-Land and the Arctick Region (London, 1671). Ogilby never traveled to the New World, so the book is based on travel accounts he had read ("Collected from most Authentick Authors").

The book is full of awesome weirdness. You can just picture Ogilby in London trying to sort out the various accounts to determine what was real, what was not, and what might help sell books. One account he found compelling enough to reproduce as fact, and even illustrate, was a description of a "strange beast" living on the borders of Canada. It "hath some resemblance with a Horse, having cloven feet, shaggy Mayn, one Horn just on their forehead, a tail like that of a wild Hog, black Eyes, and a Deers Neck." Observers not only saw this mythical beast, they were able to note its strange habits:

...it feeds in the nearest Wildernesses: the Males never come amongst the Females except at the time when they Couple, after which they grow so ravenous, that they not only devour other Beasts, but also one another.

Come see for yourself by asking for McGregor 129 (the unicorn is on page 173).

Oooh... Salty

If you didn't make it to the beach this summer, we have the book for you. Maggie Puckett's Salty reeks of the ocean even though it was printed in Chicago. For the most part, it is an artist's book of blank pages, but they are imbued with meaning... and salt.  It was an experiment as part of the artist's work at Columbia College's Center for Book and Paper Arts.

The artist's statement tells readers that "To experience Salty you must lick it." it goes on to explain:

The salty taste of the paper, embedded with extra coarse sea salt and produced in salty water, is meant to mimic the experience of tasting seawater.

Salty was created out of a desire to experiment with paper made in seawater. The salt may affect the paper's archival qualities, but suggests an alternative source of water for papermaking studios located in drought-stricken but coastal area.

The book is bound using dried squid tentacles. We gave it a lick to see what the experience would be. It was not pleasant. To be true to the book's purpose we will allow visitors to take a taste if they dare. Salt is a powerful preservative, so we think the salt in the paper will wipe out most germs, but it is taste at your own risk.

Close up of the paper

We are in the process of cataloging the book, but the record will eventually be located here. Once it is ready, come in and give it a taste, or just hold it up and smell the sea.

Aleister Crowley - Patriot?

Known best for his involvement in the occult and reputation as the "wickedest man in the world," Aleister Crowley also appears to have had something of a patriotic streak - or a healthy dose of cynicism and a good command of propaganda technique.

In 1942 Crowley penned a short poem called La Gauloise. Subtitled "The Song of the Free French" the piece praised the courage and determination of the members of the French Resistance. Eventually used by the BBC as lyrics for a patriotic song, it was a none too subtle call to continue the struggle against the Nazis and a reminder that England and France were united in purpose and spirit - at least in this war. It's ironic that Crowley, given his public persona, could seemingly be so moved by a sentiment not overtly self-serving and with no apparent personal reward. True feeling or not?

Also included on the title page is the phrase Createur de signe V which references Crowley's claim to have invented the famous gesture, used by Winston Churchill and others, as a counter to the swastika symbol.

Our copy is the second edition (also published in 1942) and the subtitle is slightly modified to "The Song of the Fighting French."  Ask for Rauner Rare Book PR 6005 .R7 G3.

Bunyan Metamorphosized

John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim's Progress first appeared in 1678 but remained enormously popular for hundreds of years. In the 19th century it was staple stock for New England printers. Our many unpretentious volumes, often in tatters and occasionally colored by an enthusiastic youth, physically manifest the story's role in the moral education of the country’s youth.

As you might expect, we have dozens of different editions of the book, but two favorites are adaptations designed to reach wider audiences. "Metamorphosis" editions for children, like this one from Hartford, Connecticut, used folding flaps to reveal the Pilgrim’s progress. Much rarer, is a copy translated into Cantonese for missionary use. Not only is the text translated, but the characters are as well: the pilgrim becomes Chinese in costume and setting.

To see  Bunyan's Pilgrims Progress, "exhibited in a metamorphosis" ask for 1926 B86b 1821; the Cantonese Tian lu li cheng is available by requesting Rare PR3330 A738 1871.

Mencken Uncrated

H. L. Mencken rarely spared anyone's feelings in his writing during his life, so it was with great anticipation that his autobiographical writings were unsealed 35 years after his death. What could be so inflammatory that it had to wait for a generation to pass? Mencken deposited manuscript copies of his two autobiographies, My Life as Author and Editor, and Thirty-Five Years of Newspaper Work, with three libraries:  the Enoch Pratt Free Library in Baltimore (where the bulk of his papers are held), the New York Public Library, and the Dartmouth College Library. Dartmouth was honored with a copy because of Mencken's close relationship with Dartmouth alumnus Richard Mandel '26 and professor Herb West.

With tools in hand, Dartmouth President James O. Freedman, Special Collections Librarian Phil Cronenwett, and Special Collections Library Assistant John Schwoerke, cut the metal bands sealing the wooden crates and unleashed Mencken's final critical look at the America he loved and feared.  They used them to complete an exhibition "Mencken Uncrated" that opened two weeks earlier. The two autobiographies were published in 1993 and 1994.

Along with the typescripts, we preserved one of the crates. You can see them by asking for Realia 218 and ML 693.

Games of the XIII Olympiad

Actually, there wasn't a 13th Olympiad since the year was 1944 and World War II was still in progress. Instead of holding the Games in London as planned, the International Olympic Committee held a much smaller "Jubilee" in neutral Lausanne, Switzerland to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the first modern Olympiad.

Several commemorative items were issued as part of the celebration including this collection of odes by Pindar titled Olympiques (Lausanne: Èditions A. Gonin, 1944). Illustrated by Swiss artist Hans Erni, the book included all fourteen of the Greek poet's Olympian victory odes - each dedicated to a specific athlete's triumph in the ancient Olympic Games. Erni's illustrations include the mythical founding of the games by Heracles as well as selected depictions of the heros. The volume also contains a brief history of the ancient games and Pindar as well as an analysis of each ode.

Interestingly, there appears to be no mention of World War II or any explanation of the circumstances surrounding the cancellation of the 1944 Games.

Ask for Rare Book PA 4275 .F8 E76 1944.

Mencken's Tessie

We recently acquired a small, but rich collection of letters by H.L Mencken. While Ambrose Bierce is the 19th-century's greatest curmudgeon, surely Mencken deserves consideration for the the title in the 20th century. He is known for his harsh criticism, cutting wit, and general intolerance for the American middle class (the "booboisie," as he famously called them). But in this letter from May 21, 1921, we see mourning and emotion cloaked in his typically urbane prose:

Our old dog Tessie died on Sunday. A tooth abcess [sic] developed gangrene and the horse-doctor gave her a sniff of prussis acid. She went out instantly. Tessie was 16 years old, a great age for a dog. She never married. We miss her enormously. Sunday afternoon my brothers and I buried her in the garden, and today I ordered a small tablet to be set in the wall, thus "1905 - Tessie - 1921". Tessie was a Presbyterian.

Twain could hardly have done better. The letters will join our existing Mencken Collection, ML 693, which will be the subject of another posting.