Homer B. Hulbert

Yesterday marked the 154th anniversary of the birth of Homer B. Hulbert, Class of 1884. Little had anyone known then that this second child of a Congregational minister in New England would become fluent in the Korean language -- fluent enough to pen scholarly articles and books -- and fight for the independence of a small country on the other side of the planet. How did Hulbert come to learn about the small country unknown to most Westerners at that time and become so attached to it?

After graduating from Dartmouth in 1884, Hulbert decided to become a minister like his father and began his studies at Union Theological Seminary. That same year, Gojong, king of Korea, asked the U.S. government for three Americans to teach English to the children of the Korean royal families. John Eaton, who worked for the Department of State and was a close friend of Hulbert's father, asked whether one of the Hulberts would be willing to go. Unlike his reluctant brother, Hulbert enthusiastically agreed to join the crew, even though he didn't know much about the country other than a brief mention of it during his geography class at Dartmouth. With two other American missionaries, he departed to Korea in 1886, where he worked at Royal English School in Seoul until 1891.

Saminpilchi

During his time at Royal English School, Hulbert sought to make up for the lack of scholarly resources and felt an urgent need to publish a textbook written in Korean. At the end of that effort came the publication of 사민필지(Saminpilchi), or Geographical Gazetteer of the World, in 1889. In the preface to the book, Hulbert notes that, nowadays, it's not sufficient for a nation to manage and understand only what lies within their physical borders. An efficient governance under the new order requires nations to constantly interact with different states. Therefore, leaders of a nation ought to understand the culture, customs, history, and geography of different countries in order to thrive. The first chapter explains the concept of the planet Earth. The following chapters each introduce a continent and countries within that continent. Colored maps are attached to each chapter to provide a visual aid to the text.

An atlas within Saminpilchi

Towards the end of the preface, Hulbert highlights that he wrote this textbook in Korean to make this information available to a greater portion of the Korean population. In fact, the publication of this textbook in Korean language was unusual in that, despite the existence of the Korean language, scholarly works in Korea to that date were written exclusive in traditional Chinese characters. The Korean language, Hanguel, was perceived as a language for the lowly and common people, whereas traditional Chinese was thought to be the language of the upper class and of scholars. Hulbert had a different opinion. In The Korea Review, an English-language magazine produced by American missionaries and teachers in Korea, he published several articles praising Hanguel for its intricacy and scientific mechanism. His appreciation of Hanguel evolved into a passion for Korean folklore and traditional literature, and he translated several Korean folktales into English, including Omjee the Wizard.

Omjee the Wizard

Hulbert expressed a deep interest in the history of Korea as well. In The History of Korea, which was published in both English and Korean, he covers the time span ranging from 2300 BCE, when the first nation-state was founded in the Korean peninsula, to the 14th century CE. Another history book he penned, The Passing of Korea, presents a detailed analysis of various aspects of Korean society leading up to Japanese control of Korea during his own lifetime.

The History of Korea

Initially, Hulbert thought it would be inevitable for Korea to fall under foreign control and, in that case, he preferred Japanese control to that of the Russians. However, after the Treaty of Portsmouth in 1905, Hulbert changed his stance as he realized that Japan would never grant Korea the political autonomy that it had promised. The Treaty served as a turning point for Hulbert as he began to involve himself politically on Korea's behalf. In November 1905, he delivered Korean Emperor Gojong's letter to the Secretary of State, in which the king pleaded fruitlessly with the U.S. government to halt Japanese aggression. However, Hulbert was not discouraged by the U.S. government's disinterest and continued his advocacy for Korean independence.  In 1907, he assisted confidential emissaries from Korea to the Second International Peace Conference in The Hague. Hulbert tried to create an opportunity for the Korean delegates to speak at the Conference, but they were prohibited from entering the hall. Upon learning about Hulbert's attempt, the Japanese Empire increased its scrutiny of foreigners in Seoul, which eventually led to Hulbert's expulsion from Korea in 1907.

Even after his exile form Korea, Hulbert didn't cease his efforts and continued to contribute articles to various American magazines and newspapers about his adoptive nation. After more than forty years away, Hulbert finally got a chance to return to Korea in 1947, when the first president of the Republic of Korea, Syngman Rhee, invited him back. In August of 1949, he arrived back at the country he had been longing to return to for decades. Shortly after, his return, Hulbert died and was buried in Yanghwajin foreigners' cemetery in Seoul. After his death, Hulbert has continued to live in the memories of Koreans; he was conferred the Korean Order of Taiguk in 1950 and, in 2013, he was selected as an "independence activist of the month." One reason for his persistent presence in Korean culture is because, until World War II, colonial aggression in East Asia was the least of concerns for Westerners. Within such a context, Hulbert's opinions and actions stand out as a special case worthy of remembrance.

Rauner holds several of Hulbert's works. To see Saminpilchi, ask for Alumni H877p; The Korea Review, Alumni H877k; The History of Korea, H877h for English H877hi for Korean; The Passing of Korea, H877pa and Omjee the Wizard, Alumni H877o.

A New England Girlhood

Forget the proverb – a book’s cover can teach us quite a bit, especially when its appearance illuminates deeper discussions in the text. Such is the case with the first edition of A New England Girlhood, an autobiography by American poet Lucy Larcom. Published in 1889, the volume physically embodies the themes of individuality and intimacy explored in the narrative.

Larcom was commissioned to write her autobiography for a series called The Riverside Library for Young People. The cover of A New England Girlhood notably markets the series as prominently as the text itself - the series name is stamped in large lettering across the top, while the book’s title and Larcom’s name are centered in the middle, in slightly smaller lettering. The spine and title page follow suit. This distinctive feature characterizes the relationship between text and series. A New England Girlhood both builds and is built by the Riverside series. It does not stand alone, but must be understood as part of a whole. This relationship dynamic extends from the text itself. Larcom’s narrative revolves around exploring the importance of context in individual development. She defines an autobiography as “a picture of the outer and inner universe photographed upon one little life’s consciousness.” The influences of people, places, literature, and nature collectively shape her existence. Larcom also understands her individual significance in terms of her membership in various communities, such as her family, workplace, literary societies, and God’s universe. Like the relationship between text and series, her individual life both constructs and is a construction of her surroundings.

This dynamic creates a thematic emphasis on relationships that is mirrored by the volume’s unassuming size. Its compactness and ability to fit comfortably in the reader’s hands imbue it with a sense of intimacy. The size also implies humility in its appeal to readers, as if the book is designed to resonate with individuals rather than attract a worldwide audience. Larcom, in fact, actively limits her audience, specifying that her story is for girls, women, and those who appreciate them, and that “all others are eavesdroppers, and, of course, have no right to criticize.” In doing so, she carves out an intimate space for an audience that in her time was rarely prioritized: young women. Here, the silenced and ignored narratives of women thrive. It is a space of expansive confinement - the closer its quarters, the greater the opportunity for empathetic story sharing. The volume’s physical dimensions contain and activate this intimate space.

Object and text thus form a coherent package, tied together by these thematic-aesthetic parallels. But it is not enough to simply observe the parallels. Following Larcom’s philosophy, their significance cannot be understood without context. A New England Girlhood was written about female experiences, by a female author, in a patriarchal society that systematically silenced female voices. This context limited the range of choices available to Larcom, constricting the autobiography both internally and externally. Examining the thematic-aesthetic parallels suggests that each is a manifestation of this constriction. For example, Larcom’s narrative may have been published and marketed as part of a series because it was not considered ubiquitous enough to stand on its own. The volume’s small size may have resulted from the publisher’s assumption that the book would only attract a humble, self-selecting audience. Larcom’s thematic focuses likely originated from similar constraints. In her time, women were confined to the private sphere. Her emphasis on intimacy and privacy suggests her internalization of this confinement. Larcom also expresses a discomfort with the concept of autobiography – “I do not know that I altogether approve of autobiography myself” – revealing her uncertainty that her individual story is worth documenting. Her humble and relational attitude towards her life may reflect how societal concepts of female versus male individuality were disproportionately invested in relationships and family.

This analysis suggests that oppressive forces may have played a role in molding A New England Girlhood, both externally and internally. Yet this is not meant to discredit Larcom’s agency as a writer or the integrity of the themes she explores. Within the confines of a society that silenced her, Larcom found a space for her voice, strong and critical and true to her experience, if not completely unfettered. Understanding this allows readers to truly understand the threads of individuality and intimacy tying together text and object - not as face-value parallels, but as the productive interplay of tensions between constriction and resistance.

To see the book, ask for White Mountains PS2223.A3 1889a.

Posted for Elizabeth Klein '17

Byron to Hunt to Fields

Prepping for this week's class on British Romanticism helped us "discover" the Wordsworth Sonnets edition we just blogged. It also turned up a pretty cool double association copy. Our copy of the four volume Works of the Right Honorable Lord Byron (London: John Murray, 1815) came to us as one of one-hundred volumes from the library of James T. Fields bequeathed to Dartmouth by his widow in 1915. Fields was a partner in the legendary Boston firm Ticknor and Fields, the primary publisher of books from the nineteenth-century American Renaissance. Field's hobnobbed with the literati on both sides of the Atlantic, and his library is a stunner. Just having been owned by Fields makes this a pretty good association copy.

But there's more! This copy was a presentation copy from Lord Byron to the poet, journalist, and critic, Leigh Hunt. Hunt was a champion of the romantics and helped to popularize Byron, Keats, and Shelley (though he disliked Blake). So it is no surprise that Byron would grace him with a copy of this works. Interestingly, the book was presented to Hunt on June 1st, 1815. That was shortly after Hunt had been released from prison where he had served a two-year sentence for having slandered the Prince Regent, who would later be crowned George IV.

There are lots of markings in the book and some corrections. We think they are Leigh Hunt's hand, but they may be Fields's notes.

To see it ask for Fields 13.

Scorn Not the Sonnet

 Every now and then, we stumble upon a oft-overlooked gem upon our shelves and marvel that, until that moment, we had not previously discovered it. One of our recent thrilling finds is the 1838 publication of The Sonnets of William Wordsworth. In this humble little first edition, the poet has inscribed a dedication to his friend, the Lady Frederic Benti[nck?], on the flyleaf. At the risk of sounding overly spoiled, a presentation copy of Wordsworth's poetry wasn't the real reason why this particular volume excited us.

In addition to his personal note to his friend, inside the back cover Wordsworth has written out two sonnets from his Memorials of a Tour in Italy 1837: "Under the Shadow of a Stately Pile" and "I Saw Afar Off the Dark Top of a Pine." After the first one, he has written "October 14, 1839" (presumably the date of the inscription). After the second sonnet, he includes the clarification that the pine in question stands upon Mount Mario, the highest hill in Rome. This is exciting stuff, but the little book has yet more secrets to reveal. On pages 34, 301, and 405, Wordsworth has made corrections by hand to three of his printed sonnets. One can almost imagine the revered poet turning slowly through the pages as he deliberately and carefully annotated this volume for a close friend.

To see this exciting book for yourself, which was a gift of John W. Little, class of 1940, come to Rauner and ask to hold Rare PR5866 .A1 1838.

Polarizing Debate

In 1967, here in Webster Hall, a group of Dartmouth students stood up during a speech by Alabama's segregationist governor, George Wallace, and vocally protested. They disrupted the speech and turned the campus on its head. A raging debate ensued over the nature of civil discourse and protest on a college campus. Emotions ran high, and the campus was polarized. It sounds kind of familiar....

Last week we found two student-run magazines that give us a look into the debate. The Conservative Idea, which had been around for about a year, devoted it's May 1967 issue to the controversy. The cover dismissed the validity of the protests by quoting Napoleon: "Vanity made the revolution; liberty was only a pretext."


The newly created Blackout, published by the Dartmouth Afro-American Society, countered with their Fall term, 1967 issue. The cover sports the members of the Afro-American Society holding signs spelling out "BLACK POWER NOW." Presumably, these are some of the same students who shouted down Wallace and are pictured on the Conservative Idea cover. The issue is devoted to discussions of civil rights and protest--it leads not with a quote by Napoleon, but by Thoreau: "A minority is powerless while it conforms to the majority; it is not even a minority then; but it is irresistible when it clogs by its whole weight."

To see how the debate played out in these two partisan magazines ask for DC History LH1 .B55 for Blackout, and DC History LH1 .D3C6 for the Conservative Idea. They are practically right next to each other on the shelf. Have they found peace by being so close together for the past 50 years?

A Book out of Time

The most striking feature of Daniel Kelm's Neo Emblemata Nova is, without doubt, its structure. The book comes enclosed in a cloth covered, red and black, cube-shaped box that gives little indication to the contents, save a cryptic, ancient-looking Latin inscription on the lid. Opening the box reveals a tightly packed set of tile like cards which, when removed, reveal themselves to be linked at the edges such that the form a stiff, unwieldy Mobius strip. The tiles are printed with black and white images, some of them accompanied by Latin text, which were taken from a 16^th century “emblem book” – a popular book form containing cryptic imagery meant to convey religious, political, or moral messages that had to be decoded by the reader. Neo Emblemata Nova, like its 16^th and 17^th century precursors, resists decryption.

Going beyond the content – which is as intriguing yet esoteric, if not more so, than it would have been hundreds of years ago – the book itself is physically difficult to read. The stiffly hinged ring of panels is difficult to lay flat, or page, or arrange in any other recognizable position. Even once it is spread out, there is no indication as to the beginning, end, front, or back – and mathematically speaking, the work has none of these familiar qualities, as the Mobius Strip is a surface with one, continuous side that feeds back into itself infinitely. The juxtaposition of ancient content and avant-garde binding makes it difficult even to place the work within the continuum of history. The work feels infinite, both in time and space. The messages conveyed by the imagery, though they can arguably be pinned to specific religious or moral imperatives, are largely left to the reader’s interpretation. It is a work that challenges the reader, physically and mentally, from the moment they open the box to the moment when (likely after much frustration) they manage to fold it back into its original configuration. I would argue that Neo Emblemata Nova is a commentary on the book’s ability to teach us more than the physical contents would suggest – that by reading, handling, and analyzing it we can generate ideas beyond those of the author. It is a book beholden to no time or place, without beginning or end, that must be unpacked (both physically and mentally) by the reader.

Come play with it by asking for Presses W538kene.

Posted for Tucker Lancaster '18

Deliberate Designs

As a new year begins, we celebrate by displaying a January calendar page, among other creations, that was designed by the man who coined the term 'graphic designer' in 1922. William A. Dwiggins was an illustrator, calligrapher, and type and book designer who produced most of his influential works during the first half of the 20th century.

Dwiggins had a monumental impact on book design improvements during the 1920s and 1930s and created numerous fonts such as Caledonia which are still in use today. Dwiggins's criticism of the low standard of book design in the 1910s led to a collaboration with the Alfred A. Knopf publishing house in later decades. Like Knopf, Dwiggins was committed to high-quality book design and publication and brought his aesthetic to both his commercial advertising commissions as well as his own personal projects.

We have a small collection of Dwiggins-related materials here at Rauner thanks to the papers of Dartmouth professor Ray Nash, a graphic-arts historian who ran the Graphic Arts Workshop at Dartmouth from 1937 until 1970. Along with many other fascinating example of printing, Nash left us four scrapbooks containing work related to Dwiggins. To see them, come to Rauner and ask for the Ray Nash papers (MS-1076), boxes 52 and 53.