Bibliographical Analysis: A Historical Introduction

This page intentionally left blank

Bi bl iogr a ph ic a l A n a lysis

Studying printed books as physical objects can reveal not only how books were produced, but also how their design and ­layout features emerged and came to convey meanings. This concise and accessible introduction to analytical ­bibliography in its historical context explains in clear, non-­specialist ­language how to find and analyze clues about a book’s ­manufacture and how to examine the significance of a book’s design. Written by one of the most eminent ­bibliographical and textual scholars working today, the book is both a practical guide to bibliographical research and a history of bibliography as a developing field of study. For all who use books, this is an ideal starting point for learning how to read the object along with the words. g. t hom a s t a ns e l l e is former Vice-President of the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation and taught for many years at Columbia University.

Bi bl iogr a ph ic a l A na lysis A Historical Introduction G . T hom a s Ta nse l l e

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo, Delhi, Dubai, Tokyo Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge CB2 8RU, UK Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521760348 © G. Thomas Tanselle 2009 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published in print format 2009

ISBN-13

978-0-511-59511-0

eBook (EBL)

ISBN-13

978-0-521-76034-8

Hardback

ISBN-13

978-0-521-75762-1

Paperback

Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of urls for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

To Paul Needham

Contents

Introduction page 1 1 Foundations 6

To 1908 6 1908–1945 14 1945–1969 22 Since 1969 25

2 Analysis of manufacturing clues 31 Compositor study of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century books 31 Presswork study of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century books 43 Study of fifteenth-century books 48 Study of eighteenth-, nineteenth-, and twentieth-century books 52

3 Analysis of design features 61 Basic considerations 61 Psychological study 69 Cultural study 75 Aesthetic study 81

Notes 89 Further reading: works cited 117 Alphabetical list 117 Chronological index 147 Subject guide 151

Index 161

vii

Introduction

The chapters that follow were delivered, in slightly shorter form, as the Sandars Lectures at Cambridge University on May 12, 14, and 16, 1997. My aim in writing the lectures was to provide an introduction to the activity of bibliographical analysis – the examination of the physical characteristics of printed books, pamphlets, and broad­ sides  – through a historical sketch of some of the principal events in the development of the field. Such a sketch raises the issues that analytical bibliographers have faced and describes the accomplishments they have achieved. It thus offers a rationale for pursuing this kind of work and a sense of the basic techniques to be employed in carrying the work out; and it supplies a point of view with which to approach the large body of writing in this area. The result – both the particular synthesis I am attempting here and the classified list of further reading that follows it – will, I hope, be useful to beginners and specialists alike. The opening chapter, on the evolution of thinking about the theoretical foundations of the field, is followed by two chapters treat­ ing the  two orientations that bibliographical analysis can take: an interest in reconstructing book-manufacturing processes from the clues present in books themselves, and a concern with recovering the historical meanings embedded in the design features of books. The former primarily (though not exclusively) involves physical details that readers were not meant to notice, and the latter deals with those that readers were expected to be influenced by. The two together cover much of the life history of books as objects, from the initial stages of their production through the responses of successive generations of readers to their physical appearance. 1

2

Introduction

This second subject – the historical implications of book design – has not traditionally been studied by those who have thought of themselves as “analytical bibliographers”; but since the last third of the twentieth century it has been increasingly discussed by ­scholars of “book history” and critics interested in the visual aspects of literature. The two approaches (one focusing on manufacture, the other on the resulting product) are properly treated together, since both are concerned with physical details found in books; and indeed a com­ bination of the two is required to produce a comprehensive examina­ tion of the basic physical evidence that books offer. It is an innovation of the present study to gather them under the same rubric. Though there has been no comparable survey of either one, the chapter on design features is inevitably more exploratory and tentative than the one on manufacturing clues. Whereas those clues are readily clas­ sifiable according to the part of the printing-shop process that each relates to, a framework for studying design features is not equally obvious and is proposed here for the first time. The three chapters have been kept brief (with many details relegated to endnotes) in order to provide a convenient overview, all of which is a relevant part of the mental equipment to be brought to every act of bibliographical analysis, regardless of the period or focus involved. Indeed, all readers, not simply professional scholars and those engaged in book-world activities, should have some idea of the connections between physical books and the texts they contain (the texts being physical also when they are displayed as inked images). Everyone should understand what may be learned from examining multiple copies of the same edition and what it means to read the object along with the apparent intellectual content (as conveyed by words, musical notes, pictures, and maps). Everyone should realize, in other words, that the physicality of books is like that of all other objects in being a source of information about the past. Books are a part of material culture. Every artifact, every physical object made by human beings, is a record of human effort at a particular time and place, as well as a tangible link to all the succeeding moments of its life. Our understanding of the story each one tells enriches any use we make of it. We use books principally for reading; and the experience of reading is deepened by knowing how the makeup of the text and the details of its design, on the pages in front of us, came to be as they are and how they affected previous readers.

Introduction

3

Following the three chapters is a section on further reading, consisting of a list of the works quoted from or alluded to in the text and notes, accompanied by a chronological index and a subject guide. The last of these should be thought of as an integral part of the book. Anyone who has read the expository chapters should be in a position to use this classified guide intelligently as a way of learning more, when necessary, about the repertoire of analytical approaches that have been developed for studying printed books. It serves as a fundamental selection from the vast literature of the field, enabling one to locate some basic material on particular topics, techniques, or periods. For those who have occasion to go beyond the group of citations provided here, references are included to more extensive lists, especially those in the latest version (2002 as of this writing) of my Introduction to Bibliography: Seminar Syllabus (which is also available on the internet at www.rarebookschool.org/ tanselle/). Very little mention is made in this book of descriptive, as opposed to analytical, bibliography. Although analysis is inevitably involved in description (and is indeed a tool of it, since description entails identification, which in turn requires analysis), the two activities are different enough to make the separate treatment of them feasible and desirable. Bibliographical description is concerned with the writing of accounts (whether in great or more limited detail) of the physical structure and appearance of books as wholes; frequently such accounts draw on external sources as well, and they are often brought together to provide full coverage of the output of individual authors or presses, arranged to reflect the relationships among different editions, impressions, and issues of books containing the same work. (The procedures involved have developed over the past century and a half and are now well codified.) Bibliographical analysis, on the other hand, concentrates on using physical details to learn something about the manufacturing processes that produced a given book and its text, the historical influences underlying its physical appearance, and the responses that its design engendered (which may require some attention to what successive owners have done to individual copies). Each act of analysis may examine one or more of the physical aspects of a book but does not necessarily attempt a thoroughgoing account. Such analyses may be combined

4

Introduction

to form fuller treatments and may be incorporated into bibliographical descriptions. Although there has been no comprehensive general introduction to bibliographical analysis since R. B. McKerrow’s classic Introduction to Bibliography for Literary Students (1927), other aspects of bibliographical study have been furnished with more recent sound introductory accounts.  For descriptive bibliography, there is Fredson Bowers’s Principles of Bibliographical Description (1949), supplemented by a series of articles I have written and intend to collect in book form. (Those from before 1987 are listed in “A Sample Bibliographical Description with Commentary” in Studies in Bibliography for that year; brief general introductions to the aims of descriptive bibliography were subsequently provided by David L. Vander Meulen’s and my Engelhard Lectures, published in 1988 and 1992.) For the history of type, paper, illustration processes, binding, printing, and publishing, there is Philip Gaskell’s A New Introduction to Bibliography (1972), which summarizes the essential background that one must know before embarking on either analysis or description. The present book is intended as a complement to these works. The emphasis here is on printed books, and indeed generally on the verbal-text part of them, not their illustrations or bindings; but illustrations (or other nonverbal material) and bindings, when present, must be analyzed as well, and they are briefly touched on at several points in the second and third chapters. Manuscripts and computer-terminal screens are also not specifically discussed, but the general approach and basic principles described here are applicable to all physical objects carrying verbal (or verbal-pictorial), cartographic, and musical texts in visible form. Physical analysis of manuscripts, usually called codicology or palaeography, is a well-established field, if no more widely understood than bibliography; the corresponding analysis of electronic files has scarcely begun. But all these fields can benefit from further interaction. It is increasingly being recognized that the arrival of printed books did not cause manuscripts to be entirely supplanted as a vehicle for publication, and we now have electronic texts existing alongside texts in both of the older kinds of object; thus the historical study of the production and reception of works made of words, musical notes, pictorial prints, and maps must take account of all the forms of their presentation. An understanding

Introduction

5

of the value of examining the physical setting of texts, which has been articulated with particular fullness for printed books, is essential for intellectual and cultural history as well as textual study. Another related endeavor not explicitly taken up here is that branch of judicial forensics dealing with the authentication and dating of documents. Although much bibliographical and palaeographical analysis is not primarily motivated by the need to authenticate printed or handwritten material, all such analysis – when carefully conducted with historical knowledge – does uncover any suspicious features that may lead to a determination of inauthenticity. The frame of mind reflected in this book, and even the specific techniques of analysis outlined here, are appropriate to forensic investigation as well as to bibliographical analysis. Both pursuits exemplify the critical spirit in which all artifacts can most productively be approached and experienced, revealing the human activity that produced them and illuminating what was seen and felt by those who encountered them. W. W. Greg, addressing the Bibliographical Society in 1930, noted that Cambridge “might lay some claim to be regarded as the particular home of that study [bibliography] in England, and it was of course by many years the earliest to have a formal and endowed readership in our subject.” It gave me pleasure to use that readership to speak about bibliographical history, and I thank Peter Fox, A. W. F. Edwards, and the other members of the Cambridge community who showed me that the tradition of hospitality to bibliography – and to those who speak about it – still flourishes there. I am also deeply indebted to David McKitterick, Paul Needham, and David L. Vander Meulen for reading and commenting on these lectures before publication; but of course I am alone responsible for the flaws that remain in them.

Ch apter 1

Foundations

T o 19 0 8 In April 1870 Henry  Bradshaw, librarian of  Cambridge University,  published a little pamphlet entitled A Classified Index of the Fifteenth Century Books in the Collection of  M. J. De Meyer, Which Were Sold at Ghent in November, 1869. Despite the unpromising title, it deserves to be considered a landmark in intellectual history – indeed, as far as bibliographical scholarship is concerned, one of the greatest of landmarks – for it contains a passage of major significance emphasizing the importance of systematically examining the physical evidence in printed books. Bradshaw insisted that arranging early books according to the locations and presses where they were printed was the only method whereby knowledge of  early printing would be advanced, since it provides a basis for dating or identifying the printers of books that do not readily proclaim their origins: we desire that the types and habits of each printer should be made a special subject of study, and those points brought forward which show changes or advance from year to year, or, where practicable, from month to month. When this is done, we have to say of any dateless or falsely dated book that it contains such and such characteristics, and we therefore place it at such a point of time, the time we name being merely another expression for the characteristics we notice in the book. In fact each press must be looked upon as a genus, and each book as a species, and our business is to trace the more or less close connexion of the different members of the family according to the characters which they present to our observation. The study of palaeotypography has been hitherto mainly such a dilettante matter, that people have shrunk from going into such details, though when once studied as a branch of natural history, it is as fruitful in interesting results as most subjects. (pp. 15–16) 6

To 1908

7

Bradshaw had made earlier comments that imply this point of view, going back at least to his letters to William  Blades a decade earlier.1 But this passage gains its landmark status by being the first published rationale of bibliographical methodology, explicitly envisioning a whole field of endeavor, from the person who was more responsible than any other for setting in motion what Stanley  Morison called the “bibliographical revolution .”2  That revolution consisted of a growing awareness of the ways in which the physical evidence in books provides a powerful tool for historical investigation and is relevant to reading the texts contained in them. In fact, this revolution is still in progress, for the significance of books as physical objects has proved to be a difficult concept for people to grasp, or at least it does not spontaneously occur to many of them. Books, both manuscript and printed, have always seemed to be in a class apart from other objects because they contain words that supposedly speak more directly to us than other physical details. We read the texts and pay little attention – or assume we are paying little attention – to the physical characteristics of the books, believing that any other containers would serve as well to convey the texts. Most people have had little occasion for thinking about the idea that books, like all other objects, must bear traces of the physical effort that went into their making, the culture that underlay their craftsmanship, and the treatment they have received since their creation. Even historically minded readers, including literary scholars, have generally not been interested in pursuing such history, apparently believing – along with the less historically minded – that the utilitarian vessels have no direct relevance to, or effect on, the contents or our knowledge of the past .3 The fundamental fact that underlies this situation is the intangibility of  language: readers understand this truth intuitively, since they know that a verbal work can exist (or be recreated) simultaneously in multiple locations, whenever its words are brought together in physical or oral form; they consequently tend to denigrate the vehicle that in any given instance transports those words.4 It is this nearly universal predisposition of readers, whatever their level of sophistication, that made the bibliographical revolution so long in coming and still makes its progress so slow. But the movement itself, and the results it has achieved in its first century and a half, form one of the fascinating

8

Foundations

stories of recent intellectual history, a chapter in our developing understanding of our artifactual environment. The revolution is really a change in our way of thinking about the physical objects called books; and  Bradshaw’s own thinking was formative in this process because he not only understood that physical details in books have their own stories to tell but also saw that those stories are relevant to a study of the texts in the books. It would be extravagant, however, to claim that Bradshaw was the first person to display any recognition of either of these points . In 1715, for example, Thomas  Bennet published An Essay on the Thirty Nine Articles of Religion, which remarkably uses evidence of broken  t ype and distinctive spacing in eight copies of the 1571 Articles to determine whether  textually variant copies are from the same or different typesettings. Furthermore, Bennet drew on his considerable knowledge of printing (apparently gained through his association with  Cambridge University Press) to attempt an explanation of how the variations could have occurred and what their sequence was, and he then tried to show how such an analysis illuminates a textual puzzle (the absence in some copies of the opening clause of the twentieth Article) .5 Another, more direct, precursor of Bradshaw was Joseph  A mes, whose Typographical Antiquities of 1749 made  t ypographical analysis the basis for dating, and identifying the printers of, undated or unsigned  incunabula (items printed from metal letterforms in the fifteenth century, also called “incunables”). He saw the usefulness of illustrating (and numbering) typefaces and of arranging descriptions “as near as possible into a sort of chronological order of time, beginning with each Printer’s first work.” His understanding of the concept of primary evidence is concisely expressed in his preface: “I did not chuse to copy into my book from catalogues, but from the books themselves.” In their different ways,  Bennet and Ames can both be seen as emblematic of a general movement away from impressionistic antiquarianism and toward systematic scholarship, a movement that was gradually affecting the examination of artifacts of all kinds. Yet Bennet’s concentration on a sixteenth-century book and his textual orientation make him appear an isolated forerunner of the “New Bibliographers” of the early twentieth century , whereas Ames’s

To 1908

9

concern with arranging fifteenth-century books according to their printers places him directly in a line that stretches internationally through the eighteenth century , from the Annales typographici of Michael  Maittaire (beginning in 1719) to that of G. W. F.  Panzer (beginning in 1793).6  Book collectors in the eighteenth century also paid considerable attention to the physical aspect of books, though their goal was not likely to be systematic study; but by the early nineteenth century, even the most voluble exponent of that era’s bibliomania, Thomas Frognall  Dibdin, showed a serious interest in the typography of incunabula through his expanded edition (1810–19) of  A mes’s work (which had already been once expanded, by William  Herbert in 1785–90).7 And Thomas Hartwell  Horne, another writer stimulated by the bibliophilic euphoria following the 1812 sale of the Duke of  Roxburghe’s library, produced in 1814 An Introduction to the Study of Bibliography, which showed some awareness of the relevance of bibliographical evidence to an interest in the content of books . His  conception of bibliography as a systematic field of inquiry, which in his preface he called “the infant science of Bibliography” (p. viii), brought together library history, the classification of books, the history of printing, and the analysis of the “forms” of books (such as determining  format with the help of the “water-lines” in the paper) to “prevent confusion in describing editions” (p. 288) – a point made in a four-page section entitled “On the Forms and Sizes of Books” (pp. 288–92) . If these various writings, and a few other similar efforts,8 set the stage for  Bradshaw’s appearance, it is clear that his role was the foundational one for all that followed: his analytical mind produced a rigorous pattern of thinking about the structure of books, and his selfless desire to promote the field caused him to be generous in assisting other scholars. Indeed, the great monuments of the first half-century of the bibliographical revolution have other names on their title-pages, but Bradshaw’s influence usually underlies them . The first such monument was William  Blades’s The Life and Typography of William Caxton, the two volumes of which appeared in 1861 and 1863 (the first biographical, the second typographical). Its status as a revolutionary work is clear from its 1863 preface, which not only contrasts its “systematic” classification according to typefaces

10

Foundations

with the approaches used by previous writers but also emphasizes the broader role of physical details. The “dissertation on printing as practised by  Caxton,” Blades says, is “founded on a critical examination of his workmanship” and includes “several particulars hitherto unrecorded,” such as “many evidences of the practices adopted in the workshops of the Papermaker, Typefounder, Compositor, Pressman, and Bookbinder.” This preface is, for 1863, a noteworthy declaration of the importance of “a careful physiognomical examination” of every book – indeed, the value of “a diligent comparison of copies, supposed to be the same.” Blades inherited from Ames the idea of illustrating and numbering  Caxton’s types for use in identifying and describing Caxton’s output; but many of the details in Blades’s study derived, directly or indirectly, from  Bradshaw. Although Blades had a headstart over Bradshaw in thinking about early typography, Bradshaw quickly outstripped Blades in the acuity of his insights, as his letters to Blades in the late 1850s and 1860s show. Blades gave some idea of Bradshaw’s contribution to his work in the preface to the second volume: “To H. Bradshaw, Esq., of King’s College, Cambridge, I owe much for information concerning the true collation of the early unsigned books, as well as for numerous suggestions and critical remarks while many sheets were passing through the Press.” And although Bradshaw’s name turns up in some of the descriptions, it has since been shown that Blades’s debts to Bradshaw went well beyond those that were specifically acknowledged .9 Bradshaw’s catalytic role in the early days of analytical bibliography is illustrated by other correspondence as well – such as his letters to J. Winter  Jones of the British Museum and to J. W.  Holtrop (and later M. F. A. G.  Campbell) of the Royal Library at The Hague.10 Holtrop, like Blades, began his incunable studies earlier than Bradshaw, the first fascicle of his Monuments typographiques des Pays-Bas au quinzième siècle appearing in 1856, and Bradshaw called him “my chief.”11 But Bradshaw showed his own mastery in his letters, for there he was the instructor, not the pupil; and some indication of Holtrop’s  and Campbell’s recognition of his leadership is afforded by an 1886 letter of Campbell’s to G. W.  Prothero, Bradshaw’s biographer. “Mr. Bradshaw,” Campbell wrote, “always has exalted our books as a sample to be followed in every other country where typography has

To 1908

11

been early introduced. But he, himself, was much more exact even in his descriptions, giving items we did not think necessary to be given, or which we did not dream of” (p. 242) . This comment points to the heart of what makes Bradshaw important: his ability to see physical details in terms of their ana­ lytical usefulness. The facts of printing history that he established are impressive, but his discoveries were made possible by his scholarly method. It is his method that writers on him, from Francis Jenkinson to Paul Needham, have emphasized.  Jenkinson, in his preface to Bradshaw’s Collected Papers (1889), regarded the papers as “valuable not only for their results, but as specimens of method” – and he added that such specimens were particularly needed in the field of bibliography .  Needham, a century later, entitled his essay – the best discussion of Bradshaw yet written – The Bradshaw Method (1988), and he stressed Bradshaw’s “powers of synthesis and classification” (p.  17) and the permanent value of the “conceptual” basis  of Bradshaw’s work (p. 23).  In 1892, six years after Bradshaw’s death, a small group of scholars interested in early printing joined together in London to form the Bibliographical Society. Although this organization was destined to have its major influence on the study of sixteenth- and seventeenthcentury books, not incunables, the impulse to recognize and promote bibliography as a distinct scholarly field emerged from a growing understanding of the need for a methodical approach to the study of books and thus reflected the climate of thought that  Bradshaw had fostered. Bradshaw’s name did not figure prominently in the inaugural address of the Society’s first president, W.  A.  Copinger.12 But Copinger did focus on the need for system or method. The study of books as material objects – which he regarded as “Bibliography proper” (p. 31) – was, he said, “fast becoming an exact science” (p. 33), and he called for new work “arrived at in the true scientific mode through the study of presses” (p. 41). At the end he urged the membership of the Society to “labour with steady growth until Bibliography is established as an exact science” (p. 43). The following year, in his next presidential address, Copinger ridiculed the “poetic sentiment hanging around the collations of our departed friend  Dibdin” (p. 117) and urged the adoption of a “definite scientific order and method” (p. 106) in the description of

12

Foundations

incunables. “The day of generalities has passed away,” he said, “and the age requires that exactitude which can only be attained by the study of minute details” (p. 117).13 Copinger’s references to “exact science” echo  Bradshaw’s to “natural history” (and  Blades’s to “physiognomical examination”); and the idea that bibliography should aspire to the status of science became a thread linking many later discussions . The essential point, of course, is not that the physical sciences are analogous in every respect to the study of human artifacts but simply that the latter should rest on the same scholarly traits as the former: the disinterested pursuit of truth through the careful drawing of inferences from extensive observation . If the founding of the Bibliographical Society, and of the  Sandars Readership in Bibliography at Cambridge two years later,14 shows in a general way the influence of  Bradshaw’s thinking, his method is ­displayed in more detailed fashion in the best English and German bibliographical work on incunabula at the turn of the century. Robert  Proctor, in An Index to the Early Printed Books in the British Museum … with Notes of Those in the Bodleian Library (1898), ­classified all the incunabula in those two institutions according to their  types and thus the presses that produced them; and the resulting arrangement (by country, then town, then printer, according to seniority in printing ­history) – sometimes called “Proctor order” but really  Bradshaw order – became the basis for the  Catalogue of Books Printed in the XVth Century Now in the British Museum, the first volume of which appeared in 1908 under A. W.  Pollard’s direction. It was also through Proctor that the English approach to incunable study came to influence the German school. Although Paul  Schwenke’s similar handling of type identification in his 1896 work on the Weinreich press may or may not have been influenced by Proctor, it is clear that Proctor’s example was a major force behind the work of others in the group, such as Konrad  Haebler, whose Typenrepertorium (1905–24) further elaborated Proctor’s system .15 The British tradition of analytical bibliography can be seen as having moved through three periods, the first ending in 1908 with the first  volume of the British Museum incunable catalogue.16 This volume serves as a milestone because it was the first fruit of a project to describe a great collection on an imposing scale and with a methodol­ ogy focusing on printing history and thus building on a half-century

To 1908

13

of intensive work following  Bradshaw and  Blades. It implied, in other words, that the time had come when the analytical tools available were adequate to the construction of a great monument, and this sense underlies  Pollard’s masterly introduction, which shows a particular consciousness of its own historical moment. It begins with a review of the ancestry of the work, “founded” on the “method and aims” of  Proctor, whose “chief predecessors” were  Panzer and  Bradshaw, the latter’s role being that of “a master of method, an inspirer of other men’s work” (p. x). Pollard’s account of the points to be considered in attempting to determine the chronology of undated books is not only a convenient summary of where bibliographical analysis then stood but also a gloss on the phrase “the types and habits of each printer” in the most famous of  Bradshaw’s natural-history passages (the one printed above), which Pollard quotes before proceeding. What Bradshaw’s phrase concisely captures is a fundamental fact about the analysis of artifacts: that attention must be paid not simply to the physical features that are directly observable but also to the human actions that produced those features. Pollard enumerated three “factors” that bibliographers “working on the lines thus laid down by  Bradshaw” must deal with: printers’  copy, printers’ “personality,” and printers’ materials (p. xii). Inferences about the nature of the copy from which compositors set are important for explaining the relationship of text to book-structure and typographical layout (since difficulties in estimating copy for simultaneous printing by different presses could produce variations in gathering and lineation) and therefore for helping to determine the order of editions of the same work (since an edition set from printed copy is likely to be more regular) . What Pollard called “the printer’s personality” really referred to those characteristics of printed books that reflect individual printers’ changing judgments about efficiency of operation and attractiveness of presentation. Examples of such details mentioned by Pollard are the absence or presence of printed  signatures (letters in lower margins designed to help in keeping gatherings or sheets in order ) and the changing numbers of  point-holes (resulting from the pin-points used to secure register) ; but the general principle is that any kind of changing pattern may prove useful in establishing the chronological order of editions. By printers’ “materials” Pollard meant paper, type, and relief-blocks for illustrations,

14

Foundations

though he admitted that there had been insufficient study of  paper for this category of evidence to be much used at that time. But examination of the deterioration of  t ypes and  blocks, along with the replenishment of types and the copying of blocks, can be an important tool for dating (as  Bradshaw had recognized early on). When books by individual printers are gathered together and all this evidence examined, Pollard says, “the knowledge which may be gained of the inner working of a printing office is often surprising” (p. xvii). This remark is important for suggesting that bibliographical analysis is a form of historical recovery and that the story of how a book was produced (or part of it) can be learned from the book itself. It is clear from Pollard’s introduction, and from the catalogue it accompanied, that by 1908 the physical analysis of early printing had reached a point of considerable sophistication. Its essential grounding in book-structure was recognized, along with the usefulness of a  formulaic means of recording that structure;17 the identification of  individual fonts of printing type through measurement and detailed observation was accepted as a means of attributing books to particular printers; and the close scrutiny of variations in printers’ characteristic practices was understood to be a key to chronological ordering . The amount of useful work that had been accomplished was impressive, but equally significant was the development of a bibliographical attitude of mind. When Pollard asserted the rashness of assuming – through an argument he said was “often employed by literary students” – that the apparent  correction of errors pointed to a later date (p. xiv), he was in fact noting the primacy of physical analysis for understanding textual development. And he was reflecting on the necessity for learning how to let books speak to us in ways other than through the words they contain.  19 0 8 –1945 Work on fifteenth-century books continued in the years that followed, but the reason for taking this moment as the dividing point between two periods of bibliographical activity is the conjunction in two consecutive years of two landmark books, one (the first volume of the  British Museum catalogue) a summation of what had gone before and the other –  Shakespeare Folios and Quartos (1909) – an

1908–1945

15

indication of what was to come. The transition is symbolized by the fact that the same man,  Pollard, was responsible for both books. The Shakespeare book marked the  turn to Elizabethan and Jacobean drama as the field in which the most innovative bibliographical analysis was to take place over the ensuing sixty years. It was the first monument of what came to be called the “New Bibliography” – new not only because of its focus on sixteenth- and seventeenth-century books but also because the chief motivation of its practitioners was to elucidate  textual history, which in turn required attention to the printing-shop activities that affected printed texts.18 Some of the earlier incunabulists, as we have seen, were not unmindful of the connections between a book’s text and its physical structure; but in general these scholars concentrated on identifying and dating the work of individual printers, and their analysis of printers’ habits was not to any great extent applied to questions of textual authority. The pioneers of the New Bibliography, on the other hand, were dealing with the primary sources for one of the richest of all outpourings of literary expression – Renaissance English drama – and for them the pursuit of printing history was a means for gaining information that would help them make textual decisions in preparing scholarly editions. Indeed, the New Bibliography is usually considered to be synonymous with the recognition that literary study cannot ignore the physical evidence of the passage of texts through the printing process.  Pollard’s preface to his 1909 book displays his textual emphasis by explaining his disagreement with Sidney  Lee, whom he denominates “the head of the bibliographical pessimists” in contrast to his own “healthy and hardy optimism” – where pessimism and optimism relate to the degree of trust one can have in the printed sources of Shakespearean texts. While Lee, according to Pollard, seemed “to have piracy on the brain,” finding it “the ruling element in the bookmarket of Shakespeare’s day,”  Pollard considered the printers “as a rule to have been honest men” and classified only five of the quartos of Shakespeare’s plays to be “bad.” According to F. P.  Wilson, the perceptive historian of the early years of the New Bibliography (writing in the 1945 jubilee volume of the  Bibliographical Society), Pollard’s book was “epoch-making” because its distinction between “good” and “bad” quartos effectively discredited “the old attitude

16

Foundations

of damning wholesale the Folio and all the quartos”  (p. 13). And Pollard’s means of supporting his argument were as epoch-making as the conclusion: not only did he provide careful discussions of the publishing conditions in  Shakespeare’s time and offer bibliographical descriptions of the quartos and folios, but he also showed how physical evidence in the books helps one to understand the circumstances of their production. One chapter recounts brilliantly the first major demonstration of the New Bibliography, the discovery that a group of nine quartos, bearing various imprints and dated 1600, 1608, and 1619, were all printed for Thomas  Pavier in 1619. Although Pollard had discussed these quartos in The Academy in June 1906, the conclusive account of their false dates was published in 1908 by W. W.  Greg, who used the evidence of standing type and  paper stocks. In another chapter, on the printing of the First Folio, Pollard discusses the types and ornaments used and then, within the space of a single page (p. 134), makes two observations that foreshadow two of the most frequently used techniques of bibliographical analysis. Having studied typographical peculiarities in the  running-titles, he was able to say that “these headlines were not set up afresh for each page, but were either transferred from forme to forme, or were left in the forme and the new letterpress placed below them”; he then used the erroneous reappearances of a particular running-title as “a rather pretty proof” that  Jaggard’s men “printed the comedies two pages at a time, beginning from the inside of the quire.”  The first of these points is the basis for using running-titles to trace the order of printing of individual formes;  the second paves the way for recognizing that typesetting as well as printing could have proceeded according to what was needed in each  forme (the material on the press at one time) rather than in the numerical order of the pages.19 Pollard says explicitly that he is “trying to understand the typographical habits of  Jaggard’s office.” “Habits” is the word  Bradshaw had also used, and we can be sure that Bradshaw would have delighted in the kind of habit Pollard was beginning to uncover: not only the habits of typographical arrangement that show up on the printed pages but also the habits of behavior – the shop routines – that produced those public arrangements. The direction that the New Bibliography would

1908–1945

17

take is adumbrated here: from the stasis of the printed page to the kinetics of the shop.  The role of such study in textual work, illustrated in Pollard’s book, was set forth even more clearly in the next monument of the New Bibliography, written only four years later and published in 1914: Ronald B.  McKerrow’s “Notes on Bibliographical Evidence for Literary Students and Editors of English Works of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries.” This hundred-page study, published in the twelfth volume of the  Bibliographical Society’s Transactions (and in a small number of separate copies), was founded on the belief – stated in the heading of the opening section – that “modern  editorial methods demand some bibliographical knowledge” and on the recognition – stated in the opening sentence – that even “scholars in other respects well equipped” often display a “curious ignorance of the most elementary facts of the mechanical side of book-production.”20 The book conveniently drew together those facts (such as they were known to be at the time), but it is not a history of printing; it is a manual showing how such facts can be used in literary study. One chapter, for example, is entitled “On  signatures [that is, the printed letters identifying gatherings] and what may be learnt from them,” and another shows the revelatory power of accidents.21 The emphasis is on process, as when McKerrow says in the introductory chapter that literary students need to have “constantly and clearly before their minds all the processes through which the matter of the work before them has passed” (p. 220) and that they should view a book “not as a unit, but as an assemblage of parts each of which is the result of a clearly apprehended series of processes” (p. 221). What is just as important for his readers as his discussions of the uses to which physical details can be put is the attitude of mind that he exhibits throughout. He knows that he cannot predict all such uses, but he can prepare his readers with an approach that enables them to make discoveries of their own: “the most that can be done is to suggest some possible lines of research,” and “the student himself, by his own study and by his own ingenuity,” can then put these suggestions to use (p. 222). After all, as McKerrow reminds his readers, there is no substitute for common sense, applied to the particular details of each situation (operating of course within the context of relevant historical knowledge). The reader begins to learn, by observing

18

Foundations

McKerrow’s way of handling detail after detail, what it means to “be constantly on the watch for those little pieces of evidence which are supplied by the actual form and ‘make-up’ of a book” (p. 220). Not only does McKerrow show what a bibliographical approach to printed texts consists of; he also conveys the sense of excitement that accompanies bibliographical (like all other) discoveries. In the fine penultimate paragraph of his introductory chapter, he notes that “with almost every new book we take up we are in new country unexplored and trackless” and that bibliography is consequently “one of the most absorbing of all forms of historical enquiry” (p. 221).22 The same spirit continues to be present in the expanded version of McKerrow’s book, published in 1927 as An Introduction to Bibliography for Literary Students, which has unquestionably been the most widely read and influential book about bibliographical research ever written. The historical knowledge within which bibliographical analysis must operate changes over the years, and from that point of view McKerrow’s book is now dated; but as an expression of the quality of mind required for reading artifacts, as well as of the satisfactions that can result, his book remains fresh and has never been surpassed. By 1914, then, the three men whose names have become synonymous with the New Bibliography –  Pollard, Greg, and McKerrow   – had made major contributions. Over the next several decades (until their deaths in 1944, 1959, and 1940, respectively), each of them continued to be productive.23 But it was  Greg whose periodic overviews, addressed to the  Bibliographical Society, served to articulate the outlook of the New Bibliography. His first major statement, entitled “What Is Bibliography?,” was delivered before the Bibliographical Society on February 19, 1912 (and published in 1914 in the same volume of the  Society’s Transactions as McKerrow’s “Notes”), and it remains valuable today for its sensible distinctions. He rightly noted at the beginning that the difference between the “scientific” bibliographers of the  Bradshaw school and the dilettante writers who preceded them was “not merely one of knowledge, but of outlook as well” (p. 40). In describing what the bibliographical point of view entails, however, Greg was actually shifting the emphasis from that of much of the  “scientific” work on incunabula and in effect sketching the agenda for a new era. Bibliography, he said, was not yet “a satisfactory

1908–1945

19

science,” for too much emphasis had been placed on  description, and “in so far as a science is merely descriptive it is sterile” (p. 40).24 This statement underestimates description, but he wanted to make clear that he was more concerned with analysis, specifically the ana­ lysis of physical evidence that bears on  textual history. His textual orientation was evident throughout, from his autobiographical comment on his own entrance into bibliography, as a literary scholar who saw that he needed the results of bibliographical analysis, to his formal definition of what he called “critical bibliography”: “the science of the material transmission of literary texts” (p. 48). He recognized that scholarly editing requires taste and historical and linguistic knowledge, but he believed that “bibliographical investigation forms three-fourths of textual criticism” (p. 47). In his emphasis on text, he said nothing explicitly about the contribution to printing history that bibliographical analysis can make; he no doubt took this point for granted, but by subsuming it under the investigation of textual history he was abetting – at the very outset – what would become an inaccurate stereotyped view of analytical bibliography as simply a tool of textual criticism.  His comments also made clear that he limited bibliography to a study of the production history of books; in rejecting the investigation of  bookplates as “a bastard branch of the subject” (p. 45), he announced that “bibliography only concerns itself with processes that leave their mark on the character of the finished book” (p. 45). Here he was concisely stating the position of most of the persons who have thought of themselves as analytical bibliographers ever since. The fact that bookplates represent a category of physical evidence that is now eagerly studied for what it reveals about the postproduction history of books does not of course invalidate Greg’s decision to focus on an earlier period in the life history of each book. Whether or not both should be called “bibliography” is a relatively trivial concern, but it is understandable why Greg, speaking in 1912 as an advocate for an innovative and little-understood approach, wished to be firm on the matter. Two decades later, Greg elaborated his position in a pair of addresses delivered during his term as president of the  Bibliographical Society. In the first of them, entitled “The Present Position of Bibliography” (1930), he identified “the new spirit” (p. 251), the “new orientation”

20

Foundations

(p. 255), in bibliography – the “new phase of its career” (p. 250) – as arising from a growing understanding of the significance of physical evidence in the study of the transmission of texts – a discovery that gave the field a “guiding principle” (p. 261).25 He again contrasted the recording of data with the probing for “significance and relation”; in moving from one to the other the field “ceases to be descriptive and static” and “becomes dynamic and historical” (p. 248). Whether it is also a  science is a question he turned to advantage, refusing to let it become a mere matter of definition. In the 1912 paper he had sensibly said that calling recent bibliography a science “may be accepted as indicating a certain truth,” if one takes a science to be a process “by which we co-ordinate facts and trace the operation of constant causes,” using “a rigorous method for the investigation and interpretation of fresh evidence” (p. 39). These words describe better than any in the 1930 address the basis for his claim, in the latter piece, that “as a method of discovery” bibliography is “thoroughly scientific” (p. 222). Greg’s understanding of how a historical pursuit could be “scientific” turned the question of whether bibliography is a science into a means of further clarifying the new direction that bibliography had taken . His other presidential address, “Bibliography – An Apologia” (1932), repeated the major points he had been making since 1912, including his use of the axiom about bibliography being “the grammar of literary investigation” (originally cited by  Copinger in the first presidential address to the  Bibliographical Society) to emphasize that method was the key to understanding the distinctive function of bibliography.26 The gist of his apologia, which by this time was familiar to those who had paid attention to his earlier remarks, was that if “the root of all literary criticism” lies in “the question of transmission,” then bibliography – which “enables us to deal with the problem” – is “the fundamental instrument of research” (pp. 113–14). This address contains the notoriously provocative statement that the bibliographer is concerned with written or printed signs “merely as arbitrary marks”: “their meaning,” he said, “is no business of his” (p. 122). This comment has often been cited out of context; but if read as part of Greg’s whole argument, it is not unreasonable. As in his 1912 paper (where he said, “To the bibliographer the literary contents of a book is irrelevant” [p. 46]), he was trying, first of all, to distinguish the  listing of books on particular subjects (the popular conception of

1908–1945

21

“bibliography” ) from the study of physical evidence, the usefulness of which is not related to the nature of the texts presented. Even more significantly, he also wished to isolate the role and historical underpinning of physical analysis from that of the other ingredients of textual  criticism. The key point that he wished to communicate was that textual conclusions reached by these other means would be suspect if they contradicted any facts that could be established through examination of the material objects carrying the texts. He was aware that in his effort to emphasize this idea he rather overstated the case, for he acknowledged that in practice the meaning of a text “often enables us to arrive by a short cut at results that could only be laboriously achieved by strictly bibliographical methods, and may lead us to results that could not be reached by those methods at all” (p. 123). But in order to understand how various approaches work together, it is crucial to know what each one, “strictly” conceived, consists of. Greg’s fourth essay in this sequence (“Bibliography – A Retrospect”) came a decade later, as his contribution to the 1945 volume celebrating the fiftieth anniversary (1942) of the  Bibliographical Society. Largely a restatement of his standard points, it was nevertheless notable for the prominence given to the idea of the  “ life-history” of books – an idea he had discussed with some eloquence in the 1932 paper, where he spoke of a text as “a living organism” that changes “through the ages” and proclaimed that bibliography “treats each step in the history of the text as potentially of equal importance” (p. 135).27 By 1945 he had placed this concept into his basic definition of the field, asserting that “the object of bibliographical study is … to reconstruct for each particular book the history of its life, to make it reveal in its most intimate detail the story of its birth and adventures as the material vehicle of the living word” (p. 27). Just as  textual criticism must employ bibliography, so a study of the life-history of texts must include a knowledge of the life-history of the books that transmitted them. Although Greg’s own interest was in the earliest stages of those histories – in the texts and books relevant to understanding authors’ intentions – his rigorous mind recognized that the field was logically broader, and he provided it with a vision that encompasses its late twentieth-century developments . In these four essays, Greg was avowedly serving as a publicist: he had said to  Pollard – as he reported in 1930 – that he would

22

Foundations

use his presidency of the  Bibliographical Society “for purposes of propaganda” (p. 256). And the field is fortunate in having had someone with his clarity of thought and expression to serve this function during a critical period. He was keenly aware of the historical significance of the “exhilarating adventure” (p. 251) he had participated in, as shown by his repeated contrasts between the bibliographical work done before and after the turn of the century. By the time of the 1945 jubilee volume, the movement had accomplished enough to require a long assessment from F. P.  Wilson, but this summing-up (which called Greg the “hero”) also coincidentally marked a shift of leadership in the field. Greg’s essay ends with a reference to “interesting work … from America,” particularly articles by Fredson  Bowers and Charlton  Hinman, and thus his retrospect closes with an accurate glimpse of the future.  1945–196 9 The two people Greg named in 1945 turned out to be the leaders of an upsurge of work in analytical bibliography after World War II.  Hinman had been  Bowers’s student at the University of Virginia just before America’s entrance into the war, and both had published articles on headline  (running-title) analysis before their service in the United States Navy began. When Bowers returned to  Virginia after the war, he quickly established himself as a major force in the field not only through a flurry of articles and a landmark book, Principles of Bibliographical Description (1949), but also through the establishment in 1948 of a journal,  Studies in Bibliography.28 Although Studies was open to all kinds of work in book history, Bowers’s own interests and his active solicitation of articles caused the journal to become particularly associated with new developments in analytical bibliography. And they were set forth in what amounted to a new genre of bibliographical writing, involving the detailed massing of evidence for distinguishing the work of different compositors and for tracing the succession of formes through the press, primarily in connection with Elizabethan and Jacobean play quartos and the Shakespeare First Folio. Recognition of Bowers as the leader of a movement came with remarkable speed and showed up even in reviews of the first volume

1945–1969

23

of Studies: in one, Curt  Bühler referred to a “Bowersian school” of bibliographical analysis, and in another  Greg spoke of the University of  Virginia as “the centre of a very live and extended school of Bibliography in all its aspects, not least in these highly technical ones that a small band of American scholars have made peculiarly their own.”29 This kind of bibliographical work was not limited to Virginia, of course, and such articles did appear in journals other than Studies, but there is no doubt that Bowers and his journal were the primary stimulators of a scholarly phenomenon: a major outburst of bibliographical analysis, lasting for a quarter-century and producing a massive literature.  Although Bowers himself wrote some significant articles of this kind, his more influential role was as a catalyst and publicist for the field, most notably in his  Rosenbach Lectures at Philadelphia in 1954 and his  Sandars Lectures at Cambridge in 1958, though they were preceded and followed by several other similarly motivated lectures and articles.30 Like  Greg, Bowers (who became a prolific editor) concentrated on the role of bibliography in textual  criticism and thus in literary criticism. But in contrast to Greg’s generally reserved and cautious style of advocacy, Bowers was an aggressive salesman who enveloped his message in exuberant prolixity. He was unquestionably successful in making the “bibliographical way,” as he called it, more widely known to literary scholars in general; but his style – coupled no doubt with the enthusiastic and confident tone of many of the articles that were seen as reflecting his “school” – caused resistance in some people. An awareness of this situation was probably responsible, at least in part, for Bowers’s decision to devote his  Lyell Lectures at Oxford in 1959 to an explanation of how physical evidence can be used and what levels of certainty can be attached to the results. In the foreword to the lectures as finally published five years later (Bibliography and Textual Criticism, 1964), he mentioned his “strongly felt need to illustrate the nature of bibliographical thinking – the way in which the bibliographical mind works when tackling a problem and its evidence.” He thought of his book as a textbook for students on the “practical application” of bibliographical tools “to the solution of a problem.” Near the beginning of the first lecture he stated his aim as exploring “the nature of the evidence on which textual bibliography operates, the

24

Foundations

 logical forms of its reasoning, the techniques it uses, and the results it can achieve” (p. 7). The heart of the book is the examination of “three orders of certainty,” which he labels “the demonstrable,” “the probable,” and “the possible,” and a key section of the discussion is headed “The Postulate of Normality and Scientific Method.” Bowers was thus confronting the limitations of inductive investigation and attempting to show its validity in spite of the tentativeness that must attach to some of its conclusions.  He was directly addressing the central criticism that can be made of analytical bibliography and performing a basic service for the field by showing how rigorous logic can be applied to a wide array of bibliographical situations. The book has not, however, been regarded as a standard textbook, and one reason is perhaps its somewhat confrontational tone. One sentence, in the opening lecture, that caused a stir at the time was, “When bibliographical and critical judgement clash, the critic must accept the bibliographical findings and somehow come to terms with them” (p. 29). What Bowers obviously meant is no different from what  Greg had said before him, but the manner of expression was not likely to win converts to the cause. There is also overstatement in such phrases as “bibliographical thinking,” causing some readers to object that there is no peculiarly bibliographical form of clear thinking. Bowers was of course aware that he was not describing a new kind of logic but rather was showing how bibliographical evidence could be handled in a way that conformed to traditional concepts of logical argument. What more people needed instruction in was how to recognize physical evidence that had potential significance for revealing the manufacturing process. But Bowers’s subject – as he acknowledged in his foreword – was “method alone”; his purpose was not to offer a systematic explanation of the techniques (or “tools,” as he called them) of bibliographical analysis . That task was in fact accomplished at about the same time in the major two-volume work that  Hinman had published the year before, The Printing and Proof-Reading of the First Folio of  Shakespeare (1963). Though the book was not intended as a textbook (Hinman called it in his preface “an exercise in analytical bibliography”), the first volume was entitled “Needs, Tools, Methods,” and in the course of setting forth the evidence found in the Folio it inevitably offers an exposition of the arsenal of techniques (some originating with Hinman

Since 1969

25

himself) available for attacking sixteenth- and seventeenth-century books. He then used the amassed evidence in the second volume to make a  quire-by-quire analysis of the production history of the Folio, dealing with the typesetting, proofreading, presswork, and distribution (returning types to their cases) for each section. The book is thus the most extensive explanation of how analytical bibliography works and the most sustained piece of such analysis that we have. It does not deal explicitly with the kind of rationale that  Bowers treated, except to say at the outset that it was meant to demonstrate to “literary students” how bibliographical analysis “can make clear the essential nature of various textual phenomena which without its aid would not be understandable” (i, vii). His book is a greater achievement than  Bowers’s, but together they form two complementary monuments of the flourishing postwar period of bibliographical analysis.31  S i nc e 196 9 The major sign that the era of the New Bibliography was nearing its end arrived only five years after  Bowers’s book, in the form of D. F.  McKenzie’s “Printers of the Mind: Some Notes on Bibliographical Theories and Printing-House Practices,” which appeared in Bowers’s own journal,  Studies in Bibliography, in 1969. This momentous article, the most substantial  criticism of analytical bibliography up to that time, served to focus the various doubts and cautions that had been expressed over the previous three decades . As early as 1941,32 two American scholars – speaking at the same English Institute program in which  Bowers and  Hinman presented early descriptions of headline  analysis – issued warnings about the slipperiness of bibliographical evidence (their papers were published in 1942). Both Madeleine  Doran and R. C.  Bald had considerable sympathy with the New Bibliography and were therefore all the more desirous of keeping it on a rigorous path. Doran’s piece, entitled “An Evaluation of Evidence in Shakespearean Textual Criticism,” rightly stressed that “evidence from the printing house is not always unequivocal” (p. 102) and that advances in assigning different “degrees of evidential value” (p. 101) to different kinds of evidence depended on “greatly extending the field of observation ” (p. 113).  Bald’s paper, “Evidence and Inference in Bibliography,” even more trenchantly

26

Foundations

noted fundamental risks in bibliographical (like all inductive) work – such as the tendency “to extract the last drop of implication from the merest hint,” “to press a conjecture to extremes,” and to frame generalizations on the basis of “a very small proportion” (pp. 170–71) of the evidence (the latter exacerbated in bibliography by the loss of substantial portions of some editions). Bald understood the place of conjecture in scholarship but sensibly pleaded “for a clearer recognition in each instance of the foundations on which such speculations and assumptions rest” (p. 173) .33 Over the decade that followed, as enthusiasm for analytical bibliography grew, those who approached it warily were occasionally more blunt in their skepticism. A good way to follow some of these arguments is to read the reviews of the successive volumes of  Studies in Bibliography. In 1957, for example, Herbert  Davis was understanding but firm in noting “dangers in building up arguments based on what must be partly conjectural accounts of what actually took place in the printing-house ”; and Leo  K irschbaum the same year was less open to the potential of analytical bibliography (a servant that “tends to act like a tyrant”), doubting whether its contribution to textual criticism “will ever be very much, despite all its pretensions .”34 In 1965 E. A. J.  Honigmann was more temperate but equally forceful when he concluded The Stability of Shakespeare’s Text with a section called “The ‘Optimism’ of the New Bibliography,” asserting that “compositor studies and other ‘scientific’ methods” have led editors to be overconfident in their ability to detect compositors’ errors: “the optimists are at their most dangerous,” he said, “precisely when they offer the world new ‘bibliographical facts’ ” (p. 170).  McKenzie’s famous essay tied together all these strands. Its technique was to examine some of the established assumptions of analytical bibliographers in the light of information derived from printers’ records (primarily those of the  Cambridge University Press in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries); and in each case the assumptions were found to be far too simplistic to deal with the complex variables that existed in actual printing shops. The great variations in edition sizes (number of copies printed) and in the amount of work that compositors and pressmen accomplished in a given time, for example, made the notion of norms meaningless; and the idea that a shop’s economy required a balance between the man-hours

Since 1969

27

expended on the composition (typesetting) of a book and those on its presswork – an idea essential to many published analyses of individual books – was invalidated by a recognition that a shop’s compositors and pressmen were constantly working on more than one printing job at a time. McKenzie then showed, with further examples from printers’ records, how some of the standard techniques of analysis – hypotheses concerning the significance of variations in compositors’  measures (line lengths as set in composing sticks), of cast-off copy, of the number and order of  skeleton-formes, of proofreading evidence, and of  press figures – appear questionable in the context of concurrent printing. (These techniques are discussed in the next chapter.)  A ll this he considered a demonstration of the unsoundness of inductive reasoning, and he concluded that “bibliography might grow the more securely if we retained a stronger assurance of its hypothetical nature” – if we follow the “hypothetico-deductive method,” in which the “rigorous testing” of inductive inferences by “adducing contrary particulars” serves to “impose a sound curb on premature generalizations” (p. 61). There is no question that this cautionary advice was timely, for too many of the analytical articles had displayed – in McKenzie’s words – “the premature elevation of particular observations to the status of general truths” (p. 50). Any field can benefit from a carefully phrased and knowledgeably detailed reminder of the requirements of rigorous thinking, and McKenzie’s piece was impressive in its clarity and learning. But it did have a troubling flaw: in contrast to its subtle exposition of the risks inherent in deriving historical facts from the inductive process of observing physical evidence, it seemed to imply that finding historical truth in printers’ records or other external documents was a straightforward matter. Repeatedly the essay distinguished the certainty obtainable by using documentary statements about printing from the uncertainty of conclusions based on the printed items themselves. He said, for example, “No amount of historical quibbling can neutralize the plain facts of the  Cambridge documents” (p. 16); at another point he claimed that “we happen to know for certain in some cases what the  Bowyers did” (p. 31) as a result of the survival of the Bowyer ledgers, which offer some information “with a certitude unparalleled in any purely inferential  construction” (p. 52).35 He further used the term “ primary evidence” (e.g., p. 52), or

28

Foundations

“primary documentation” (e.g., pp. 53, 60), to mean printers’ archives and the like – a revealing slip, since there was no need to attempt to displace surviving printed matter from its obvious centrality in order to offer a warning about the dangers of inductive reasoning. And in any case primary evidence, whatever it may turn out to be, is not unambiguous simply because it is “primary.” Thus the essay was saddled with a double fallacy: that the printed items produced in the past do not constitute the primary evidence for the processes that produced them, and that there is a class of historical evidence that does not contain errors or require interpretation. The essay, in other words, does not seem to recognize that all historians (including analytical bibliographers) are in the same position in relation to the evidence they must use .36 One’s respect for McKenzie’s essay must be diminished by the suspicion that his goal was less to place analytical bibliography on a sound footing than to discredit it as a method of research. Whether or not he meant to discourage people from pursuing this work, he admitted to “a feeling of mild despondency about the prospects for analytical bibliography” (p. 60), believing that the results are not likely to be commensurate with the labors involved. And many of his readers did think he was calling for an end to such investigations. Even Fredson  Bowers said that McKenzie “comes perilously close to recommending” that we “scrap analytical bibliography altogether. ”37 Philip  Gaskell’s A New Introduction to Bibliography, which appeared in 1972 and was dedicated to McKenzie, reflects a similar conclusion, but without the disapproval implied by Bowers: although it admirably brings together the basic historical knowledge that students of the book ought to have, it does not adequately recognize ­bibliographical analysis as a means for discovering such information.  There has in fact been less analytical work since the early 1970s, but McKenzie’s essay is only partly responsible . It fell on particularly receptive ears because there was already beginning to be  a turn in literary studies away from an interest in authors’  intentions and toward a concern with the social production and reception of literature . Although the New Bibliography was not inherently tied to the study of authorial intention, it had been developed by  editors who focused on such intention, and its techniques lost favor along with intention . Indeed, some of the more recent critics of this movement have

Since 1969

29

in fact been concerned with particular editorial attitudes and have not recognized that their strictures fail to touch the actual analysis of physical evidence.38 And those discussions that do consider bibliographical investigation – with the notable exception of Peter  Blayney’s (taken up in the next chapter) – have been far less penetrating and comprehensive than McKenzie’s,39 which remains the key document of a major turning point in textual criticism and bibliographical study .  It is not surprising that McKenzie went on to write about what he called the “sociology of texts,” in which the physical characteristics of the objects conveying texts are examined for their cultural implications, for the meanings that authors, publishers, and readers imputed to them. McKenzie’s role as a leader in developing this field is analogous to  Pollard’s in helping to create the New Bibliography sixty years earlier; each had participated prominently in what went before, and each lent authority to a major new approach. 40 By now there is a sizable and lively body of writing dealing with  book design as a textual matter, as an integral part of what is placed before readers to be read. Instead of looking at physical details for clues to the manufacturing process, scholars in this field focus on the elements of design meant to be noticed by readers – and generally in fact noticed by them in some fashion, whether or not consciously or with the intended effect. (Design features are of course embodied physically through the manufacturing process, and they cannot properly be studied in isolation from an understanding of it.) This pursuit fits naturally into the larger framework of what is now called “the history of the book,” the endeavor – which has flourished since the publication of Lucien  Febvre and Henri-Jean  Martin’s L’Apparition du livre in 1958 – to trace the social consequences of book production and distribution.41 To those schooled on the New Bibliography, the social study of book design hardly seems to be bibliography at all. But what one calls it is less important than the fact that it, like the New Bibliography, is a way of reading the physical evidence in books to learn something about the past . It is a welcome development because – again, like the New Bibliography – it directs attention to a neglected body of evidence; and the enthusiasm with which it is being pursued (and with far more publicity than the New Bibliography ever received)

30

Foundations

is similarly resulting in the rapid accumulation of insights, some of which will survive repeated testing . But if the kind of work associated with the New Bibliography is now viewed with less enthusiasm, it is not discredited, nor can it be as long as there are books to be examined.42 However great the challenges it poses, there is no way to avoid dealing with them. The  artifacts carrying verbal texts constitute an enormous reservoir of information about the past, quite apart from the meanings of the words themselves; and those who are interested in learning about the past will persist in exploring every conceivable way of extracting that information. 

Ch apter 2

Analysis of manufacturing clues

C om p o s i t or s t u dy of  s i x t e e n t h- a n d s e v e n t e e n t h- c e n t u r y b o ok s The  idea that physical characteristics of a printed text can reveal information about the production methods of the shop or shops where that text was typeset and printed had occurred to Henry  Bradshaw by the 1860s, and thereafter he regularly noted idiosyncrasies in layout and compositorial practice. But it was another half-century or so before anyone offered a detailed proposal for how the identification of individual compositors (typesetters) might be systematically conducted. On June 3, 1920, the Times Literary Supplement published a letter on “The  Spelling of the First Folio” from one Thomas  Satchell, dated from Kobe, Japan, nearly a year earlier (July 9, 1919). Satchell, noting the spelling variations in the  Shakespeare Folio of 1623, began with a fruitful assumption: “One might expect that if the Elizabethan compositors spelled according to their own inclination we should find a sequence of variations in spelling corresponding to the portions of the manuscript set by each compositor.” He proceeded to examine the variant spellings in the Macbeth portion of the Folio and found that, while some of the variants fell into no discernible patterns, others formed neat groupings that (with the exception of one scene) divided the text into two halves. The first half was characterized by the use of a final “e” in do and go (“doe,” “goe”), the presence of a double “e” in here (“heere”), and the preference for a final “ie” rather than “y” (“merrie,” “plentie”); in the second half the final “e” is not used in do and go, the spelling of here does not contain a double “e,” and the “y” ending is preferred to “ie.” Satchell 31

32

Analysis of manufacturing clues

felt that “something more than mere chance must have led to the sequences noted,” but he realized that the two patterns did not conclusively point to two compositors, since they could also reflect the preferences of two scribes, whose work was then set faithfully in the printing shop. If, he said, he had some information about whether copy was normally divided among compositors, he would have some basis for preferring one of these alternative explanations; under the circumstances, however, he could only conclude that “it is very difficult to decide.” Despite this uncertainty, Satchell’s letter set forth the essentials of a procedure that has been one of the primary tools of analytical bib­ liography ever since (at least for books printed before 1700). Even his three key spelling variants – “do”/“doe,” “go”/“goe,” “heere”/“here” – remained the three most useful ones to Charlton  Hinman in his thorough study of the entire Folio four decades later (The Printing and Proof-Reading of the First Folio of Shakespeare, 1963). The Satchell letter is revealing in other ways as well. His opening comment that Folio spelling “has not yet received much attention from Shakespeare scholars” implies that the basic motivation for studying it is to learn more about Shakespeare’s text, not about printing history. When he says that his work “has brought out some curious facts in regard to the compositors’ attitude towards their ‘copy,’ ” there is no doubt that his interest in “the compositors’ attitude” stems from a desire to learn what features of the printed text derive from the manuscript used by the compositors and ultimately from Shakespeare himself. And the inherent difficulties of this process, much discussed later, are already evident here. Some of the variant spellings adduced by Satchell from the two halves of Macbeth occur only a single time in each half and are thus not significant until after one has already decided that different compositors set each half. He also noted exceptions to the patterns he found, raising the specter of possible contradictory patterns . Furthermore, his confession of ignorance “as to the procedure in the composing room in Shakespeare’s time” – that is, standard practice regarding the assignment of copy to compositors – points to the need for historical context within which to interpret observed evidence and underscores the danger of  circularity in inductive argument . Nevertheless, the fact remains that variant spellings (and inconsistent punctuation as well) were indeed set by compositors and exist

16th- and 17th-century compositors

33

in abundance; and the concept of their constituting an enormous body of evidence for studying compositorial behavior, obvious once it was pointed out, had to be pursued. Seven years later,  McKerrow – in his Introduction to Bibliography for Literary Students (1927) – wrote, “It is occasionally possible to infer, from differences in spelling and in minor details of style in different parts of a book, that more than one compositor has been engaged upon it, and this may be of importance if we are considering the extent to which an author’s spelling has been retained in the printed text” (p. 128). It is significant for printing history as well; but McKerrow’s statement, aside from illustrating his emphasis on literary matters, is also noteworthy for its expansion of the technique from spelling to “minor details of style” (that is, typographical style) – a natural expansion, since spelling was not the only aspect of the printed page that reflected compositors’ choices . In 1930, three years after McKerrow’s book, A. K.  McIlwraith showed what some of those “minor details of style” were: he used the variant typography of scene  headings (especially their punctuation), of stage directions (especially their deployment of italics), of speech prefixes (especially their abbreviations of names), and of lineation (especially the treatment of part-lines of verse) to conclude that two compositors set the 1632 quarto of  Massinger’s The Maid of Honour . These particular tests (which later became standard in the hands of Charlton  Hinman, Alice  Walker, and many others) would of course not be useful in examining nondramatic prose or any texts from periods (or shops) where details of design were dictated to compositors. But a general principle, applicable to all material, had been established: any details of spelling or layout over which compositors had discretion (as opposed to those required by the practice of a given shop or by the typographic custom of a particular locality)1 are potential tools for distinguishing text set by different compositors – and thus for identifying practices not related to compositorial stints, practices that may therefore be characteristic of the underlying copy from which the compositors were setting.2 E. E.  Willoughby, in his landmark book of 1932, The Printing of the First Folio of  Shakespeare, added strength to this approach by offering an answer to  Satchell’s quandary: the clumps of spelling variants found by Satchell were definitely compositorial rather than scribal, Willoughby concluded, because they existed in  Richard II, a

34

Analysis of manufacturing clues

play set from a previously printed quarto, as well as in  Macbeth, set from ­manuscript copy. Willoughby in this way recognized an obvious point: the demonstration that certain habits are compositorial rather than scribal depends (if the printer’s copy does not survive) on the detection of the same habits in texts set in a single shop but from varied sources. Willoughby also noted that there were many sections of the Folio not characteristic of either of the previously identified compositors, thus opening the way to a further search for the habits of other compositors (or, as he thought, “another pair of compositors ”). But the search for compositors, in his view, was “a task belonging rather to the editor of the text than the typographical historian” (pp. 58–59) – even though the results would clearly add to knowledge of how Renaissance printing shops operated . The work – not limited to the First Folio – was indeed pursued by textual scholars in the ensuing decades: at first the articles trickled out, but after World War II they became a flood and made use of additional tests, such as spacings and the forms of contractions.3 As these writings proliferated,4 a few of the writers paused to consider the principles that ought to govern such investigations.  Hinman was appropriately the first, in an article of June 1940 that forms the basis for his extensive use of spelling evidence in his 1963 book, where he says that compositor determination must “depend largely upon spelling evidence” (i, 181). His article describes how he had worked out groupings of significant spelling variants and used  scene headings, stage directions, and speech prefixes as confirmatory tests. One of the most important principles (set forth only in a footnote) is to be alert to factors that would influence compositors’ spelling, such as type  shortages or the need to  justify lines (that is, to create even right-hand margins); spellings produced under these circumstances obviously may not reflect compositors’ habits and must therefore be segregated and used with caution .5 Alice  Walker, in her 1955 article on “Compositor Determination and Other Problems in Shakespearian Texts” (one of a number of sensible statements she made about compositor study in the 1950s), focused on some other complications, such as the influence of printed copy (“I suspect that reprints will seldom provide a safe guide to a compositor’s usual habits” [p. 8]) and the changes that a compositor’s habits may undergo as time passes .6

16th- and 17th-century compositors

35

 Hinman’s idea of eliminating “non-significant” spellings – those not fitting into the patterns that appear to distinguish two compositors – was properly criticized by T. H.  Howard-Hill in the next important statement on spelling analysis, his 1963 article on “Spelling and the Bibliographer” (the earliest of his major published analytical writings), which remains the fullest exposition of the considerations underlying this kind of work. He emphasized the value of basing any study on all spellings, since a failure to do so can easily lead to faulty attributions (for example, by overlooking a compositor whose habits partially coincide with those of a compositor previously identified). Furthermore, all the spellings a compositor set are part of the total picture of his work. In advocating this inclusive approach, he was echoing Alice  Walker’s call for a broad-based study, “including not merely what seems to distinguish between one compositor and another but also what seems to unify, as well as what is variable and what is fixed ” (p. 6).7 All such attempts to systematize the study of spelling served essentially to record the pitfalls that are obvious to any rigorous mind. But given those pitfalls and the fact that, as the compositorial analyses mounted up, assignments sometimes shifted (the Folio’s two compositors hypothesized by 1940, for example, had become nine after four more decades’ work), it is not surprising that some people questioned the value of this time-consuming procedure. When D. F.  McKenzie, in his 1985 Panizzi Lectures (Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts), characterized compositorial analysis as “virtuosity in discovering patterns in evidence which is entirely internal, if not wholly fictional” (p. 7), he was stating what others have also thought about spelling analysis over the years. Yet it is not so much a criticism of spelling ana­ lysis as an unfair description of inductive investigations of any kind . Patterns that are “internal” (in this case, derived from printed books, rather than from printers’ records) are not for that reason untrue, or less reliable than those derived from “external” sources (however one defines them).  A nd the perils of making useful inductive observations do not invalidate the effort to formulate them, which by necessity must remain at the heart of the process of learning . The most trenchant and even-handed scrutiny of spelling analysis, as of several other branches of analytical bibliography, has come from Peter W. M.  Blayney in his massive study of  King Lear (The Texts of

36

Analysis of manufacturing clues

“King Lear” and Their Origins, 1982), which treats quarto printing with the kind of thoroughness that  Hinman had devoted to folio printing (“quarto” and “folio” are defined below). Blayney is frank about the limitations of spelling analysis and makes clear that they are even more severe for a quarto than for the Shakespeare Folio, since there is less printed matter per page in a quarto and thus a smaller body of evidence on which to draw – a serious problem because, as he says, “The most useful evidence is provided by phenomena which allow a test to be applied to the majority of the pages of a book” (p. 152). Nevertheless, he recognizes that the limitations of compositor-habit identification are less important than the caliber of the scholar: “some investigators,” he says, “will resort to circularity less quickly and more cautiously than others” (p. 152) – or, in other words, rigor is all. It is important to remember, as he points out, that compositor investigation can be useful even when it is not able to segregate all the compositors of a book: the discovery, for instance, that a particular compositor was not involved in a given section is in itself helpful . The essential thing is for the work to be pursued with care and reported without overstatement – a good recipe for other situations as well . The techniques thus far mentioned for learning about the typesetting process involve study of compositors’ habits – in spelling, punctuating, and abbreviating words and in spacing and arranging types – rather than scrutiny of the precise shapes of the letterforms used. The other main approach to reconstructing compositorial history focuses on the types themselves (or, more precisely, on what can be known of them from the inked impressions they have left on paper), and indeed on the identification of individual pieces of type (and rules) by noticing distinctive  damage that allows one to recognize a specific piece of type (or rule) as it is reused.8 Whereas study of type designs and sizes can be a help (as it was to the nineteenthcentury incunabulists) in identifying printing shops, it is the study of damaged types that has become an effective tool in understanding the process followed in setting the type for a given book. Tracking the reappearances of numerous broken types throughout a volume can allow one to say which pages (or part-pages) were set from the same type-cases; it can also sometimes enable one to determine the order in which the pages were set. In contrast to the uncertainties of

16th- and 17th-century compositors

37

c­ ompositor-habit identification, what can be learned from ­broken types about the order of setting is often conclusive. Charlton  Hinman, the principal developer of the method, said in his 1963 book that what broken types can reveal about the First  Folio “is ordinarily so unequivocal, and so abundantly supported by various kinds of evidence, that there can be no question as to the general validity of their testimony” (i, 54). He may have been overly optimistic in using the word “ordinarily”; but it seems clear that careful use of identifiabletype evidence can lead to hypotheses less subject to refutation than many of those derived from spelling evidence . The idea of using the recurrence of something recognizable, such as ornaments and  woodcuts, or their progressive damage, to help reveal order of setting was an old one.9 But even  McKerrow, who warned (p. 33) of the danger of relying on ornaments outside the area of the text-page (since such ornaments could have been put in place when the type-pages were arranged in the forme for printing), did not suggest that broken types offer a prolific body of evidence within the type-page .10 Occasionally in the 1930s and 1940s broken types were mentioned, most prominently by E. E.  Willoughby and Fredson  Bowers, but only in connection with the identification of particular settings of  running-titles – which is a tool for analyzing presswork, not composition, since running-titles were ordinarily not set at the same time as the text-pages with which they appear and were often used over and over without resetting. In order to understand how identifiably broken types can be used to study composition, we must pause to recognize an article that foreshadowed the development of this technique and to take note of the traditional analysis of bookstructure that underlay it. In 1948 W. H.  Bond published a seminal article (“Casting Off Copy by Elizabethan Printers”) suggesting that Elizabethan printers sometimes may have “cast off copy” (that is, estimated how much text would fit on certain printed pages) so that type-pages could be set in the nonsequential order in which they would be needed on the press to make up complete formes, rather than in page-number order (“seriatim”). His evidence came not from damaged type (which he mentioned only in connection with running-titles) but from his observation that, in quartos and octavos from the work of three printers, pages with more or fewer lines than the number that was standard

38

Analysis of manufacturing clues

for a given book nearly always occurred in an  inner forme (that is, type for the side of each unfolded sheet containing the text for its second page – or, in other words, for the versos of its odd-numbered leaves and the rectos of its even-numbered leaves). He emphasized that his explanation – inaccurate casting-off for setting by formes – was “merely theory”; but he had opened the way for questioning the universally held assumption that setting regularly followed pagenumber order .11 His argument presupposed a familiarity with the concept of “ format,” which refers to the number of page-units that the printer decided upon to fill each side of an unfolded sheet, whatever its size. This concept is fundamental to bibliographical analysis because format indicates structure: the number of page-units to be printed on one side of a sheet (constituting the  forme that went on the press for printing that side) determines the number of times the sheet must be folded, after both sides have been printed, to create a sequence of conjugate leaves (a “ gathering”) that can be sewn through the fold to the spine cords holding together all the folded sheets for a given book. The analysis of a book’s format by examining the patterns embedded in its  paper (resulting from the wires in the papermaker’s mould) goes back at least to the eighteenth century. Because most papers of the hand-press period had  chainlines (the heavier and more widely spaced lines visible when the paper is held up to light) that ran parallel to the shorter dimension of the full sheet, the direction of the chainlines in the leaves of a book can be used as one clue to its format. Thus vertical chainlines would be consistent with a  folio, where the paper is folded once, cutting its longer dimension in half, to produce two leaves or four pages; horizontal chainlines would be consistent with a  quarto, where the paper is folded twice to produce four leaves or eight pages; an  octavo would again have vertical chainlines, a sextodecimo horizontal ones, and so on . Another clue, which (when available) should be used in conjunction with the chainline direction, is the position of the  watermark (the impression left by the papermaker’s mark in the mould). Since the watermark was normally centered in one half of the full sheet, its position in a folio would be in the center of one leaf out of two; in a quarto, it would be partially visible at the center of the inner margins of two leaves out of four (the first and fourth, or the second and third); in an octavo it might be

16th- and 17th-century compositors

39

partially visible at the upper inner corners of four leaves out of eight (the first, fourth, fifth, and eighth, or the other four) . Using these two pieces of evidence – chainline direction and watermark position – to suggest format is by far the best-known and most widely employed technique of bibliographical analysis .12 Bond’s article proposing that type might be set according to the pages that would go on the press at one time rather than in pagenumber order prepared the way for  Hinman’s famous 1955 demonstration, using the evidence of damaged types, that the Shakespeare First  Folio had indeed been set by formes. Hinman’s method was to show that identifiable types reappeared on pages where they could not have been used if the setting had been seriatim. Since the Shakespeare Folio is a folio in sixes (with each gathering made up of three  quired sheets, producing six leaves or twelve pages), seriatim setting would have necessitated that seven pages of any gathering be set in type before printing of that gathering could begin, because only then would a complete forme be ready (the inner forme of the inner sheet, or the sixth and seventh pages). Thus no piece of type could be used more than once within the first seven pages of a gathering. (Indeed, a type could not reappear until after the page that was the forme-mate of the page on which it previously appeared, for it would not have been available until after that forme had been printed and the types distributed to their cases for reuse.) Hinman, having traced the reappearances of some 300 damaged types, found that throughout the volume they fall on pages incompatible with seriatim setting. He had conclusively demonstrated, through incontestable physical evidence, a fundamental fact about the way the Folio was set. (If, on the other hand, clumps of spellings presumed to distinguish compositors had been found to correlate with formes, the conclusion would not have been incontestable.) Not only was this fact revolutionary, since it showed the inaccuracy of what had always been assumed about the order of setting pages; it also had direct relevance to the work of scholarly  editors, for inaccurate casting-off could have textual consequences by forcing compositors to expand or contract material (setting prose as verse, for example, or verse as prose), or even to delete some of it, in order to make it fit the predetermined space. Hinman’s article was immediately influential, spawning many studies that claimed to find evidence of setting by formes in other

40

Analysis of manufacturing clues

books, including quartos and octavos.13 Not all of this work was as judicious as Hinman’s, however, and before long there were overconfident suggestions that setting by formes may have been the dominant practice in Elizabethan printing shops.14 Generalizing on the basis of a relatively small number of copies can sometimes be appropriate, depending on the nature of the sample, but  McKenzie had reason in 1969 to question some bibliographers’ practice in this regard. Furthermore, his basic criticism of bibliographical analysis for focusing on books in isolation, rather than in the context of the total activity of a shop, had particular force here. For even Hinman, in his 1963 book, incautiously explained the rationale of setting by formes not simply as a response to a shortage of type but also as a way of keeping composition and presswork in balance (implying that the two were necessarily in balance for an individual book). One of the major techniques of analysis in Hinman’s book is the use of groups of recurring types as evidence of the order in which formes were set, on the assumption that “the second of two consecutive Folio formes was set before the first was distributed, and hence the two cannot ordinarily have types in common” (i, 80). But the absence of recurrent types cannot by itself prove the point. And in any case such an assumption, like most assumptions that involve timing, does not allow for the possibility that more than one job was being handled simultaneously . Indeed, as McKenzie points out, such concurrent work is the best explanation for setting a quarto by formes, since a single quarto sheet (unlike a single gathering of a double-column folio in sixes) was not likely to have placed a strain on the type supply .15 Furthermore,  casting-off could be done in more than one way. For example, in instances where gatherings were to consist of single sheets, a compositor would need to cast off only two pages at a time, increasing the accuracy of the operation; and if another compositor were simultaneously setting the forme for the other side of the sheet, the two compositors could keep track of each other’s work and shift lines from one page to another when necessary. The result might show no irregularities of spacing, and there would be no recurrent types to rule out seriatim setting. In other words, setting by formes did not always leave readily detectable traces. Adrian  Weiss, after making some of these points in his comprehensive 2007 discussion of the printing of Thomas  Middleton’s plays (and of printing in Middleton’s time),

16th- and 17th-century compositors

41

concludes, “The practical application by textual editors of the theory of setting by formes, in short, requires a general overhaul” (p. 217). A key point in such a rethinking would be a greater recognition that setting by formes may sometimes have had no textual consequences at all. But trying to uncover its use is nevertheless worth the effort simply to establish a fact of printing history, and an editor ought to know all such facts in case they turn out to be relevant. Additional tests need to be developed, such as one that Weiss describes: identifying, as a possible indicator of setting by formes, any new substitutions of wrong-font letters (not reappearances of previously used wrongfont letters) in the later pages of only one forme of a sheet . These various complications must henceforth be borne in mind by all who use identifiable types to study the typesetting process; they should certainly heed the cautions expressed by  Blayney in his 1982 book 16 and study the techniques used by Weiss, in an important 1999 article, for detecting a “fill-in” job (a job worked on, as time allowed, during intervals in the production of a higher-priority job).17 It is to be hoped that the increased demands thus entailed will not discourage bibliographers from pursuing the work. The tracking of identifiable types offers a classic example of what bibliographical analysis can accomplish: following  Hinman’s lead, it can sometimes reveal demonstrable facts about printing-shop procedures and can assist editors in making textual decisions. It illustrates what the founders of the New Bibliography had in mind, since by contributing simultaneously to printing history and to literary history it shows the intimate connection between the two .18 There is still another kind of information that the study of recognizable types can reveal: the number of  t ype-case units (that is, the number of sets of “upper” and “lower” cases) from which types were drawn for setting a particular book. Recurring clusters of identifiable types can distinguish sections of text set from different type-case units. Whether or not a given compositor was regularly assigned to a particular set of type-cases (as sometimes happened), at least one can say that evidence of more than one set of type-cases opens the way for considering the possibility of concurrent setting by two or more compositors. One can then attempt to ascertain whether different compositorial habits are present in the sections so identified – perhaps illustrating, in the process, the necessity for examining all spelling

42

Analysis of manufacturing clues

practices, including those that might have been considered insignificant prior to the study of the damaged types.  Hinman made considerable use of this approach to reassign pages of the First  Folio to three previously unrecognized compositors (though it must be added that some of these assignments have since been challenged). Hinman was the innovator in identifying type-cases, as in so many other techniques of bibliographical analysis , but the most imaginative elaboration of this idea came from Adrian  Weiss a ­quarter-century later. In a series of remarkable articles in Studies in Bibliography (1990–92), Weiss explained in detail how to recognize the collection of types in a given set of cases, not only by the basic type design and broken  sorts (pieces of type) but also through what he called “replenished abnormal letters and resident foul-case letters” (1990, p. 140). Every font becomes distinctive over time, as types of mismatched design enter it through the necessity of replacing discarded damaged types or simply through accident. One must distinguish between “transient” and “resident” fouling, but when a detailed profile of the resident peculiarities of a font is worked out, it is a more refined tool for identifying type-cases than any previously available. Weiss’s contribution went further, for in a number of instances he was able to show that the different type-case units used for setting a single book were located in different printing shops, and he thus uncovered instances of shared printing, even though only one printer, or none, may have been named in the book itself.19 Associating type cases with shops naturally involves the examination of numerous books signed by different printers (on title-pages or in colophons), and the increasingly demanding nature of bibliographical research is thereby illustrated: now one must study not only all the books simultaneously in progress in one shop but those being worked on at that time in other shops as well . Weiss’s work has raised more exciting new possibilities than any other development in the analytical bibliography of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century books since the heady years just after World War II . There is an irony in the idea that this sophisticated advance in methodology leads to the identification of printers, the same task that largely occupied the nineteenth-century incunabulists; but coming after a century of applying bibliographical findings to Elizabethan texts, it carries implications for editorial scholarship not explicitly pursued by the incunabulists .

16th- and 17th-century presswork

43

 Pr e s s wor k s t u dy of s i x t e e n t h- a n d s e v e n t e e n t h- c e n t u r y b o ok s All the techniques so far discussed deal with the typesetting proc­ ess; the ensuing stage, presswork (that is, printing), including the associated activities of  imposing (arranging the type-pages in the forme) and proofreading, has been investigated just as ­intensively – and as controversially. The basic evidence, however, is not con­ troversial, for the identification of skeleton-formes, progressive type damage, stop-press alterations, first-forme impressions, and point-hole patterns is usually far more clear-cut than the identification of compositors’ habits. The use and abuse of such evidence can be illustrated by the analysis of  skeleton-formes. This kind of work was anticipated, as we have seen, by  Pollard’s observation in 1909 that the running-titles on First Folio pages, along with the box rules that enclose the text and the  headlines (the lines that contain the running-titles), were not set up anew for each page but were held in units for reuse.20 Pollard recognized that recurrences of these units, as well as interruptions of regular sequences, “in skilful hands should render interesting evidence as to the order of printing” (p. 134) . The implications of this insight (concisely pursued in 1929–33 by E. E. Willoughby  and F. R. Johnson ) were not thoroughly explored for thirty years, when  Bowers (in 1939 and 1942) and  Hinman (in 1942) – in their earliest sustained analytical work, before they entered wartime service – began to elaborate the uses of headline evidence. Although in some respects their elaboration went too far, there can be no question about the underlying rationale. Individual box rules can usually be recognized by their defects; and particular settings of ­running-titles (or, in some cases, parts of them) can be identified (often easily, but sometimes only with the help of magnification or super­­ imposition via collating machine or transparency) through a combination of broken or distinctive types and spellings. Spacings can also be a help but must be used with caution, for spacings within a headline could shift during the process of stripping the old type-pages and assembling the new ones, particularly when only the running-title (or typographic) part of a headline was reused (excluding, that is, the spacing quads that centered the running-title). When recognizable running-titles (or parts

44

Analysis of manufacturing clues

of them) are found to recur, one knows that they are unrelated to the composition of the pages on which they appear. But, since they are clearly part of each  forme (all the type on the press at one time), they are certainly related to the process of imposing the type-pages in a forme for printing. Keeping previously used headlines (or the running-title part of them) and box rules available for reuse with new type-pages was a sensible printing-shop practice to avoid the labor of resetting material that was to be repeated. These “ skeleton-formes,” as bibliographers call them, often recur at regular intervals in a book.21 Thus a set of running-titles (two in a folio, four in a quarto, and so on) used in one forme may reappear in many succeeding consecutive formes; or a particular set of running-titles may recur in only one forme of each sheet, and a different set may reappear in the other forme; or one may appear in both formes of some sheets and a different one in both formes of other sheets. (The individual running-titles within a set may not appear in the same order in each use, depending on the manner in which each new forme was made up.) But frequently such regular patterns do not occur, and sometimes there are complex recombinations or mixtures of recurrent parts and new settings. Learning this much about a book is not an insignificant contribution to printing history.22 But bibliographers, wishing to extract more information from this evidence, have pushed their ingenuity to its limits by attempting to use skeleton-forme analysis to establish the  edition size (number of copies) and the proofreading process for particular books.23 Both are important matters – the first for cultural history, the second for textual criticism – but drawing inferences about them has involved two assumptions that are highly unrealistic: one is that the speed at which compositors and pressmen worked can be known well enough for practical purposes, and the other is that shop efficiency would have required the time spent on setting type for a book to balance the time spent on printing it.24 The theory is that detectable expedients would have been used to speed up the rate of composition or of printing, depending on the amount of typesetting required per forme (a function of format and page size) in relation to the number of copies needed. The role of skeleton-formes in the calculation is illustrated by  Hinman’s thesis (in his 1942 article, p. 209) that two skeletons would

16th- and 17th-century presswork

45

be used with a single press only if the number of copies to be printed was large (and time-consuming) enough that composition could easily stay ahead of presswork – indeed, that it would get too far ahead of presswork unless the lag time between removing one forme from the press and placing another one on it were largely eliminated by having the new forme ready to go. Hinman,  Bowers, and others who have engaged in calculations along these lines have spoken of the press standing “idle” during the make-ready of a new forme unless two skeletons were in use . But, as  McKenzie effectively argued in 1969 (pp. 14–22), the press would not be idle if the shop had other books or job-work on hand; efficient shop operation did not require a balance between composition and presswork on individual jobs but only a rough balance in the total work performed in the shop. In any case the work-rates of compositors and pressmen were inevitably so variable as to make highly risky any calculations based on an assumed standard . The use of skeleton-forme evidence to support conjectures about  proofreading has proved similarly unfortunate. One of the most ingenious articles in the literature of bibliographical analysis is  Bowers’s 1947 essay on the proof correction of the first quarto of King  Lear. He began with  Greg’s idea, set forth in a 1940 monograph on Lear, that the procedure for pulling proofs and correcting them allowed one to conclude that invariant formes (formes from which no printed copies have been found to contain textual variants) are corrected formes. Bowers, applying headline analysis to this question (which Greg had not done), decided that the shop procedure postulated by Greg was incorrect but that his conclusion remained accurate . To Bowers the two-skeleton headline evidence largely supported the following routine: a proof would be pulled from the first forme of a sheet; printing of that forme would continue until the proof was read; the forme would be removed for correction; the second forme would be put on the press, and a proof would be pulled; by that time the corrected first forme could go back on the press, and the proofreading of the second forme could begin. Thus while sheets would exist showing variant states of the first forme, all the sheets would be  “perfected” (printed on the second side) from the corrected state of the second forme. Bowers was satisfied enough with this analysis to say that his “hypothetical reconstruction” was “in

46

Analysis of manufacturing clues

all probability the standard method for printing the standard two­skeleton books in Elizabethan times” (p. 238). This assertion was a notable instance of an overconfident generalization based on insufficient evidence; and his analysis has been invalidated both because it did not allow for the possible concurrent printing of other jobs and because, as  Blayney noted in the course of a brilliant discussion of proofreading,25 some of the headline evidence did not in fact support Bowers’s hypothesis . Skeleton analysis has not been discredited as a result, but only the attempt to extract from it more information than it can possibly yield, at least when books are examined in isolation . There are, however, cautious ways of learning something further about presswork, such as these  four: noting progressive damage to reused running-titles and box rules, as an indication of the order in which formes were printed; studying the occurrences of textual variations among copies ( stoppress alterations), as a basis for learning how many times the printing of a forme was interrupted;26 using a raking light or magnification to reveal which side of a printed sheet remains rough, as a result of type impressions from the other side, and is therefore the first of the two sides to be printed;27 and studying the locations of  point-holes, resulting from the adjustable tympan-points that pierced each sheet on the press, as an aid to confirming the arrangement of type-pages in the forme.28 But each of these techniques has its limitations. Progressive type damage and stop-press alterations are not always present; the roughness test only indicates the order of the two formes of individual sheets; and point-holes may not be visible in folios (where they are at the folds deep in the gutter) and may have been trimmed off in books of smaller formats. Nevertheless, whatever details are uncovered by all these tests reflect basic facts about the printing of a book . A fuller recording of this evidence (and any other available evidence) from large quantities of books, providing the grounding for a more realistic picture of the activity of particular shops, is a necessary, if tedious, activity. Although some of this work can be reported in the bibliographical journals, a natural place for much of it is in  descriptive bibliographies, which should be thought of as repositories of bibliographical evidence, contributing to the general knowledge of

16th- and 17th-century presswork

47

printing and publishing practices.29  Electronic databases may also be developed to offer convenient access to consolidated information of this kind.30 Another lesson taught by the history of the presswork analysis of early modern books is that, just as multiple copies of every edition must be examined, so must multiple techniques of analysis be applied to each one. The arsenal of analytical tools that has been developed is by now rather sizable (those named above being some of the most useful), and a failure to employ all applicable techniques not only results in a less complete picture but also may lead to incorrect conclusions. An example is offered by a basic technique not mentioned in the preceding two paragraphs but discussed earlier: the examination of  paper in order to notice the direction of the chainlines and the position of the watermark relative to the leaf. It is an article of faith among many bibliographers, as explained above, that a  folio can be recognized by vertical chainlines when combined with watermarks that are centered in the leaf, a quarto by horizontal chainlines when combined with watermarks that are centered in the gutter, and so on. But a considerable number of books will be misdiagnosed if this test is used in isolation, since the paper selected for a given job may have come from a two-sheet mould and have lengthwise chainlines or may have been cut down from its manufactured size . The chainline-watermark test must therefore be combined with such other tests as tracking any surviving occurrences of  deckle-edges (the rough edges of the original sheet), noting the sequence of mould and felt sides of the paper in relation to the leaves (the mould side being the rougher one that had been on the bottom in the mould), analyzing any visible  point-holes, determining which side of each leaf was printed first, and recognizing the reappearances of  damaged rules and types or the same settings of  running-titles (since the same rule or piece of type or the same setting of a runningtitle could not appear more than once in a given forme) .31 Every bibliographical detail has its role to play as a cross-check on conclusions drawn from other details; and the more comprehensively the bibliographer reads the physical evidence, the more convincing will the resulting account be , providing a glimpse into the daily routines of one class of artisan from the past .

48

Analysis of manufacturing clues S t u dy of  f i f t e e n t h- c e n t u r y b o ok s

If books of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries served as the main laboratory for the New Bibliography, with its literary orientation, the analytical techniques that characterized it have been applied – though less intensively – to books of other periods. The fifteenth century was represented in the 1948 inaugural volume of Studies in  Bibliography by an article of Curt F.  Bühler’s that epitomizes the situation. At the outset Bühler explained, “The recent revolutionary studies in the field of  headlines by  Bowers,  McManaway,  Hinman and others among my colleagues have suggested to me that I might try my prentice hand at this line of investigation.”32 He revealingly added that the book he had chosen – William de  Machlinia’s Year-Book, 37 Henry VI – “might prove valuable from a bibliographical point of view even if, for the literary student, the book is singularly lacking in appeal.” His comment acknowledged the fact that it was the literary interest in Elizabethan books that had stimulated the growth of analytical bibliography . Forty years later (in the Gutenberg-Jahrbuch for 1989) Lotte  Hellinga more explicitly contrasted the textual motivation for the bibliographical work devoted to Elizabethan books with the lack of it in connection with incunables: the former contemporaneously recorded the extraordinary flowering of creative energy in late sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century Britain, whereas the latter contained what she called “the sediments” of previous centuries’ work, appearing in print “usually at the end of a long line of textual tradition.” The consequence she summed up as follows: “In so far as texts are studied in fifteenth-century printing it is often to serve as a means to understand the procedures in the printing house that led to a particular result, rather than as an end in itself” (p. 48). This statement accurately generalizes about the textual interests of the two groups of scholars; but perhaps a more significant difference between the analyses devoted to books of the two periods is that the two goals tended at first to foster different kinds of historical reconstruction. The incunabulists’ concern with printing traditionally (and understandably, given the number of incunables without a stated date or printer’s name) emphasized identification and description more than the “procedures in the printing house”;

15th-century books

49

and it was the focus on textual transmission that led scholars of later books to pay greater immediate attention to extrapolating the printing-shop processes that produced the printed texts. Despite  Bradshaw’s expression of interest in printers’ “habits” – or, to use another of his phrases, their “mode of working” – his own use of such features as compositorial spacing was largely as a supplement to  t ype identification in working out the defining characteristics of particular shops. The subsequent work on incunables occasionally anticipated some of the approaches of the New Bibliography but infrequently enough that such foreshadowings stand out as exceptional. Paul  Schwenke, for example, by 1900 had thought of identifying sections of the 42-line  Bible that were set in type concurrently (and thus by different compositors); in the next few years he illustrated an approach to type that focused on the particular  sorts making up a given font, not simply on the design of the font (and thus anticipated Adrian  Weiss); and in his 1923 commentary volume for his 1913 facsimile of the 42-line Bible, he included all the  variant settings he was aware of (anticipating  Hinman’s attention to press-variants in his facsimile of the  First Folio half a century later).33 Schwenke was also using point-hole evidence  by 1900, as was Heinrich  Wallau; and Wallau had by that time employed the indentation test (distinguishing first- and secondforme impressions) to show that early incunables were printed page by page . When  Hellinga says that “the observations of the students of early printing … are in essence not different from those made by bibliographers who are more readily associated with the Anglo-American school of analytical bibliography” (p. 49), she is pointing out an overlapping of analytical work that often goes unremarked ; but her comment would be misleading if one did not also recognize that the quantity of research fitting her description is small in comparison to the voluminous output of Anglo-American bibliographers dealing with Elizabethan and Jacobean drama.  Bühler’s brief attempt in 1948 to bring the two strands together was not influential; but by the 1970s, especially in the work of  Hellinga herself and of Paul  Needham, a new kind of writing about incunabula began to emerge, writing that built on the textually oriented bibliographical analysis of the “Anglo-American school.”

50

Analysis of manufacturing clues

There was, however, one major contribution to analytical bibliography made in connection with incunable research in the heyday of the New Bibliography: Allan H.  Stevenson’s application of his discoveries relating to the bibliographical uses of evidence from  paper. Although  Greg’s 1908 analysis of the false dating of the  Pavier quartos employed watermark evidence, very little attention was paid to paper for analytical purposes (other than determining format) in the four decades that followed. Indeed, doubt was sometimes cast on the reliability of paper evidence for dating, since papers could be used long after their manufacture.34 But between 1948 and 1967 Stevenson revolutionized the study of paper through a series of observations (mainly on seventeenth-century books) that combined to form a powerful analytical tool. He noted that watermarks have states, caused by the shifting and repair of the wiremarks in the mould, and that moulds were always used in pairs (“twins”), resulting in a single stock of paper carrying watermarks from two renditions of the same design. These two facts made it possible to identify stocks of paper with a precision not previously attained and to determine the order of production of sheets bearing different states of a watermark. When one adds to this line of thinking the further observation that substantial runs of individual paper-stocks are more reliable than small remnants for dating books (since large quantities were not likely to be kept on hand for long periods), one then has a basis (independent of typographical arguments) for dating undated books – by comparing the watermark states of primary paper runs in undated books with the watermark states in dated books printed substantially on the same paper.35 Using this approach, Stevenson was able to show conclusively that the  Missale speciale (the “Constance Missal”) was printed in the early 1470s, not in 1450 or earlier (which would make it the earliest European book printed from movable type), as some had argued on the basis of typographical evidence. The book in which he presented his argument in detail, The Problem of the Missale speciale (1967), is one of the classics of bibliographical analysis, setting forth in exemplary fashion a pioneering methodology and using it to settle a celebrated problem. 36 Thus Stevenson, who began as a student of seventeenthcentury books, made a momentous contribution to the bibliographical study of incunabula. And he opened the way for the effective use

15th-century books

51

of paper evidence from books of other periods as well. His approach to paper was parallel to the way other analytical bibliographers were accustomed to viewing type, for he saw it in terms of its changing states, which in turn were clues to the actions of the human beings who made and used it . Paul  Needham has linked Stevenson and  Bradshaw – whose contributions were separated by about a century – as the codifiers (along with  Schwenke) of the scholarly study of paper and type; and ­therefore, as he says, “our various strategies for studying books” derive from their work. Needham himself has illustrated this point in his own studies of incunabula, for he has made productive use of the techniques of  Stevenson and the New Bibliography in a series of important articles notable for their intellectual rigor – articles that should be regarded as essential reading for bibliographers of all periods.37 One of his suggestive ideas, for example (in a 2000 essay on “Concepts of Paper Study”), is to think of the flow of papers into and out of a printing shop as inward and outward “archives,” resulting in a distinctively constituted inventory of papers at any given moment. And he brilliantly demonstrated the use of paper evidence for dating in a superb essay on “The Paper of English Incunabula,” in the eleventh volume (2007) of the British  Museum / British Library incunable catalogue, where the notes on dating in the individual entries are also largely by him. (That volume, edited by Lotte  Hellinga with essays by her on type and on production methods, is a splendid demonstration of how far bibliography traveled during the century after  Pollard’s inaugural volume of the series in 1908.)  Needham has done more than anyone else to combat what he calls (in the 2000 essay) the “generally separatist tradition of incunable studies” (p. 49), in which some people, strangely enough, have wondered about the relevance of the New Bibliography to fifteenthcentury books. Although some fifteenth-century printing-shop routines (especially in the early years of printing) were indeed different from those generally employed later, the same repertoire of analytical techniques can uncover those differences. Thus the  roughness test for first-forme impressions can identify when the printing proceeded one page at a time in page-number order (as it regularly did in the first quarter-century or so of printing), and one then knows that various other tests, such as noting the reappearances of identifiable types and

52

Analysis of manufacturing clues

headlines, have to be interpreted differently from the way they would be for books printed from multi-page formes.  Needham’s insistence that bibliographical analyses are exercises in clear thinking, accessible to anyone, was given particular force by his startling hypothesis about the Mainz  Catholicon, first set forth in 1982.38 The printed evidence of lines of type having shifted in twoline units led him to argue that this book (and two other items) were printed (and later reprinted) from two-line slugs that had been cast from a setting of movable type. This proposal – in effect, that a form of  stereotyping was in use in the late 1450s – is a striking instance of the role of imagination in  inductive reasoning. In the creative process of drawing inferences, imagination must – as here – be coupled with careful observation and systematic argument. Needham’s thesis is firmly grounded in the physical evidence at hand, unlike some of the extrapolations about the proofreading and edition size of Elizabethan books. It remains subject to convincing refutation, of course. But so far its predictive successes in explaining all the studied features of multiple copies of the Catholicon justify its acceptance as a fact to be used (and thereby further tested) in the ongoing  investigation both of printing history and of textual history. 39 S t u dy of  e ig h t e e n t h-, n i n e t e e n t h-, a n d t w e n t i e t h- c e n t u r y b o ok s Just as the study of incunables was enlivened in the post-World War II years by the presence of Allan  Stevenson, so the bibliographical study of eighteenth-century books was invigorated by another scholar working in Chicago, William B.  Todd. In 1949 Todd completed his doctoral dissertation at the University of  Chicago, entitled “Procedures for Determining the Identity and Order of Certain Eighteenth-Century Editions,” which explained some of the techniques for examining books of that century with the same kind of analytical approach that was by then well established for books of the previous two centuries. The importance of Todd’s dissertation for the future of eighteenthcentury studies cannot be overestimated, for very little bibliographical attention had previously been directed to books of that period. And it is not surprising that he devoted his first two chapters to  press figures: these numbers (or sometimes letters or symbols), printed at the foot

18th-, 19th-, and 20th-century books

53

of certain pages in many British and some American and continental eighteenth-century books (and occasionally in books of the late seventeenth and early nineteenth centuries), were not only an unstudied phenomenon but also a distinctive feature of books of this period, potentially offering assistance to bibliographers that is not available in books of other periods.40 Since, for example, figures appear only once per forme, they can contribute to the determination of format. 41 There had been only a few references to press figures before the late 1940s, when some interest was being shown in them independently of Todd: two articles on the subject – by Walter E.  K notts and Philip  Gaskell – appeared during the year preceding Todd’s first publication. But his essay “Observations on the Incidence and Interpretation of Press Figures,” in the illustrious third volume of  Studies in Bibliography (1950–51), was the first attempt at a comprehensive treatment; it publicized some of the ideas from his dissertation and inaugurated a long series of articles from his pen (and not only on press figures) that transformed the bibliographical investigation of eighteenth-century books. He was not exaggerating, in this initial article, when he said that – because the neglect of press figures had allowed  impressions (groups of copies printed at different times from the same setting of type) to go unrecognized – “practi­ cally every scholarly bibliography and edition of eighteenth-century literature rests on undiscriminated texts” (p. 180). This was a call to action that quite properly carried a sweeping implication: all bibliographical research on the eighteenth century needed to be redone. It was similar in its consequences to Allan  Stevenson’s announcement that all previous study of watermarks had been faulty because it had not recognized their twinship and sewing states. Press figures were clearly some sort of record-keeping to show which formes were printed on particular presses or by particular pressmen and thus to assist in calculating the wages that each pressman was to receive. Whether the figures explicitly referred to presses or men, and what was the significance of unfigured formes in books that do contain some figures, are questions that have never been fully settled, and it is likely that the practice may have varied over time and from one shop to another. Nevertheless, the figures are an intriguing residue of the presswork process, all the more so (as Todd pointed out)42 because there are fewer useful clues in the type and paper of

54

Analysis of manufacturing clues

eighteenth-century books; and they have received considerable attention since 1950, most notably from Todd himself, Kenneth  Povey, and B. J.  McMullin. Todd’s work was characteristic of the postwar bibliographical climate, both in its concern with reconstructing printing-shop procedures and in its optimism about how much can be learned. Although he did suggest that press figures should be used in conjunction with other evidence, he can be seen in retrospect to have been overly confident of their reliability in signalling ­reimpressions or in allowing bibliographers to work out the order of formes and the speed with which a book went through the press – a calculation requiring the kind of assumption about efficiency now recognized as unjustifiable.   McMullin, the leading student of press figures in the last quarter of the twentieth century, has enumerated (in an important article in the 1994 Todd festschrift) many of the pitfalls associated with the attempt to use them as bibliographical evidence. He points out, for instance, that figures are often simply wrong (the printed figures may not be the intended ones) and that the omission of a figure may sometimes have resulted from an aesthetic judgment (a figure might be distracting on certain pages). His analysis unquestionably shows that “the impediments to the interpretation of press figures” are “formidable,” but he concludes on a more positive note than McKenzie had done twenty-five years before. Acknowledging that “Caution … was outstripped by enthusiasm in the initial application of the new tool to bibliographical analysis” (p. 193), McMullin recognizes that with a new emphasis on caution the work must proceed. Figures remain “potential evidence” concerning the passage of books through the press, and the recording of them is an “essential” task.  It is worth pausing over one of the early articles on press figures for its exemplary value in showing an improper, but very common, assumption about the relation of bibliographical and archival evidence. J. D.  Fleeman, in the first article (1964) to make use of the surviving ledgers of the  Bowyer printing firm, noted several discrepancies between the figures printed in William  Somervile’s The Chace (1735) and those recorded for this pamphlet in the relevant Bowyer ledger. But because he assumed that the ledger (which gives the pressmen’s names next to the figures) is accurate, he came to the awkward conclusion that the same pressmen must have been referred to by

18th-, 19th-, and 20th-century books

55

different numbers in different parts of this small pamphlet (numbers that did not always match the numbers in the ledger). A more likely explanation is that one of the numbers in each instance of discrepancy is erroneous; but whether it is the one in print or the one in the ledger is difficult to determine.  McKenzie, in his 1969 essay, said of Fleeman’s article that it showed how “the printed books themselves” can corroborate the “quite conclusive evidence in the Bowyer ledger to associate press figures with a press not a man” (p. 52). But he did not mention the possibility of errors in the ledgers, though that possibility must be considered in any attempted corroboration . And ­D. F.  Foxon, in his magisterial English Verse 1701–1750 (1975), did not question Fleeman’s “detailed study”  (p. 742). Even  McMullin, who noted that erroneous printed figures are common, took Fleeman’s article as a “demonstration” of such error by reference to “the printer’s records” (p. 182), without considering that error is not a phenomenon unique to printed matter.  Fleeman’s article has thus been a kind of touchstone for displaying an unfounded and illogical confidence in the authority of archival documents.  Bibliographical work on eighteenth-century material has not been limited to studying press figures. Indeed, there is in this field a longer tradition of paying attention to  paper, since  cancel leaves (leaves pasted to the stubs of excised leaves) are a prominent characteristic of eighteenth-century books. The pioneer student of cancels was R. W.  Chapman, who was writing on the subject by 1924 and published a book called Cancels in 1930; he was followed by Allen  Hazen and Philip  Gaskell, who made particular use of paper in their bibliographies of (respectively) the  Strawberry Hill Press (1942) and John  Baskerville (1959), and by Allan  Stevenson, who – not surprisingly – gave paper its due in the eighteenth-century volume of the Hunt botanical catalogue (1961).  The most innovative analytical work on paper since then (along with  Needham’s, mentioned earlier) has been by  Bowers’s successor as editor of  Studies in Bibliography,  David L. Vander Meulen, whose work on  Pope’s Dunciad is applicable to any book printed on handmade paper. In 1984 he showed that the sequence of differing distances between  chainlines can serve to identify a stock of paper, even in the absence of a watermark or when the watermark is unavailable for study as a result of trimming or a tight binding (a technique that has since been extensively employed

56

Analysis of manufacturing clues

by R. Carter  Hailey). Vander Meulen has been a champion of what he calls the “low-tech” examination of paper, stressing the adequacy of simple tools (like rulers) for paper analysis in an age that has seen  beta-radiography used for the reproduction of watermarks and  cyclotrons employed for discovering the chemical makeup of paper. 43 His idea of measuring chainline spacing is one of several important suggestions made in his 1981 Wisconsin dissertation, a descriptive bibliography of the  Dunciad from 1728 to 1751, which is comparable to  Todd’s dissertation as a landmark in bibliographical study. There he also noted point-holes,  first-forme impressions, and  running-titles.  Point-holes in eighteenth-century books had previously been examined by (among others) D. F.  Foxon, though his attempt in 1956 to use them for distinguishing impressions is not conclusive, since press figures and point-hole patterns have been found to show no necessary correlation . Nevertheless, Foxon’s Alexander  Pope and the Early Eighteenth-Century Book Trade (1991), like Vander Meulen’s exemplary article of 1989 on The Dunciad in Four Books, has demonstrated how physical and external evidence work together to provide insights into publishing, literary, and broader cultural history. Indeed, one can do no better than to read Vander Meulen’s article for a compact illustration of the responsible use of a wide range of physical evidence (some drawn from other books concurrently printed in the same shop), integrated with such external evidence as Pope’s letters, the  Bowyer ledgers, and newspaper advertisements. Vander Meulen recognizes that physical evidence can sometimes correct errors in the archival record and that all kinds of sources must be welcomed and subjected to “triangulation” (p. 305). When he says of physical and external evidence that “each is valuable, each has limitations, and each does things the other cannot” (p. 310), he is making explicit the balanced approach that underlies his analysis, which can usefully serve as a model for bibliographers of any period. 44 When one turns to  nineteenth- and twentieth-century books, one finds much less bibliographical research available for guidance. There are, to be sure, a great many  descriptive bibliographies of authors of this period, and they place on record a considerable quantity of physical detail; but they contain very little attempt to use physical evidence for revealing manufacturing processes. John  Carter and Graham  Pollard’s An Enquiry into the Nature of Certain Nineteenth-Century

18th-, 19th-, and 20th-century books

57

Pamphlets (1934), one of the great classics of bibliographical writing, uses physical evidence to uncover the forgeries of  Thomas J. Wise and Harry Buxton  Forman; but the analysis focuses on the nature of the materials – the ingredients of the paper and the design of the types – rather than on the activity that employed those materials.45 The same is true of other examinations of authenticity, such as  Nicolas Barker’s 1987 book on Frederick  Prokosch’s productions. It must be said that books of the past two centuries are ­particularly resistant to the analysis of the underlying manufacturing procedures because the paper and type seem to offer fewer usable clues. Technological developments that began transforming the printing and paper businesses in the early nineteenth century, along with more rigorous concepts of house-styling that accompanied the growth of the  publishing industry, make it difficult to employ successfully some of the techniques of analysis that have been applied to earlier books. Even so basic a matter as  format is often problematic, since machine-made paper was available in very large sizes (or long rolls) without chainlines related to the manufacturing process, and presses could print much larger formes than previously. The equally basic problem of  distinguishing impressions, which first became significant in connection with books of the eighteenth century (when the type supply was sufficient to make the retention of standing type feasible), was compounded in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries by the use of  plates and offset methods. Publishers’  bindings, another characteristic of the period, offer a further complication for analyzing prepublication history, since for most nineteenth- and twentiethcentury books the bindings are a part of that history and often vary among copies of an edition or impression. 46 However difficult it may seem at present to make books of this period yield information about their manufacturing history, there are undoubtedly clues present that have not yet been recognized. A beginning, at least, has been made on locating them. For example,  John Cook Wyllie in 1953 surveyed the forms of twentieth-century  cancels. Oliver  Steele, in several ingenious articles in 1962–63, tackled the problem of  format by showing how in-press  plate damage (given a sufficient sample of copies and damage to both formes of a sheet), as well as the pattern of rough edges in untrimmed copies, could indicate imposition; and B. J.  McMullin, four decades later (in 2003), further pursued the

58

Analysis of manufacturing clues

determination of format through the use of rough edges in machinemade paper (along with the use of the dated  watermarks in early nineteenth-century handmade wove paper) . Peter L.  Shillingsburg (in 1975) and Michael  Winship (in 1983) pointed out some of the ways in which the use of stereotype or electrotype  plates can be detected (such as through type-page-edge batter or through textual variation that is not ­accompanied by shifting type); Craig S.  Abbott (in 1976) explained how  “offset slur,” when present, indicates the trailing edge of a sheet and can be used to determine the makeup of a forme (and to identify  cancels and  ­differentiate impressions); Matthew J.  Bruccoli (in 1957 and 1963) and Peter L.  Shillingsburg (in 1979) showed how one can identify reimposed formes (through the  measurement of gutters and register differences) as a way of distinguishing impressions; Gillian G. M.  Kyles (in 1999) discussed the changing of  leading (spacing between lines of type) in different printings of the same edition; and Catherine  Rodriguez (in 2004) and B. J.  McMullin (in 2008) considered the use of seam marks in machine-made paper as a clue to  format. Textual variants are important to the bibliographical analysis of books of all periods, though in nineteenth- and twentieth-century books they are more likely to result from changes made between impressions than from stop-press alterations; thus textual collation, recording type batter as well as variant readings, is often essential for detecting unmarked impressions or duplicate plates. 47 It is not surprising that a considerable amount of analysis of machine-printed books is to be found in the numerous scholarly  editions that were produced in the second half of the twentieth century. A rare example of  compositor analysis applied to a book of this period occurs in Fredson  Bowers’s Centenary Edition (1965) of  Hawthorne’s The House of the Seven Gables. The difference here is that the starting point is the compositors’ marking of their stints on the printer’s-copy holograph manuscript; Bowers does not raise the possibility of questioning the reliability of these markings, nor would he have a basis for doing so, given the general uniformity of texture of the typesetting. From there on the process is the familiar one of assessing the accuracy of the compositors’ work as an aid to judging which readings of the printed text are likely to be authorial alterations  on the now lost proofsheets . Another sort of analysis presented in a scholarly edition is  my attempt, in the Northwestern-Newberry Edition (1991) of

18th-, 19th-, and 20th-century books

59

 Melville’s Clarel, to use the nonfunctional signatures ( signatures that – as in many nineteenth-century American books – do not match the actual sewn gatherings) as a means for reconstructing some of the printing decisions that led up to the published form of the book. All these efforts represent only the merest start on the analysis of books of the past two centuries, the bibliographical study of which is still in its beginnings.  It can scarcely be said, however, that the study of earlier books is much more advanced, when one considers what a tiny fraction of all the books produced has been subjected to ­thorough scrutiny. As long ago as 1923, A. W.  Pollard (in his article on Elizabethan spelling) referred to “students yearning for subjects for dissertations,” a phenomenon that has not declined since Pollard’s time; and although on that occasion he was alerting students specifically to the huge body of spelling evidence embedded in books, he would certainly have agreed that all features of books offer a vast field for exploration. There are hundreds of thousands of books awaiting detailed examination, and anyone who stakes out a small area for investigation contributes usefully to the comprehensive picture that must some day be constructed. The doubts that have been expressed about analytical bibliography should be no deterrent to entering the field, for those doubts arose from the frequency with which bibliographers have reached untenable conclusions. This danger, which will always be with us, was memorably described by Paul  Needham in 1988 when he referred to “minds who are convinced, when they find any plausible pattern of development, that they have discovered the truth, and at that point stop thinking” (The Bradshaw Method, p. 20). But surely the existence of such minds in the field of bibliography should not cause anyone to assume that the body of physical evidence surviving in books is too intractable to be fruitfully pursued. Some of the troubles that the New Bibliography – that is, analytical bibliography in the twentieth century – has brought on itself are the result, I believe, of its literary orientation. One must grant that the rapid development of the field after World War II is owing to the literary interests of editors of English Renaissance drama; but their sponsorship has been a mixed blessing, for their impatience to find literary applications of physical evidence often led them to

60

Analysis of manufacturing clues

hasty conclusions. (This point is independent of the particular edito­ rial goal they chose to pursue.) The  rationale underlying the New Bibliography can be stated in the form of two axioms: first, that books hold clues to their own manufacturing history; second, that the manufacturing history of books affects the texts, and thus the literary meaning, of the works transmitted in book form. Both points are extremely important and are still not as widely recognized as they ought to be. But too often in the thinking of the New Bibliographers these propositions were collapsed into a single one by eliminating the linking term, “manufacturing history,” leaving one with the concept of books holding clues to textual history. They certainly do that, but by way of ­manufacturing history; and if manufacturing history, elucidating the work performed by individuals in the printing and publishing businesses, had more often been seen as a significant end in itself, there might have been fewer excesses in the use of physical evidence.  It is hard to accuse  Hinman and many other analytical bibliographers of a lack of patience, given the tedious tabulations they engaged in. Yet they did sometimes display an eagerness to end the tedium by taking leaps not fully justified by the evidence. If the New Bibliography differed from the old by giving greater attention to the extrapolation of process from static details, it thereby set for itself just as great a need for a broad context. We now know that the  manufacturing history of a given book is entangled with that of all the other work under way in the shop – or, in many cases, shops – where it was being printed. What we need are detailed investigations of the printing histories of large quantities of books, using all the analytical techniques at our command and drawing on all available external sources as well. The result of concentrating on printing history, rather than on books with interesting or important texts, will be a more comprehensive understanding of the human labor involved in book production and, as a consequence, a firmer and more enlightening base for literary history – indeed, for the history of printed writings of all kinds .

Ch apter 3

Analysis of design features

B a s ic c ons i de r at ions Whenever language is written on tangible surfaces, it acquires visible and tactile components, since it becomes part of a physical object that can be seen and touched. And just as spoken language is regularly interpreted in the light of the speaker’s manner and other aspects of the situation in which the utterance occurs, so the physical setting of written language plays a role in readers’ responses. The visual display of language has been increasingly studied in recent years as part of an interdisciplinary trend in which the visual attributes of artifacts are being intensively scrutinized in more fields than before. On July 19, 1996, the Chronicle of Higher Education – always alert to movements in scholarly fashion – ran an article by Scott Heller entitled “Visual Images Replace Text as Focal Point for Many Scholars,” describing the growth of “visual culture” as a historical field that brings together scholars from such traditional disciplines as literature, philosophy, art, film, and anthropology. One stimulus to this movement is no doubt the general dominance of film and video in the last half of the twentieth century, which has led to greater awareness of the importance of visual communication in the centuries before those media existed. Another influential factor is the increasing emphasis, over the last third of the twentieth century, on the study of audience responses to cultural products and the accompanying view of creative works as socially constructed. For if one subordinates the intentions of individual creators to the broader context of a historical moment, then even those genres not usually thought of as visual will attract visual examination, since the visually perceptible features of the objects conveying the works 61

62

Analysis of design features

formed a significant part of what their audiences were confronted with. In the study of books, these attitudes have produced a new style of publishing history, sometimes called histoire du livre or “book history,” where the goal is to gain insight into the social impact of books; at its best, this work illustrates how cultural history has been affected by the physical forms of books, the distribution networks through which books have circulated, and the reading practices they have engendered.1 In textual criticism, there has been a corresponding shift: authorial intention no longer can be regarded as the virtually exclusive concern of scholarly editors, many of whom now look at texts as the results of complex sets of social forces and regard the physical settings of texts as integral to their perceived meanings.2 A nalytical bibliography as traditionally conceived has not been much concerned with studying visual effects in finished books, since it has focused on the prepublication history of books and has primarily used clues that were not meant to be noticed. Readers were not expected to observe point-holes, for example, or the evidence for skeleton-formes, or the existence of stop-press alterations, or variant spellings; and though some readers may have fleetingly noted the presence of press figures or the anomalous paper of cancels, such idio­ syncrasies of book production were not supposed to – and normally did not – give them pause. Even format, which does play a role in readers’ responses (through its effect on leaf size and shape), is usually studied by analytical bibliographers to learn how many type-pages were on the press at one time, how they were arranged in the forme, and how the sheets were folded to construct gatherings – matters that are not directly relevant to the visual act of reading as performed by most readers. The people who are called analytical bibliographers, therefore, would not as a rule consider their domain to include the aesthetic study of book design or the effect produced on readers by textual layout and the deployment of illustrations. Their work has been limited to manufacturing history (and its role in the constitution of texts) and has not encompassed the life of books after they left their producers’ hands.3 Some of the writers who take a social approach to books and texts, however, have used the word “bibliographical” in a general sense to mean “pertaining to the physical book.” Jerome McGann, one of the prominent commentators on texts as social transactions, thinks of

Basic consideration

63

books as consisting of “linguistic codes” and “bibliographical codes,” both of which are read by readers;4 and, following his lead, other writers have been using the term “bibliographical codes” in the same way. Although they have not explicitly called their work analytical bibliography, anyone who analyzes bibliographical codes must be an analytical bibliographer. Some people may wish to resist this enlargement of the scope of the term as blurring a useful distinction. But it is futile to try to control the evolution of usage. And in any case it is unimportant just how we define “analytical bibliography,” so long as we understand clearly the relationships among the endeavors brought together under that heading – and so long as each of those endeavors is justifiable in its own right. The study of how the physical presentation of texts has influenced their reception over the years is clearly a valid pursuit, since the experience of every reader bears witness to this connection. Intellectual history as a discipline has not in the past paid much attention to book design; but henceforth, thanks to the new emphasis on the visual, it will have to recognize that the physical form of verbal texts (including their linkage with illustrations) is one of the factors to be considered in accounting for the influence (or neglect) of certain ideas in the past. What this kind of investigation has in common with traditional analytical bibliography is that both are concerned with deciphering the physical characteristics of books. Although the details relevant to each pursuit are largely different, the two activities both involve reading the nonverbal features of books as evidence for reconstructing portions of the past history of those books. The two focus on different past moments, but both are necessary to tell the full story of books; and there is a logical neatness in associating the two under the rubric of “analytical bibliography” or “bibliographical analysis.” The growth of interest in the social and visual approaches to books is a desirable occurrence not only for throwing light on a relatively disregarded area but also for acquainting a wide audience with the value of physical evidence – and thus paving the way for a broader understanding of all the ways in which books as objects can be read. If, then, we agree to think of analytical bibliography in this logically comprehensive fashion, we might at first believe that the way to distinguish its two branches is to say that one seeks to reconstruct production history and the other reception history. But a moment’s reflection

64

Analysis of design features

reveals that this division is not quite right, for the aesthetic decisions underlying a book’s design are part of production history. Yet because they result in features that readers respond to, they also belong with reception history, if the latter is to encompass – as a comprehensive account would require – intended reception (envisaged, perhaps with unconscious influences, by authors, publishers, and designers) as well as actual reception (experienced by readers). There is thus a distinction between the manufacturing part of production and the planning (or designing) part, and this distinction must be observed in defining the two branches of analytical bibliography. I suggest that one branch (traditional analytical bibliography) be thought of as concerned with the analysis of manufacturing clues (the term I used in the title of the previous chapter) and that the other (the social and visual approach) be regarded as dealing with the analysis of design features, taking into account both their planning and their reception. This phrasing allows for the fact that some details can contribute to both kinds of study, while it accurately conveys the different purposes for which the details are examined. But one must remember that the two approaches are interrelated, since design features cannot be fully understood without an awareness of the manufacturing processes that underlie them. The analysis of the design features of books can therefore concentrate on one or both of two stages in the history of any book. The first is the prepublication stage, in which the typography, layout, and other elements of design are determined. Bibliographical analysis with this focus attempts to assess the extent to which the various features of design were deliberately selected to convey certain effects or meanings to the reader and the extent to which the design choices incorporated a more passive reflection of inherited traditions and contemporary trends – or even of practical necessity, as when they were dictated by the paper and type available. The second stage, the open-ended period following publication, comprises the responses of successive generations of readers to those designs. Analysis with this focus aims to connect book design with the inferred attitudes toward the texts of particular editions formed by the readers of given times and also, if possible, with the known interpretations of those texts by specific readers.5 Any of these analyses involves examining the physical characteristics of books – sometimes including features added or altered

Basic consideration

65

after publication – in the light of as much historical context as can be assembled; but the prepublication stage poses a complication not present in the postpublication one. Whereas the design of books generally has some effect (whether or not the intended one) on readers, visual design and illustrations have not always been considered by authors to be an integral part of their texts, as the words and punctuation necessarily are.6 Some authors did make use of visual effects or orchestrated the typographic design (or certain elements in it) of the books carrying texts of their works, and they regarded such visual features as contributory to literary meaning; but other writers had no concern for book design or illustrations and did not think of the visual presentation of language as a characteristic of their work. And though publishers generally had some intentions regarding design, even they varied in the degree to which they manipulated design to try to produce particular responses and in the extent to which they were willing to accommodate authors’ desires (if any) in this regard. All these matters require sorting out in a thorough analysis of the life story of every book. Intention is always a problematic concept, but the grounds on which a historical concern with intention has been attacked are often incoherent. One can understand why those persons who wish to look at published texts as social constructs are not very interested in authorial intention, since it is the collaborative process of publication and the resulting product that concern them. But authors do have intentions, and their intentions – like all other past events – are legitimate goals for historical investigation, even if they become mixed with the intentions of others in the publication process. One cannot logically object, as some have done, that intentions are ultimately unknowable: there is some degree of uncertainty attaching to all historical reconstructions, but that does not invalidate the effort. Intentions are either of interest or not of interest; and if they are of interest, the difficulty of retrieving them is no reason to abandon the attempt to learn as much as possible about them. Because the intentions of authors and publishers are often different (if not actually in conflict), historical analysis will be more revealing when it tries to distinguish those intentions, rather than treating the publication process as an irreducible amalgam of individual intentions. Sometimes scholars of the social history of books think

66

Analysis of design features

they can bypass intention by focusing on books (and texts) as they in fact were published. Possibly they can, if they wish to limit their investigation to the history of readers’ responses, although they must remember that many (or even most) readers have been interested in authorially intended meaning and have assumed that book design was not part of it. If, however, prepublication history is to be considered, intentions are unavoidably a matter to be investigated, for books and texts as published do not necessarily achieve in every respect the results intended by their publishers (or intended collaboratively by all the persons involved in the production process) – and in any case the published results do not automatically make evident the motivations that underlay them. It is clear, then, that intention of some sort is integral to the study of visual effects in books, just as it is to textual criticism, even when one chooses not to concentrate on the intentions of authors. But, paradoxically, authorial intention in regard to design has sometimes been overestimated in recent years, despite the general move away from interest in authors’ intentions in textual study. The increasing recognition of the role of visual effects in perceived textual meaning has led some people to criticize traditional textual criticism – largely intentionalist – for neglecting the visual and then, in reaction, to exaggerate the extent to which visual effects were created by authors. Intentionalist editors, however, are pledged to present what they regard as authorially intended texts. The fact that they do not often reproduce visual features from first or early editions does not in itself mean that they are insensitive to the effect those features may have had on contemporary readers; what it is more likely to mean is that they have judged typography, layout, and illustrations not to be among the authorially intended characteristics of the texts. Most writers, after all, have not regarded such features as a part of their work.7 The new interest in the visual, though certainly a desirable development, should not blind us to the necessity of discriminating between visual effects that were authorially intended as part of the text and those that were not. This distinction is easier to make in some instances than in others. The visual is obviously integral to shaped poetry, such as some of the poems of Herbert and Traherne, of Mallarmé and Apollinaire, and of twentieth-century concrete poets; or to shaped passages in prose, such as those that occur in Charles

Basic consideration

67

Nodier and Lewis Carroll; or to certain illustrated novels, such as are found in the work of Thackeray and Mark Twain. Even here, there are further distinctions: in Herbert, for example, only the shape, and not the typeface, is textual; but both the type design and the shape are generally integral to concrete poetry. In the large majority of texts, where there is no obviously pictorial element, it may be correspondingly more difficult to decide which aspects of the typography and layout, if any, should be considered part of what the author intended (other than indention and stanza-breaks in poetry, which are usually authorial). But the attempt to make such decisions is essential for the most illuminating kind of publication history, just as it is for informed textual criticism. Furthermore, it is important to keep in mind a point made earlier: that the analysis of design features cannot be conducted independently of the analysis of manufacturing clues. In the same way that traditional analytical bibliography, dealing with manufacturing processes, can set limits for literary criticism, it also can provide a check on the interpretation of book design. A neat illustration of this interconnection has been provided by Shef Rogers, in a 1996 article (“How Many Ts Had Ezra Pound’s Printer?”) pointing out an error in Jerome McGann’s The Textual Condition (1991). McGann, wishing to illustrate Ezra Pound’s “performative typography,” had argued that the presence of an italic T at the opening of one section of Hugh Selwyn Mauberly, when all the other section-openings in the poem have decorated initials, constitutes Pound’s “bibliographical allusion” to the practices of early printers, who made substitutions when the supply of required types gave out. This argument for Pound’s “startling typographical intervention” is supported by the fact that Pound wrote on the proofs, “Use plain capitals or italics … The old printers did this when fancy capitals ran out.” According to McGann, the supply of fancy Ts had not in fact run out, because T. S. Eliot’s Ara Vos Prec, printed by the same printer in the same year, uses decorated Ts in six places, and Mauberly does not call for more Ts than that (pp. 155–60). The defect in this argument is that it ignores the printing process: it is not constructed in terms of the formes of type that went on the press but instead assumes that an entire text would be in type at once. As Rogers points out, no more than two decorated Ts were needed in

68

Analysis of design features

any forme of the Eliot quarto, but three were required in one forme of the Pound octavo, the one where an italic T was used. Only two decorated Ts (identified by their distinguishing peculiarities) appear in the Eliot and Pound books, and apparently Pound understood that the printer possessed only two. The argument that the italic T “was a deliberate moment of modernist constructivism in the text” and “the index of a massive act of reverential recollection” is thus falsified by two basic techniques of standard bibliographical analysis: the determination of format and the identification of individual pieces of type. Any interpretation of the intended effect of a specific example of typography must be consistent with the technical process that produced it. With all these considerations in mind, we may now look at what I suggest are the three interrelated approaches that can be taken to the design features of books: the psychological, the cultural, and the aesthetic. They overlap, but they represent emphases that can usefully be distinguished. What I am labeling the psychological approach examines the physiology of reading and the largely subconscious effects produced by particular t ype styles and sizes, line lengths and spaces between lines, margin widths, and other features, always tempered by a recognition of the role played by the familiarity of the content. The cultural approach involves analyzing the design of individual books in the light of book-design history, taking into account the associations that particular styles and formats had at given times, as well as the ways in which type designs, layouts, papers, illustrations, and bindings reflected political, social, and artistic trends. The aesthetic approach aims at elucidating the individual uses of book design by authors and publishers’ staffs to reinforce certain meanings in, or add them to, the texts; such uses might, or might not, incorporate historical allusions – and once created, they might become part of the stock of historical associations to be alluded to later. Each of these approaches can provide insight into what book designs meant both to the creators of books and to the audiences for books; and all three should be employed together to achieve as full a picture as possible. The vast historical literature relating to type, typography, paper, illustration, printing, and binding is of course relevant to these analytical pursuits, and it contains many passages that analyze specific books; but it is for the most part a descriptive body

Psychological study

69

of work distinct from the analytical literature that I am describing here.8 Traditional historical studies of bookmaking practices bear the same relation to the bibliographical analysis of design features as to the bibliographical analysis of manufacturing clues. In both cases, analytical studies of individual books furnish the data for broader historical generalizations, which in turn form the background knowledge brought to bear on further analysis, which then may necessitate revised generalizations, and so on. P s yc hol o g ic a l s t u dy Of the three angles of approach to the history of the production and reception of the design of tangible verbal texts, the psychological has been the least used by students of book history, though the psychology of reading is undoubtedly a basic subject for understanding readers’ responses – and arguably, depending on how it is defined, more basic than any other. Experiments on the legibility of type can be traced back to Jean Anisson’s comparison of Garamond and Didot in the 1790s;9 but perhaps the most useful starting point for present purposes is the famous work of Cyril Burt, the once eminent British statistical psychologist.10 He and several collaborators began, just after World War II, to conduct a series of experiments for testing the legibility of reading matter and determining the bases for readers’ preferences in typographic design. The results first appeared in 1955 in the British Journal of Statistical Psychology; then, four years later, Burt rewrote the report for the general reader and published it in book form as A Psychological Study of Typography, with an introduction by Stanley Morison. That Morison, as a prominent type designer and typographical historian, was attracted to Burt’s work symbolizes its dual usefulness – both as practical guidance for producers of printed matter and as essential background for historians of readers’ responses to such matter. The particular merit of Burt’s approach was its realistic breadth. Earlier attempts to study legibility scientifically had tended to concentrate on individual letterforms,11 but Burt focused on the grouping of letters into words and sentences. And although he conducted tests relating to the design, boldness, and size of type, the length of lines and width of margins, and the spacing between lines, he recognized

70

Analysis of design features

that all these factors interact and cannot profitably be thought about in isolation. Indeed, he understood, as does any good book designer, that the texture of the paper, the color of the ink, and the quality of the presswork are also involved in legibility.12 Furthermore, he saw the importance of content and habit in individual responses: efficiency of reading (measured by tested comprehension in relation to speed) is significantly affected by whether the genre or subject of the text is already familiar to the reader and whether the type design and lay out are traditional for that kind of material and are expected by the reader. Thus in his test that asked respondents to express their relative preferences for different typefaces, he also obtained biographical information, so that readers with different backgrounds could be segregated. This realistic acknowledgment of the many relevant variables complicated Burt’s task of drawing objective statistical conclusions; but he was able to formulate some generalizations about optimal design and layout for different age groups and to determine that aesthetic preferences in design are often correlated with accuracy and speed of reading. Although Burt said that his statistical results were not intended to make a contribution to the historical study of typography (p. 26), they clearly do have implications for historians concerned with the physical book. Since readers’ typographical preferences are, at least partially, conditioned by their previous reading experiences, any survey of such preferences has a historical dimension; and therefore, conversely, any historical study of typographical conventions tells us something about the readers’ responses that helped to support the maintenance of those conventions. Just as a book designer can take some practical hints from Burt, so a historian can use Burt’s line of thinking in analyzing the motivations of book designers in the past, as well as the ongoing responses of readers to the books thus designed. These motivations and responses are often partly conscious and partly unconscious, and one of the strengths of Burt’s study is that this mixture is taken into account. Even as he found that readers’ stated typeface preferences were often influenced by their efficiency of reading, he could also show that sometimes readers’ performances were at odds with their conscious beliefs, as when they claimed to find twelve-point type more legible than ten-point but actually demonstrated the opposite in a reading test (p. 18). To the historian,

Psychological study

71

book designers’ or readers’ conscious attitudes are – if not placed on record – just as difficult of access as their unconscious motivations; but both are part of what the historian wishes to reconstruct, and the findings of a psychologist may be of assistance in setting the framework for thinking about the unconscious influences in book designers’ choices and readers’ responses. Morison had previously come to some of the same conclusions as Burt without engaging in statistical testing, as shown by his discussion of legibility in his celebrated Memorandum on a Proposal to Revise the Typography of “The Times” (1930).13 For example, he memorably stated that “the riddle of legibility” lies in the grouping of letters as words, “for words seem to have a quiddity of their own distinct from the quiddity of the letters” (p. 309). But in addition to the “legibility” of word-groups and the “perceptibility” of individual letters, a font must also possess, he says, the “readability” that is determined by “the limits of the reader’s memory” (p. 310). Thus serifs (the thin strokes at the ends of main strokes) are crucial because the eye has become “habituated … to their appearance,” and as a result they “assist the eye in making rapid distinctions between similar characters” (p. 312). The complexity of the matter is indicated by his enumeration of the details that a book designer has to take into account: “(1) size of the character; (2) weight of the lines forming the character; (3) breadth in relation to height; (4) amount of dissimilarity between combinations of characters to some extent alike (c, e, etc.); (5) amount of space between (a) letters, between (b) words, between (c) lines, between (d) paragraphs; (6) length of line; (7) method of separating lines from adjacent lines – e.g., column rules; (8) purely optional or decorative elements in the shape of the character; (9) desirability of using cursive sorts [such as italics]; (10) light-reflecting quality of paper; (11) colour of paper; (12) ink” (p. 311). Though Morison’s ideas emerged from his own insights rather than formal testing, they were in effect confirmed by extensive testing later: for the process initiated by his Memorandum ended with his design of Times New Roman, which became one of the most widely used typefaces of the twentieth ­century.14 Among its chief characteristics is a large x-height (that is, in letters with ascenders and descenders, the relative height of the central part of those letters in comparison to the length of the ascenders and descenders), with a resulting prominence of enclosed white space that aids legibility, especially in small sizes of type.

72

Analysis of design features

Although Morison’s Memorandum was not intended as a guide for book designers, it commented on many of the same points about legibility that such works necessarily cover. Two classics of the genre, Oliver Simon’s concise Introduction to Typography (1945) and Hugh Williamson’s more extensive Methods of Book Design (1956), can serve to illustrate the point. Simon, in his chapter on “Choosing the Type Face” (pp. 11–21), discusses legibility in terms of six factors that “have a practical importance of their own apart from any aesthetic considerations,” and the list is similar to Morison’s (comprising width, relation of face size to body size, shading, x-height, size of capitals, and weight). He also makes a point of how the amount of space between lines affects the “colour value of type.” Williamson, near the beginning of his chapter on “Principles of Text Design” (pp. 108–24), says, “Legibility, then, is the aim” and observes that “every printed detail may have some value to the reader.” Among the details he elaborates on are the “apparent size” of the letters (influenced by such characteristics as x-height), “interlinear space,” and the length of the line. The last of these, he says, is affected by the fact that “most readers assimilate the words in one line with a limited number of glances”; too long a line entails “too many glances,” involving “not only excessive changes of focus but movement of the head from left to right and back again.” Legibility, after all, has a physiological aspect. Morison, in his very brief and widely read “First Principles of Typography” (1930), speaks of “what the eye cannot read with ease” or “cannot agreeably read.” And one is not surprised that the committee on the redesign of The Times in 1931 made use of a positive report on Times New Roman from William Lister, a renowned ophthalmologist. The intertwined physiology and psychology of reading, whether explicitly mentioned by writers on book design or not, underlie their observations on legibility. Beatrice  Warde’s well-known comparison of typography to a crystal goblet (in the title essay of her 1955 collection of essays) makes essentially a psychological point: typography, like the design of a crystal goblet, can be creative to a degree, but the artistry cannot interfere with the utilitarian purpose being served, as would happen if it offered a distraction from the expectations in users’ or readers’ minds. In the words of the subtitle of her essay, “Printing Should Be Invisible”; if it is not, the reader is “subconsciously worried” (p. 12).

Psychological study

73

Such responses to given designs can to some extent be examined by following the insights that typographers have laid out in their writings; but the empirical studies of psychologists are also important for giving specificity to what would otherwise be largely intuitive guesses about some of the biological bases of reading.15 Historians of the book may not find it easy to use such information, but they should recognize, more often than they ever have, that one element in any comprehensive account of reader response is the physiological and that book designs of the past need to be analyzed from this point of view.16 The other unconscious, or partly unconscious, response to printed matter – mentioned above and regularly commented on by Burt – will be more congenial to most historians because it requires historical rather than physiological knowledge: the prior associations that readers may have with particular type designs and layouts. Morison, in his introduction to Burt’s book, mentions Wyndham Lewis’s Blast (1914) as an example of the use of typography – in this case sans-serif types – as “an ideological ‘instrument’ for a certain kind of composition thundered forth from a militant literary, artistic or political group” (p. xv). The idea of using design to symbolize rebellion from the status quo (an idea that has been manifested in all arts and crafts, not simply typography) is of course conscious up to a point, but some of the reasons for certain alterations of detail may be unconscious, even to those creating a program; and certainly part of their aim is to plant in the unconscious of their readers an association between form and ideas and in the process to solidify the identity of the movement. From then on, those readers are likely – perhaps more unconsciously than consciously – to think of the same ideas when they see a similar design and to request such a design if they in turn produce writing with the same viewpoint. Some of the conscious instances of typographical associationism I shall comment on later; the present point is simply a reminder that the historical study of book design must not lose sight of the unconscious allusions and feelings embedded in designers’ decisions and readers’ responses. In 1967, eight years after Burt’s book appeared, Merald E. Wrolstad of the Cleveland Museum of Art started a quarterly called Journal of Typographic Research. The title did not specify a particular approach to “typographic research” because the aim of the journal from the

74

Analysis of design features

beginning was to include all kinds of writing about typography; its role would emerge, Wrolstad said in the preface to the first number, through “the inevitable interaction with the various related scientific, academic, and artistic disciplines.” In other words, the journal would welcome work by psychologists, historians, and designers (among others), for Wrolstad was convinced that there are “no sharp breaks – no boundaries – where the realm of science ends and those of the humanities and art begin.” The opening article was Richard H. Wiggins’s “Effects of Three Typographical Variables on Speed of Reading” (dealing with line lengths, spacing, and right margins),17 and many more studies of this kind were to follow over the years. But such articles could have appeared in a number of psychology journals, and what made Wrolstad’s distinctive was its interspersing of these articles with others that would normally be found in the periodicals of bibliographical societies and in graphic-design magazines. By the end of the first year there had been articles on analytical bibliography, the history of typesetting machines, and concrete poetry (among other topics). This mixture has the same effect as the appearance of Morison and Burt in the same volume: it makes readers see interdisciplinary connections that may not have occurred to them before, at least not in any detailed way. In the fourth number, Wrolstad discussed the “ecumenical spirit” that would link “commonly-oriented groups of scholars, practitioners, and scientists,” and he used the phrase “visible language” that was to become the title of the journal in its fifth year. The editorial essay announcing the new title described the journal as “what could be the first concerted effort to organize our investigations of every respect of this visual medium of language expression.” Six years later, in the Autumn 1977 number devoted to Roland Barthes, the subtitle became “The research journal concerned with all that is involved in our being literate.” Wrolstad never lost an opportunity to emphasize this inclusiveness,18 and those bibliographers who considered his magazine outside their field (there were many such) had simply not gotten his message – and unwittingly illustrated the difficult task his journal had tackled. Besides conducting Visible Language, Wrolstad was instrumental in organizing three international conferences on “Processing of Visible Language” in the late 1970s and early 1980s, which in each case resulted in an anthology of papers reflecting the same mix as the

Cultural study

75

journal.19 Michael Twyman, who appeared in two of these volumes, can be taken to symbolize the kind of integration that Wrolstad was championing. Twyman is both a historian of printing, with a specialty in the history of lithography, and a graphic designer; but he also writes papers (such as these two) that recognize the effect of spatial arrangements in cognitive processes. For the first collection (1979), he worked out (exhibiting a wide knowledge of the psychological literature) a “schema for the study of graphic language” in which he examined the main configurations (lines, lists, matrixes, branches) that can be employed in verbal, pictorial, and schematic forms of symbolization. The other essay, in the third volume (1986), offered a historical sketch of the uses of these configurations, noting that historical studies have generally neglected the “graphic dimension of language in relation to its function as a carrier of ideas and information” (p. 188). After offering a case study of tabular presentation in the early nineteenth century, he suggested a modification in the traditional assessment of nineteenth-century printing: the period has been associated with a decline in design because historians have focused on linear prose, but it can be seen as a time of exciting innovation if one looks at its experimentation with the configurations for presenting information spatially and graphically. Twyman’s work fit well into Wrolstad’s program because it illustrated how a concern usually associated with psychologists – the manipulation of printed matter for ease of comprehension – could illuminate historical study. The openness of Wrolstad’s view was captured by Gunnlaugur S. E.  Briem at the time of Wrolstad’s death in 1987: “He knew statisticians and visionaries, scientists and typographers, flat-earthers, scholars, alchemists and conspiracy theorists, and was kinder to most of them than they deserved.”20 Visible Language remains as a reminder of Wrolstad’s integrative challenge, which so far few bibliographers have addressed. C u lt u r a l s t u dy What I am calling the  ”cultural” approach to the analysis of book design can be illustrated by a teaching exercise used by D. F.  McKenzie. He opened his Centenary Lecture to the

76

Analysis of design features

 ibliographical Society (1992, published the next year) by describing B one of his classroom devices: he showed his students a blank bookblock – that is, a set of folded sheets sewn in gatherings, without a binding or printed text – and asked them to say “what kind of text the blank book was designed for, and to date it.” Through the evidence of the kind of paper, the format, and the bulk of the whole, the students were able, McKenzie says (and no doubt with his guidance), to come to the correct conclusion that this book-block was a dummy for a mass-market novel of the 1930s; in the process McKenzie demonstrated that some historical knowledge of the cultural trends in book marketing enables one to read a considerable amount of information from physical evidence, in the absence of any printed text whatever. If there had been printing on the pages, even in an unknown language, still more evidence would have been available in the t ypeface design and size, the space between lines, the arrangement of running-titles and page numbers, the amount of margin space, the placement and style of decorations and illustrations, and so on.21 In other words, an acquaintance with the styles of bookmaking associated with specific genres or classes of writing at particular times and locations enables one to place a given book in a historical setting and to know something of the way its text was viewed by its producers and its readers. It is in the nature of conventions to be employed and received unthinkingly, but they are not for that reason unrevealing; and departures from conventions are likely to be intentionally emphatic statements, and recognized as such. One is never surprised to find an Elizabethan play in quarto format or a Victorian novel in three octavo volumes; but those styles are as informative as are the exceptions to the general rule in indicating how the authors and publishers wished to have the texts regarded and how the book-buyers and readers were likely to have regarded them.22 This kind of analytical use of book design to enhance the historical understanding of culture must rest on familiarity with period styles. It is concerned with broad trends and their reflection in individual items more than it is with the idiosyncratic employment of design features by authors and publishers to convey meanings supportive of those in particular verbal texts. The latter I shall turn to in a moment; my present concern is with the sort of knowledge gained through first-hand observation of large quantities of books from all periods,

Cultural study

77

supplemented by manuals of design from the past and by the many historical surveys of printing, book design, illustration, and binding that exist both in book form and in graphic-arts periodicals.23 The contributions of specific designers and the content of their manifestoes form a significant part of this background knowledge, for the creative vision of a typeface designer or a book designer reflects, as does the work of all artists, the interplay (in Eliot’s terms) between tradition and individual talent.24 The truly analytical examination of the connections between book design and cultural history does not have an extensive history, and much of it is associated with Stanley Morison. The idea that typography and layout, like other arts and crafts, reflect the intellectual and political milieux of which they are a part is implicit in most of what he wrote, and he often made it explicit as well. Morison concluded a 1944 lecture (“The Typographic Arts”), for example, by saying that, if his historical survey “proves anything, it proves that in typography, style is a reflection of style imposed upon works of art in general by the most significant accomplishment of the period” (p. 39). But he also recognized that such imposition of style coexists with the creativity of individual designers: in one of his early writings, On Type Faces (1923), he said, “In the hands of a fine craftsman an appropriate type will suggest an atmosphere, point the conception of an author, and, in short, go more than half way towards illustrating the book” (p. vi). Because in this instance he was introducing a collection of typefaces, he focused on the selection of type designs, but his historical approach to the subject made clear that the prospective employment of a design and its historic use are two sides of the same coin. Typefaces can “suggest an atmosphere” and “point the conception of an author” in large part by virtue of their prior associations (when they are recognized, even subconsciously); and his various collections of title-pages, where he was examining letterform and layout choices after the fact, document the role of tradition in producing new traditions. Whenever Morison looked at a page of manuscript or printing, he saw a record of dramatic action, the adaptation at a particular past moment of a social and cultural inheritance. This insight is reflected in the title of his ambitious final work, based on his Lyell Lectures of 1957, privately printed in a series of

78

Analysis of design features

pamphlets that year and finally published in 1972 (under the editorship of Nicolas Barker, whose fine biography of Morison came out the same year): Politics and Script: Aspects of Authority and Freedom in the Development of Graeco-Latin Script from the Sixth Century B.C. to the Twentieth Century A.D. The book deals more with letterforms than with layout,25 and more with authority than with freedom. What it attempts is to show how letterforms “have been conditioned by movements in religion and politics” (p. 3) – to detect, in other words of Morison’s, “some of the causes outside the artists’ and workmen’s shops that have changed the alphabetical lettering employed in the West” (p. 2). Morison acknowledges at the outset that this undertaking “fits somewhat uncomfortably into the contemporary range of bibliography” (p. 1); but bibliography is finally beginning to come round to his view that the analysis of the historical asso­ ciations embedded in book design is one of the illuminating ways to examine physical evidence. As Morison says on the first page of his introduction (in a sentence that has since been quoted many times), “The bibliographer may be able, by his study of the physical form of an inscription, manuscript, book, newspaper, or other medium of record, to reveal considerations that appertain to the history of something distinct from religion, politics, and literature, namely: the history of the use of the intellect.”26 In effect, Morison here places bibliographical study in the context of the investigation of all artifacts, for all objects produced by humanity, whether or not they carry verbal texts, can be read as evidences of intellect operating within historical circumstances. Morison’s book, founded on this vision, is one of the grandest in conception of all bibliographical works: to account for “a twenty-fivecentury process of evolution inspired by many scribes and sculptors working collectively and individually under the authority of emperors, popes, and patriarchs or abbots or masters of guilds” (p. 339). To pursue a subject of this breadth inevitably entails what Morison modestly (but often accurately) called his “casual guesses,” and he emphasized the tentative nature of his conclusions. His book is perhaps a risky model for lesser hands; but his learning and judgment, along with the remarkable amount of detail he managed to include, make the book not only a monument but also a framework for further research. His broad outlines (particularly broad for the period

Cultural study

79

of printing, dealt with in about fifty pages) are endlessly suggestive of more detailed studies, which bibliographers should now produce in order to fill out or modify the larger picture he painted. But that picture, whatever flaws it may be shown to have, puts bibliographers in the position of seeing – or knowing that they must learn to see – all letterforms and their usage against a rich backdrop of historical movements and traditions.27 The year after Morison’s lectures were delivered, Bertrand H. Bronson published a pioneering essay entitled “Printing as an Index of Taste in Eighteenth-Century England” (1958). Deploring the lack of attention to printing design in the study of cultural history, Bronson argued for a greater awareness of the “multiform influences” connecting book design and other arts. The key insight that underlay his analysis was that every book design reflects “the weight of tradition operative in the particular society for which the book is created” (p. 375). He examined not only the visual elements in title-pages and text-pages but also the implications carried by format, given the development of “a notion of correct relations between subject-matter and physical size” (p. 379). This well-illustrated essay is only a preliminary exploration; but since Morison’s lectures did not appear in a readily available printed form for another fourteen years, Bronson’s piece – which came out in pamphlet form as well as in a periodical – served for a considerable time as perhaps the best introduction to the idea of analyzing book design for the cultural meaning it carries. In any case Bronson’s focus (not being on letterforms) was on a different aspect of this complex subject from  Morison’s, as was Nicolas Barker’s in a 1977 Wolfenbuttel lecture (published in 1981) on “Typography and the Meaning of Words.” Barker sketched out, with international examples, some of the evidence for a “revolution in the typographical layout of books” (p. 132) in the eighteenth century, both in title-pages and text-pages, and he urged that the study of  layout be made a standard part of bibliographical research. In this plea, he noted that such study “involves putting yourself into the skin of the person … who took the decisions which resulted in the appearances which you now see” (p. 138). The effect of Barker’s use of the word “decisions” is to emphasize the fact that intentions were involved in every act of following, as well as departing from, a traditional practice – and thus that trying to get inside the skin

80

Analysis of design features

of whoever was making these decisions means attempting to understand the contemporary associations of each usage. Such associations existed, of course, in the minds of readers (or some of them) as well as of the producers of books, and the readers’ perspective was emphasized a decade and a half later in a pair of suggestive papers by David McKitterick, which round out what may be thought of as a core group of introductory essays on the topic.28 In his 1991 Monash lecture (published in 1993), indicatively entitled “The Acceptable Face of Print,” McKitterick explores the question of “typographical awareness” (p. 22) and thus of readers’ expectations that conventions will be followed. His discussion naturally involves a consideration of national traditions and house-styles along with the process by which “innovation becomes practice and thence convention” (p. 27). His other piece, “Old Faces and New Acquaintances: Typography and the Association of Ideas” (his 1993 address to the Bibliographical Society of America), imaginatively uses the responses to  type facsimiles and purported facsimiles (sometimes devised with fraudulent intent) as a way of testing “readers’ typographic literacy” (p. 166) – of assessing the precise limits of their recognition of national, period, and genre styles. One could sum up the central lesson that McKitterick is trying to teach by saying that the history of reading must have a large bibliographical component – an admonition analogous to that of the New Bibliographers at the other end of the twentieth century when they insisted that literary criticism must be grounded in the physical book. McKitterick’s concerns here are among those that underlie his history of  Cambridge University Press, the first volume of which was published at about the same time (1992). He makes clear at the outset that such a work must investigate “the unfolding interplay of social context, process of manufacture, assumptions as to physical appearance both on the page and in the surroundings of a volume or other form of publication, and the frame of reference, both preceding and contemporary, provided by other similar or related works.” McKitterick’s learned and eloquent book of 2003, Print, Manuscript and the Search for Order, 1450–1830, continues to explore “the link between bibliographical form and public meaning.” Understanding this link is basic to his central aim, which has a Morisonian scope: to begin to “comprehend the ways by which thought and knowledge

Aesthetic study

81

have been shared and interpreted for five hundred years among authors, printers, publishers and readers” (p. 19).29 In the first of those two essays of McKitterick’s, he called what is in fact an impressively wide-ranging series of examples “a scatter-shot collection of observations” (p. 27). One is reminded of Barker’s description of his own contribution as “a first fumbling essay” (p. 138) and Morison’s suggestion that his work might be entitled “Drafts of Notes upon Inferences” (p. 2). The immense complexity of the subject inevitably causes initial surveys of that complexity to seem “scatter-shot” and “fumbling,” but these writings do provide some of the necessary insights that will help scholars to go to work filling in the details of specific situations with a firm sense of purpose, as McKitterick himself has done. A e s t h e t ic s t u dy The third approach to analyzing book design may be called “aesthetic” to suggest its concern with the role of the visual in the artistry of individual verbal works. The aesthetic approach, to be sure, is not entirely distinct from the cultural, for an alertness to cultural history must always be present. Authors and publishers, for example, may make conscious use of allusive design to link a current work with a past tradition and expect the design to have an effect (conscious or unconscious) on the way the work is read. But in this situation the design is more an element of meaning in the work than it is a reflection of contemporary design (though the allusive design will inevitably have been subtly modernized, whether or not any modernization was intended). A design does not have to allude to the past, however, to have been deliberately planned by an author or publisher to produce certain responses in readers. What I mean by the “aesthetic” analysis of book design, then, is the attempt to understand the intended role of design in particular verbal works, as well as the effect of such designs (whether the intended effect or not) on readers. This usage subsumes the more usual sense of the aesthetics of typography, for one must be able to evaluate the artistry of type and layout in order to undertake a historical analysis of how that artistry may have been used and responded to by individuals in the past. Whereas the cultural approach reads book design for broad trends reflective of a given

82

Analysis of design features

time and place, the aesthetic approach tries to discover the role of book design in the intended and received meanings of specific verbal works.30 Just as McKenzie’s analysis of a blank book illustrates the cultural approach by linking specific book-forms with particular genres of writing, so his 1977 analysis31 of the three-volume octavo collected edition of Congreve’s works (1710) serves as a paradigm of the aesthetic approach by showing that the design of this edition was an intended part of the meaning of the works it contains. McKenzie explains in great specificity how Congreve consciously used such  design elements as letter-spaced large and small roman capitals in headlines or ornamental drop-initials for act-openings – “the mere disposition of space” (p. 109) – to “mediate his stage action and stage image,” indeed to “shape the book as a definition of himself and his creation” (p. 112). In the publisher Jacob Tonson, Congreve found “the perfect instrument” for giving “public form” to his “authorial intentions” (p. 112), and the two “were at one in defining and serving a common goal: the evocation in their readers, through the arts of the book, of the finest qualities of Congreve’s own art as a dramatist” (p. 106). McKenzie’s discussion, which is rich in historical detail, explores the typographic heritage available to Tonson and Congreve but makes clear that the layout of Congreve’s 1710 edition is not simply the outgrowth of a tradition (it has “no obvious archetype”) but is rather a conscious and innovative shaping of design to convey particular meanings, including Congreve’s “literary ideas” (p. 112). This effective argument is unfortunately linked to a tendentious criticism of the intentionalist scholarly editing influenced by Greg’s rationale of copy-text,32 for McKenzie considers this approach to deny “the relevance, the meaning, of typographic form” (p. 89); he even ends the essay by claiming that “current theories of textual criticism” are “indifferent” to “the history of the book, its architecture, and the visual language of typography” (p. 118). The truth is that intentionalist editors have never considered book design irrelevant in the abstract, but they have quite understandably excluded it as a textual element in specific instances, if they concluded that the author did not intend it to be part of the text. McKenzie is unquestionably right to say in his last paragraph that, in order “accurately to reconstruct our literary past, we cannot be indifferent to the details of book form” (p. 117); but

Aesthetic study

83

that is not the equivalent of saying that book design always conveys authorially intended meanings.33 Although McKenzie’s lack of focus on this point detracts from the essay, his discussion of Congreve will remain a touchstone for anyone hoping to demonstrate an author’s employment of typography. A companion landmark, with which McKenzie’s piece will always be linked, is David Foxon’s 1976 series of Lyell Lectures (published in 1991, as edited by James McLaverty), which explore Alexander Pope’s relations with the book trade of his time and show how Pope came to control the design of the volumes in which his texts appeared. The primary case-study is Pope’s translation of the Iliad (published in six volumes, 1715–20), appearing just after Congreve’s collected edition and revealing another major author’s equally independent handling of format and layout. Pope’s contract with his publisher gave him full authority over the design, and Foxon explains the “revolutionary” nature of Pope’s decisions (p. 51). When Pope (perhaps influenced by French models) chose quarto format for subscribers’ copies and folio for trade copies, he was departing from a long tradition of regarding folio as the more luxurious format for monumental works; and the example of his Iliad, an assertion of his sense of the classic, served for others as a new model, which became the dominant style within a few years. Another of Pope’s innovations that turned into a fashion was the conversion of headpieces (above the text at the opening of each Book of the Iliad) into true illustrations (whereas formerly illustrations had been on facing pages, and headpieces consisted of formal designs). Pope’s aim, Foxon suggests, may have been “to bring engraving and letterpress into a closer relationship” (p. 71). The most influential of Pope’s departures from conventional practice, which Foxon traces through successive works, were his abandonment of routine capitalization of nouns (from 1717) and his elimination of italics for proper names (from 1729). These changes reflect “Pope’s desire to classicize or romanize” (p. 196), but they also show his understanding of how the visual can be used as an element in textual communication, for he made different typographical decisions for different audiences: in general, he removed the conventional italics from the copies intended for the privileged group of subscribers but not from the copies intended for the wider reading public.

84

Analysis of design features

Foxon’s study of Pope and McKenzie’s of Congreve form a unit in many ways, and together they opened the last quarter of the twentieth century as a new era in the examination of book design. McKenzie’s 1977 lecture was an extension of his 1976 Sandars Lectures on the late seventeenth-century book trade,34 delivered at the same time as Foxon’s Lyell Lectures on Pope and the early eighteenth-century book trade. It may be that McKenzie’s discussion more thoroughly shows the literary meanings conveyed through typography, but both scholars clearly demonstrate how authors manipulate design for their own purposes. And both confront the implications for textual criticism, though Foxon’s lectures in their published form are less doctrinaire in this respect than McKenzie’s lecture. Even Foxon, however, is incautious in his criticism of “modern English textual criticism,” emphasizing how Pope’s habits of revision “contradict” (p. 153) the assumption of Greg’s rationale – as if Greg did not explicitly recognize that some authors pay careful attention to punctuation and spelling in revised editions. Foxon does effectively lay out the implications for editors – especially those concerned with “final intention” – of Pope’s “continual revision of punctuation” (p. 225) and his pioneering typographical practices. Although one cannot generalize from the habits of Pope, or of Congreve before him, the lectures of Foxon and McKenzie should cause scholars and other readers to be more alert to the possibilities of authorial uses of typography. And they provide excellent models by illustrating the importance of a detailed knowledge of book-trade history as an underpinning for typographical analysis. These lectures have been followed by a number of studies of authorial command of visual presentation in earlier and later periods;35 but the more recent works have frequently not offered the depth of historical reference that Foxon and McKenzie were able to marshal. A prominent example is Jerome McGann’s Black Riders (1993), which tackles the important subject indicated in its subtitle, The Visible Language of Modernism. Despite its historical impressionism and its lack of focus, this book makes a substantial contribution to the understanding of modernist writing. Whereas there has been wide recognition that some modernist poets, such as E. E.  Cummings and William Carlos Williams, employed visual effects (the kind that are readily understood to be a part of the text, such as extra spacing

Aesthetic study

85

between words, the use of capitals of varying sizes, the absence of capitals, the positioning of line-breaks, and the relative placement of poetic lines), McGann shows that some of the typographic features not usually understood as textually significant were also used deliberately by authors. He explains, for example, how the particular combination of ornamental initials and text type in Pound’s first two collections of Cantos (in 1925 and 1928) offers a contrast between the Kelmscott and Bodley Head styles and thereby defines the “historical nexus” that Pound was concerned with, recalling “at the design level” both the “rich weight” of William Morris’s medieval allusiveness and the “elegance and simplicity” of the Bodley Head page (pp. 79–80). But when McGann proceeds to examine  concrete poetry and related movements as beneficiaries of “this bibliographical inheritance” (p. 98), he blurs an important distinction. For there is a distinction to be made between, on the one hand, the basic elements of book design (such as typeface, margins, paper, format) and, on the other, idiosyncratic visual displays within the text. All are elements of the visual field encountered by readers, but the former are not all, or always, used by authors or designers to convey meaning (even if they do in fact often convey some meaning to readers). A concern with intended effects (as McGann’s is here) requires confronting this distinction; and although McGann does see differences among the authors he discusses, he does not sharply focus on this point. His vague use of the word “bibliography” is symptomatic of the problem: it sometimes refers to any or all of the visible aspects of books and sometimes signifies particular uses of those features, as when he speaks of Morris’s “bibliographical renaissance” (p. 84). His goal of showing how “the physical aspects of writing … are made a conscious part of the imagination’s activities” (p. 112) is certainly to be applauded; but the line he draws from Morris and Pound to Bob Brown and Susan Howe could be more illuminating if the constituent elements of the “bibliographical” had been more acutely differentiated and tracked. The book remains valuable but is at the same time an object lesson in one of the difficulties facing anyone who engages in this kind of bibliographical analysis. The discrimination I have in mind can perhaps be clarified by looking at John Sparrow’s writings on the art of inscriptions. The title of his 1967 “epigraphical anthology,” Line upon Line, expresses

86

Analysis of design features

his approach more revealingly than the title of his 1969 book (derived from his 1964 Sandars Lectures), Visible Words – for he was concerned entirely with the role of lineation in meaning and did not consider letterforms.36 Although he framed his inquiry in general terms (in the latter book) as “how far the eye can play a part in the appreciation of a work of literature” (p. 1), he defined the inscription as a form in which “the composer thinks in lines” (p. 2) or (in the earlier book) as an art resulting from “the relation between the spatial arrangement of its component words and the meaning that they carry” (p. 9).37 The distinction he made explicitly is not (as one might have expected) between lineation and letterforms but between two uses of lineation: those that he dismissed as “mere visual puns,” where the layout illustrates the meaning already present in the text (as in George Herbert or Lewis Carroll), and those where the lineation does “enhance or enforce” (p. 13) – or “contribute to” (1969, p. 4) – that meaning, as in what he regards as inscriptional art. Yet these are differences of degree, since in either case the lineation is an intended part of the text; and a perhaps more fundamental distinction is between such textual features and other – traditionally “nontextual” – design elements that affect readers’ perceptions. That a sensitive reader of visual form like Sparrow neglected the role of letterforms is symbolic of a general imbalance that exists in much of the recent writing on visual meanings (both conscious and unconscious) in literary presentation. And there is a great deal of such writing, as exemplified by books with titles like Word and Visual Imagination (Höltgen, 1988), Expressive Typography: The Word as Image (Elam, 1990), Language and Typography (Swann, 1991), The Graphic Unconscious in Early Modern French Writing (Conley, 1992), The Stuff of Literature: Physical Aspects of Texts and Their Relation to Literary Meaning (Levenston, 1992), Margins and Marginality: The Printed Page in Early Modern England (Tribble, 1993), The Visible Word (Drucker, 1994), Cultural Artifacts and the Production of Meaning (Ezell and O’Keeffe, 1994), Textual Bodies (Kaufmann, 1994), Material Modernism (Bornstein, 2001), Illuminating Letters: Typography and Literary Interpretation (Gutjahr and Benton, 2001), Reading the Graphic Surface: The Presence of the Book in Prose Fiction (Farr, 2005), and Theories of Reading: Books, Bodies, and Bibliomania (Littau, 2006).

Aesthetic study

87

Although this outpouring is welcome and contains some excellent work, it displays a general tendency to focus on book illustration, layout, and typographic displays and to pay insufficient attention to the quieter (but no less expressive) background made up of specific typeface designs, type sizes, letter-spacing, type-page dimensions, and the like.38 Nor should bindings be left out of the picture: publishers’ bindings indicate publishers’ intentions for a book just as typographic design does; and custom bindings (from before or after the beginning of edition-binding) can reflect readers’ attitudes or contemporary aesthetics and can help to date, and identify the writers of, marginalia.39 The burgeoning field of literary materiality can become more illuminating if it develops a greater awareness of all the forms of bibliographical analysis that are required for a comprehensive account of a book’s design. Printed pages and bindings are spaces within which one can observe a complex interplay of conscious decisions, subconscious associations, and historical influences. Our understanding of what we are seeing there, and what past readers saw, can only be enhanced by analytical rigor, causing us carefully to distinguish traditions, intentions, and responses and also comprehensively to encompass all the visual features present, not just selected ones. Artifacts are extensions of the bodies of those who produced them, embodiments of thoughts sent forth into the world, where they become part of the physical surroundings to be perceived by others, who sometimes put their marks on them as well. One of Walt W hitman’s most famous comments – and one that illustrates his ability to speak to late twentieth-century and early twenty-first-century concerns – was his assertion that Leaves of Grass “is no book, / Who touches this touches a man” (“So Long,” 1860). By his choice of the verb “touches” he showed that he was thinking of the physical embodiment of his words, and not just disembodied language. As a printer himself, it was natural that he should think in these terms and that he should write a poem called “A Font of Type” (1888), in which he celebrated the physical basis of communication by seeing the “pallid slivers” of types as a repository of “unlaunch’d voices.” The voices we hear through the inked shapes printed in books (and all the other physical characteristics of books) are not just those of

88

Analysis of design features

authors, but of designers, printers, and publishers as well, and of the cultures and politics they inherited and engaged in. Books also often bear traces of their subsequent lives and bring us voices from some of the other moments through which they have existed. To appreciate this story properly, we must finally combine the psychological, cultural, and aesthetic analyses of  design features with the results of the study of manufacturing clues. This grand project is still in its infancy: although printed books are regularly considered one of the most important of all classes of artifacts, much of the information they convey as objects remains to be extracted. Those objects are one of our links to human beings of the past, not only the persons who created the objects but also those who encountered them. The goal of bibliographical analysis is to bring us into closer contact with both groups of individuals, with their activities and their thoughts.

Notes

C h a p t e r 1 : F ou n dat ions 1.  Bradshaw’s unpublished correspondence with  Blades, from 1859 on, is used by Paul Needham in The Bradshaw Method (1988). The 1870  De Meyer pamphlet was reprinted in Bradshaw’s Collected Papers, brought together by Francis  Jenkinson in 1889. (Other papers were collected by Roy  Stokes, with commentary, in 1984.)  2.  Morison, in his 1960 book on the early typefounding historian Talbot Baines  Reed, entitled one chapter “The Bibliographical Revolution” and in it described Reed’s “conviction, no less profound than  Blades’s and  Bradshaw’s, that method was the prime necessity in the correct description and classification of books”  (p. 45). 3. A helpful account of what can be learned from  artifacts in general is provided by Jules David  Prown in “Mind in Matter” (1982); but even he falls into the common misconception about documents that contain words, for at the end he elevates the evidentiary value of verbal ­meaning, as a source of “historical fact,” over that of physical features . In “A Rationale of  Collecting” (1998), I discussed the role of artifacts, and the associations they carry with them, in the everyday experiences of human beings.  4.  I have elaborated on the implications of the intangible medium of verbal works, and the consequent distinction between the texts of documents and the texts of works, in A Rationale of Textual Criticism (1989) and “The Textual Criticism of Visual and Aural Works” (2005), among other places.  5. The main studies of  Bennet are essays by Strickland  Gibson (1951) and William L.  Williamson (1978, 1981). Williamson’s 1981 piece concludes that “Bennet does indeed seem to have brought something new into the world” (p. 185). 6. Another eighteenth-century figure who showed an interest in the physical book was Edward  Capell, whose Prolusions of 1760 was possibly the first instance of the practice of transcribing title-pages with vertical strokes for line-endings (see David  Foxon’s 1970 lecture on the subject). 89

90

Notes to pp. 9–12

7. Book- collecting history is expertly treated in John  Carter’s 1947  Sandars Lectures, Taste and Technique in Book-Collecting (1948).  8. Such as Adam  Clarke’s recognition of the value of typographical analysis for dating books, forcefully expressed in his Bibliographical Miscellany (1806). 9. Their relationship was explored by Robin  Myers in a detailed paper of 1978 in The Library, which quotes from many of  Bradshaw’s ­unpublished letters and describes the main collections of them. Stanley  Morison had earlier discussed the relationship, calling Blades the “founder of modern scientific bibliography,” in “On the Classification of Typographical Variations” (1963), pp. xix–xxi. For contemporary biographical memoirs, see G. W.  Prothero’s book on Bradshaw (1888) and Talbot Baines  Reed’s introduction to  Blades’s The Pentateuch of Printing (1891); David  McKitterick supplies addi­ tional information on Bradshaw in his 1986 history of  Cambridge University Library. 10. The letters to J. Winter  Jones and other British  Museum staff were published by A. W.  Pollard in The Library in 1904; those to and from  Holtrop and  Campbell in two volumes, edited with excellent commentary by  Wytze and Lotte  Hellinga, in 1966 and 1978 (with additional Holtrop and Campbell letters edited by D. F.  McKitterick in 1980 and 1981). (Holtrop and Campbell figure in Paul  Needham’s trenchant sketch of the Dutch tradition of incunable study, in his 2006 essay on  Gerard van Thienen.) Still other correspondence, with S. W.  Lawley and Ferdinand Vander  Haeghen, was published, respectively, by Francis  Jenkinson in 1909 and by J.  Machiels in 1972. 11. On April 25, 1870, in his first letter to Campbell after Holtrop’s death, he said, “I cannot help feeling a sort of loyalty to him as my chief in these things, in a way that I feel to no one at all in England or elsewhere” (p. 141). Four years earlier (May 10, 1866), hearing of Holtrop’s  illness, he had written to him, “We cannot afford to lose our master yet; for I always look upon you and speak of you as the chief of my department” (p. 86); and he had signed himself on October 6, 1866, “your devoted disciple” (p. 113). 12.  Though he accurately described Bradshaw’s view that “what is wanted for the solution of a bibliographical problem is not ingenuity of speculation, but simply honest and patient observation of facts allowed to speak for themselves” (p. 40). He also mentioned, citing both Bradshaw and  Blades, the importance of “noticing the habits of the printers” through a recognition of “the unconscious evidence” produced by the printers’ “methods of working” (p. 39). 13. Copinger’s addresses appear in the first two volumes of the Biblio­ graphical Society’s Transactions (1892–93, 1893–94). The early days

Notes to pp. 12–16

91

of the  Bibliographical Society have been described in essays by A. W.  Pollard (1916), F. C.  Francis (1945), and Julian  Roberts (1988, 1992) . 14. The lectures resulting from this Readership (and from the  Lyell Readership founded at Oxford in 1952) were chronicled by David  McKitterick in 1983. (Samuel  Sandars, who was a lawyer, collector, and benefactor of Cambridge University, had taken his B. A. at  Trinity College in 1860 and is thus one of the names responsible for that college’s bibliographical heritage.) 15. The best discussion of these relationships and of  Schwenke’s brilliant accomplishments is a 1990 essay by Paul  Needham, which is also worth reading for its opening comments on the nature of analytical ­bibliography and the importance of studying bibliographical history. On  Proctor, see A. W.  Pollard’s 1904 memoir and Barry  Johnson’s brief biography of 1985. 16. The second can be considered as ending in 1969 with the appearance of D. F.  McKenzie’s “Printers of the Mind.” This sixty-year period can be subdivided (as I have done in marking the sections of this chapter) at 1945, the date of W. W.  Greg’s and F. P.  Wilson’s major retrospective essays in the  Bibliographical Society’s jubilee volume – and the date of Fredson  Bowers’s return from wartime service and thus the beginning of his period of dominance. ( For those who wish to examine other efforts to write bibliographical history, see my 1988 piece on “Bibliographical History as a Field of Study.”)  17.  Bradshaw had seen, by the early 1860s, the value of a concise  report of gatherings, connected with an indication of format. On the history and rationale of the collational formula used in bibliographical description, see  my 1985 essay on “Title-Page Transcription and Signature Collation Reconsidered,” pp. 61–64, and Paul  Needham’s The Bradshaw Method (1988), pp. 24–33.  18.  Pollard’s handsome acknowledgment of W. W.  Greg, at the end of his preface to the 1909 book, is evocative of the collaboration that existed among the New Bibliographers. “In some sections of this study,” he said, “Mr Greg and I have been fellow-hunters, communicating our results to each other at every stage, so that our respective responsibilities for them have become hopelessly entangled … For the final presentation of my case I alone am responsible, but he has spared no pains to keep me in the right path, and without his comradeship I should never have finished my task.”  19. Another important methodological point made early in the chapter is that the analysis of a given book is affected by the knowledge that other work was being printed simultaneously in the same shop. Although the Folio was probably  Jaggard’s main concern in 1622–23, Pollard says that “it would be rash to assume that he allowed it to monopolize his

92

Notes to pp. 16–18

whole office” (p. 131). (A number of subsequent bibliographers would have done well to pay greater heed to this observation.) 20. Pollard made similar comments in his October 1913 address on the  Society’s twenty-first anniversary (published in 1916 in the thirteenth volume of its Transactions): “we may say that if Literary Professors and Editors neglect to acquaint themselves with its principles [those of “the examination of books”] they do so at their peril, and that by ­neglecting them in the past they have blundered, and blundered badly” (pp. 24–25). 21. Pollard, too, included a section in Shakespeare Folios and Quartos called “Accidents during Printing” (pp. 135–37), dealing with “evidence that the normal course of printing was interrupted by more serious accidents [than simple misprinting in headlines] which have left their mark on its arrangement” (p. 135). 22.  McKerrow’s entire paragraph is worth quoting as a statement of great historical significance and also of timeless relevance: “It is this clear apprehension of the processes through which a book has passed, this and a little common-sense alone, that are necessary to those who would make use of bibliographical evidence. There are no rules to be laid down, no general course of enquiry to be followed. Every book presents its own problems and has to be investigated by methods suited to the particular case. And it is just this fact, that there is always a chance of lighting on new problems or new methods of demonstration, that with almost every new book we take up we are in new country unexplored and trackless, and that yet such discoveries as we may make are real discoveries, not mere matters of opinion, but provable things that no amount of after-investigation can shake, that makes this kind of research, trifling as it may at first sight appear, one of the most absorbing of all forms of historical enquiry” (p. 221). 23. Particular note should be taken of  Pollard’s work on A Short-Title Catalogue of Books Printed in England, Scotland, & Ireland and of English Books Printed Abroad 1475–1640 (1926), the Bibliographical Society’s most influential publication. His preface, noting the discovery of numerous “variant editions and issues bearing the same date,” showed an awareness of the indispensability of analysis to enumerative bibliography  (made even clearer in Katharine F.  Pantzer’s great revision – see pp. xlii–xliii of her 1986 introduction). (See also my 1993  essay on “Enumerative Bibliography and the Physical Book.”) For biographical details on McKerrow, Pollard, and Greg, see the British Academy memoirs of them –  Greg’s on  McKerrow (1940), John Dover  Wilson’s on  Pollard (1945), and F. P.  Wilson’s on Greg (1959). See also the autobiographical essays by  Pollard (1938) and  Greg (1960), and David  McKitterick’s introduction to the 1994 printing of  McKerrow’s Introduction to Bibliography.

Notes to pp. 19–22

93

24. But  he did recognize that the incunabulists’ study of typography – the “most progressive branch” of bibliography, “the one in which bibliographers have won their greatest successes of recent years” – had illustrated “the value of the comparative method and the general significance of the evolutionary idea” (p. 45). Greg had already contributed significantly to descriptive bibliography in the form of a 1906 article written with  Pollard on “Some Points in Bibliographical Descriptions.” He later wrote an influential article on “A Formulary of Collation” (1934) and published a monumental descriptive bibliography, A Bibliography of the English Printed Drama to the Restoration (1939–59), which included a long treatise on the subject in its fourth volume. 25. In reflecting on bibliographical history, Greg made perceptive ­comments on  Bradshaw,  Pollard,  McKerrow, John Dover  Wilson, Henry  Bradley, and R. W.  Chapman; and it was here (on p. 243) that he made the remarks (quoted above in the introduction) about the important place of  Cambridge in that history (a tradition that has since been perpetuated by A. N. L.  Munby, Philip  Gaskell, David  McKitterick, and others). 26. As with  Bradshaw, the importance of systematic method was central to Greg, and his previous addresses had continually returned to it. In 1912 he said, “What I am concerned with is a system of investigation and a method of description… It is the method itself, not the object to which that method is applied, that gives unity to a science” (p. 42); bibliography provides “a method and a set of logical tools” (p. 44) for examining objects. In the 1930 address, he called bibliography “a method of historical investigation” (p. 256). 27. Similarly, in a related paper of 1933, entitled “The Function of Bibliography in Literary Criticism Illustrated in a Study of the Text of King Lear” (and again characterizing the “new outlook and method of approach” [p. 244] by which bibliography was changing  textual criticism), he stated that bibliography studies not only the origins of “books as tangible objects” but also “the subsequent adventures that have befallen them” (p. 243).  28.  Bowers was also instrumental in the founding, in 1947, of the  Biblio­ graphical Society of the University of Virginia, the activities of which included being the publisher of Studies. A thorough history of the Society (by David L.  Vander Meulen) and of Studies (by  me) appeared in the 1997 volume of Studies (and these essays were reprinted the next year in The Bibliographical Society of the University of Virginia: The First Fifty Years, edited by Vander Meulen).  For a fuller assessment of Bowers, see  my 1993 biography, The Life and Work of Fredson Bowers; of the Principles, see also my introduction to the 1994 printing of it. On  Hinman, see Bowers’s 1977 sketch. The  University of Virginia’s

94

Notes to pp. 22–25

role as a center for bibliography has continued to the present, not only through Vander Meulen’s teaching of bibliography and textual criticism and his editorship of Studies (and the Society’s other publications) but also through the presence there since 1993 of Terry  Belanger’s Rare Book School (founded at Columbia University in 1983), which offers an extensive range of courses in the physical aspects of printed books and manuscripts (see Belanger’s 2008 history of the School).  29. These reviews (from Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America in 1949 and Modern Language Review in 1950) and others (including those quoted below) are cited and discussed in  my 1997 history of Studies. Because the journal appears in the  form of substantial volumes rather than quarterly parts, it has been reviewed more regularly than periodicals generally are, and (as I illustrate below) the reviews form a kind of running forum on the state of bibliographical research. 30. His earliest published lectures of this kind were “Bibliography and the University” (1949), “Some Relations of Bibliography to Editorial Problems” (1950), “Bibliography, Pure Bibliography, and Literary Studies” (1952), and “Shakespeare’s Text and the Bibliographical Method” (1954); three later ones were The Bibliographical Way (1959), Bibliography and Modern Librarianship (1966), and “Four Faces of Bibliography” (1971). His  Rosenbach Lectures were published in 1955 as On Editing Shakespeare and the Elizabethan Dramatists; its second chapter, entitled “The Function of Textual Criticism and Bibliography,” contains this statement: “Bibliography endeavors to take as much guesswork as possible out of textual criticism, and the literary method endeavors to inform bibliography with value judgments as a check on mechanical probability” (p. 35). Four years later his polemical  Sandars Lectures appeared as Textual and Literary Criticism, in which the opening chapter is a classic account of the need for textual criticism in the study of literature and the third chapter (“The New Textual Criticism of Shakespeare”) summarizes the recently developed techniques of bibliographical analysis.  31. A third monument of these years is Allan  Stevenson’s The Problem of the Missale speciale (1967), to be discussed in the next chapter. 32. Even earlier, in 1937, H. T.  Price – in an article called  “Towards a Scientific Method of Textual Criticism for the Elizabethan Drama” in the Journal of English and Germanic Philology – attacked what he called the “bibliographical school” for its proliferation of “hasty generalization on insufficient data” (p. 167); however, the examples he chose (primarily from Dover  Wilson, but occasionally from Greg and Pollard), such as the use of vocabulary and metrical tests for authorship, did not involve bibliographical evidence (that is, evidence relating to the book-manufacturing process). Although he was criticizing members of

Notes to pp. 25–28

95

the “bibliographical school,” his criticisms were irrelevant to an assessment of analytical bibliography. Bowers – unquestionably a bibliographer – recognized that much of Dover Wilson’s work was not truly bibliographical, though often couched in bibliographical terms, and he complained repeatedly about Wilson’s use of “a conjectural method that is quite improper for any form of bibliographical reasoning” (Bibliography and Textual Criticism, 1964, pp. 36–37). Bowers, unlike Price, knew that in criticizing Wilson he was not criticizing analytical bibliography; rather, he was trying to make clear its essential nature. Yet to those who did not fully grasp what analytical bibliography consists of, Wilson’s widely known writings (and criticisms like Price’s) served to publicize a false notion of the field. (Samuel A.  Tannenbaum, for instance, in the Shakespeare Association Bulletin for July 1937, welcomed Price’s article for “proving” that the work of “the bibliographical school of critics, as represented by  Pollard,  Greg, and Wilson,” was “arbitrary and unscientific in method” and “valueless as to results .”) 33. Both  Doran and  Bald treat the problem of how to use bibliographical evidence as (in Doran’s words) “essentially a logical one” (p. 98), and both foreshadow later discussions , as when Bald anticipates  McKenzie in questioning assumptions of regularity (p. 170).  34.  K irschbaum was writing in Shakespeare Quarterly and  Davis in Review of English Studies. Davis, earlier in his review, spoke of “the growing interest in the investigation of the habits of particular compositors”: “Some may feel that this is a dangerous tendency rather like that attacked by A. E.  Housman in his strictures upon those textual critics who gave up the attempt to understand the mind of their author, and devoted themselves entirely to a study of the habits of scribes.” He added that Alice  Walker’s articles, however, should give one confidence, because she “never forgets that the conditions under which the compositors worked were by no means always the same .” 35. Keith  Maslen and John  Lancaster, in their outstanding 1991 work on the  Bowyer ledgers, make clear at various points (such as pp. xlv, l–li, liii, lxi) that the interpretation of the documents is not always obvious. 36. This point is explored further in  my “Printing History and Other History” in the 1995 volume of Studies in Bibliography (cf. my 1974 “Bibliography and Science”). Peter  Davison (in 1972 and 1977) and David  Shaw (in 1972) have also written essays that usefully deal with the inductive nature of analytical bibliography; and Adrian  Weiss’s 1999 article on watermark evidence contains incisive comments on the inductive method. 37. This comment occurs in one of the new footnotes written for the 1975 republication of a number  of his essays in Essays in Bibliography, Text, and Editing (p. 250).

96

Notes to p. 29

38. An example is Laurie E.  Maguire’s highly critical (and usefully detailed) survey of the development of the New Bibliography in the second chapter of her Shakespearean Suspect Texts (1996), which argues that “Sentimental, late-Victorian, land-owning imperialism influences much New Bibliographic analysis, leading to conclusions which are as outmoded as the historical circumstances which created them” (p. 59). When she speaks of “New Bibliographic analysis,” however, she is primarily referring to  textual conclusions, not physical analyses. Despite her belief that “the primary problem with the New Bibliography” is that “material analysis and textual interpretation have been subsumed under one heading” (p. 53), she does not attempt to segregate them, and her discussion has no bearing on the evaluation of techniques for the analysis of physical details. (My own view of the value of separating the physical and the literary is expressed at the end of the next chapter. ) Another ineffective attempt to discredit analytical bibliography is W. Speed  Hill’s 1999 piece entitled “Where Are the Bibliographers of Yesteryear?,” which argues, among other things, that analytical bibliography is not suited to dealing with the instability that characterizes textual process; but the assertion is only another version of the inaccurate cliché that analytical bibliography is tied to the establishment of an authorially intended final text . The investigation of physical evidence aims to uncover as much as possible of the production history of particular documents, regardless of how stable or unstable the texts of those documents prove to be . I have commented further on these and other similar discussions in section IV of “ Textual Criticism at the Millennium” in the 2001 volume of Studies in Bibliography. 39. A prominent example is Manfred  Draudt’s “The Rationale of Current Bibliographical Methods” in the 1987 volume of Shakespeare Survey. Using Paul  Werstine’s 1984 expanded version of “Editorial Uses of Compositor Studies” (originally published in 1978) as his primary ­target, Draudt claimed that bibliographical analysis had become ­excessively quantitative and relied too heavily on argument by analogy, and he set his discussion in a framework of references by scientists to the subjectivity and uncertainty of their work. Two years later (in the 1989 Shakespeare Survey) MacD. P.  Jackson in his annual review of tex­ tual work dismissed this unconvincingly argued piece as “vitiated by illogicalities, misunderstandings, and irrelevancies ” (p. 209). (Another post-McKenzie essay that contains some overstated and misguided criticisms of the New Bibliography is Hugh  A mory’s 1996 exercise in “ethnobibliography. ”) 40. But there are differences as well:  Pollard was not reacting against previous work or suggesting that the new approach should replace the old.  McKenzie’s earlier contributions to bibliography include not only

Notes to pp. 29–33

97

traditional examples of analysis but also his great 1966 descriptive bibliography of the  Cambridge University Press from 1696 to 1712, which shows a recognition of the interrelations between the Press records (which he also transcribed) and the actual books that were produced. 41. Further discussion of this development appears below, in the third chapter, where some of McKenzie’s post-1969 writings are also commented on . 42. A brief and trenchant statement of the continuing relevance and vitality of traditional analytical bibliography is David L. Vander  Meulen’s “Thoughts on the Future of Bibliographical Analysis” (2008), which also includes a few examples of the analysis of electronic texts through a knowledge of their production processes. A related belief that “society cannot do without bibliographers” underlies Neil  Harris’s lively online reflections written as a guide for his 2004 course on analytical bibliography at the École de l’Institut d’histoire du livre in Lyon. C h a p t e r 2 : A n a ly s i s of m a n u fac t u r i ng c l u e s 1.  Localized customs for the handling of standard features of books (such as the wording and typography of title-page imprints, the placement and style of signature marks for labeling  gatherings, and the treatment of running-titles and pagination) have long been used as clues for identifying the place and date of production of books that do not overtly (or accurately) state these facts. This kind of work is not an example of the New Bibliography, or at least of its primary focus, because it does not attempt to reconstruct the particular printing-shop activities that occurred during the production of specific books; but it does illustrate one of the ways in which physical evidence can be used in historical research. The basic account of the “localization” of printed books is R. A.  Sayce’s famous 1966 paper, which was supplemented and extended by C. J.  Mitchell in 1983 and Frans A.  Janssen in 1995 . 2. The attempt to determine the nature of the  printer’s copy for particular editions of plays (deciding whether it was author’s rough draft, scribal transcript, promptbook, actors’ parts, and so on) – an important concern for  editors in judging the reliability of texts – is sometimes taken to symbolize the New Bibliography. (Prominent works by the major figures dealt with it: among them are  Pollard’s 1909 book,  McKerrow’s 1931 article on “The Elizabethan Printer and Dramatic Manuscripts,” and  Greg’s The Editorial Problem in Shakespeare, 1942, and The  Shakespeare First Folio, 1955.) Much of the analysis involved, however, is not bibliographical, in the sense of dealing with evidence of printing-shop practices. Instead, it often depends on variant wordings between editions and on inconsistencies in the naming of characters, among other features that are likely to

98

Notes to pp. 33–34

reflect what compositors had in front of them. E. A. J.  Honigmann, in an essay of 2004, provided a succinct overview of the ongoing controversies regarding these matters. (When the habits of a particular copyist can be known, the identification of a scribal-transcript printer’s copy  is facilitated; see T. H.  Howard-Hill’s 1972 book on the scrivener Ralph  Crane. The effect of knowing scribal characteristics on the identification of  compositors is illustrated in a 2001 article by Paul  Werstine.) 3. That many of the same tests were also used as indications of  authorship illustrates another way that the study of compositorial habits can have literary implications: spellings, for instance, that persist through passages set by different compositors may possibly reflect the author’s practice, even if printer’s copy was not itself an authorial manuscript. As early as 1916 Willard  Farnham suggested the use of spelling tests to establish authorship of Elizabethan plays, but he did not take into account the presence of compositorial spellings in printed texts. (In a letter published in the Times Literary Supplement on September 23, 1920, less than four months after  Satchell’s, M.  A.  Bayfield argued that variant spellings in the quarto of 2 Henry IV reflected the compositor, not  Shakespeare; but he did not allude to the use of spelling for the ­possible indentification of individual compositors.) Four decades later Cyrus  Hoy – whose study of the authorial shares in the  Beaumont and  Fletcher canon (in Studies in Bibliography, 1956–62) is perhaps the most extensive demonstration of the use of forms of contractions as a test of authorship – was well aware of the need to coordinate compositor determination and authorship attribution. (An introduction to the general subject of attribution was provided by Harold  L ove in 2002; and an extensive list of the scholarship of the field was included in David V.  Erdman and Ephim G.  Fogel’s 1966 anthology of essays, pp. 395–523.)  4. Extensive lists of the hundreds of articles and books that make use of the techniques of analysis mentioned throughout this chapter can be found in  my Introduction to Bibliography (2002), sections 9A–9H. Most of this work has dealt with literature in English, but it is worth pointing out that extensive compositorial analysis of the first two editions of Don Quixote was undertaken by R. M.  Flores (notably in his 1975 book). 5. Even in  justified lines, it may be possible to differentiate compositors according to whether adjustments in spacing were made in the first or second halves of lines – a technique set forth by Herman  Doh in 1974. One should also recognize that verse lines do not necessarily give compositors as much freedom as is often thought, for compositors sometimes put blocks in their  composing sticks in order to create a shorter measure for passages of verse (as  Moxon had noted in 1683 and D. F.  McKenzie in 1973); Anthony  Hammond, for example, made good use of his knowledge of this practice in a 1986 analysis of The White Devil.

Notes to pp. 34–37

99

6. Compositors (as well as scribes and authors) were influenced by, and helped to create, changes in  spelling styles. (The role of compositors’ practices in the gradual standardization of English spelling is explored by T. H.  Howard-Hill in a 2006 article.) Such changes can sometimes provide a rough basis for using spelling tests in dating. This possibility, though not the main concern of most of those who have written about compositorial spelling, has often been mentioned by such writers since the time of A. W.  Pollard’s 1923 essay in The Library on “Elizabethan Spelling  as a Literary and Bibliographical Clue.”  Walker’s work on compositor study can be further sampled in her 1953 book on the  First Folio and her articles in Studies in Bibliography in 1954 and 1956. (Assessments of Walker’s career were provided in 1999 by T. H.  Howard-Hill and in 2005 by Laurie E.  Maguire – who incidentally does a great injustice to A. W.  Pollard by claiming “it is in his influence on  Greg and  McKerrow that his contribution lies.”) 7. Soon after Howard-Hill’s article, E. A. J.  Honigmann (in The Library for December 1965) explicitly affirmed  Howard-Hill’s approach: he demonstrated that Philip  Williams’s 1948 analysis of  Lear (which had concluded that the quarto was set by a single compositor) could be shown to be faulty when a wider range of  spelling tests was used. 8. Adrian  Weiss made clear in 1988 the  necessity for using originals, not photocopies, for this kind of work, so that one can see the actual type indentations in the paper within the often larger ink marks. It should of course be understood that photocopies and digital reproductions can never be entirely relied on in any bibliographical research. (See my  “Reproductions and Scholarship,” 1989.) 9. Because the woodblocks that were cut to produce  illustrations ( woodcuts and so-called wood engravings) are like type in having a relief (raised) printing surface, they could be placed on the press along with the type and can be analyzed as part of the same printing operation. But illustrations (or  maps or  music) that were produced by other processes, such as metal-plate  engraving (where the surface is intaglio), had to be printed on another kind of press and thus separately from the letterpress. A good introduction to the identification of illustrations produced by different processes is Bamber  Gascoigne’s How to Identify Prints (1986). (For lithography, see also Michael  Twyman’s 1970 and 1990 books.) When a metal-plate engraving and letterpress appear on the same leaf or sheet of a book, the piece of paper was printed twice, on two presses (the letterpress normally being printed first, the engraving second, on a rolling press). This situation is briefly discussed by Roger  Gaskell in his pioneering article on the bibliographical study of engravings in books (2004), which explains the differences in procedure between printing an engraving for insertion as a separate leaf and

100

Notes to pp. 37–39

printing it in the space allowed for it on a sheet already printed with letterpress text. An example in which a whole printed gathering was placed on the rolling press to add an engraving is analyzed in Randall  McLeod’s 1999 article called “IMAGIC.”  (Other instances in which paper went through a press twice, even when only relief surfaces were involved, occurred in some two-color printing and in the earliest  music printing, when the staff was printed first and the notes second. After the early sixteenth century, music printing was increasingly done from copperplate engravings.)  10. Useful evidence can come from careful use of any printed images, including those from  ornaments, ornamental initials, and  woodcuts as well as from rules and from types for letterforms and marks of punctuation. But in most printed items, images of letterforms far outnumber images of these other kinds and therefore offer the largest body of evidence for locating identifiable recurrences. Damaged letterform-types have therefore been a distinctive focus of the New Bibliography, though some bibliographers – like  Blayney in his 1982 book (pp. 486–91) – have continued to make excellent use of ornaments.  11.  McKerrow regarded seriatim setting as nearly a certainty except in the case of page-for-page resettings (p. 33). In a 1925 article on the composition of reprints, he recognized the possibility of setting by  formes but suggested only the repetition of ornaments, not damaged types, as a clue. 12. It should be understood that  format, simply because it indicates how many leaves result from folding a single sheet of paper, does not in itself say anything about the size of the leaves (which is dependent on the size of the paper to start with). Nor does it indicate how many leaves are in a single  gathering (a single act of sewing), for more than one sheet may have been gathered (or  “quired”) together, and a gathering might also have consisted of less than a full sheet (in formats other than folio), if the type-pages were  imposed (arranged) to allow for cutting a sheet for this kind of gathering. Furthermore, there are formats other than those resulting from successive doublings of the number of leaves: one of the most popular formats was duodecimo, with twelve pages on each side of the unfolded sheet, a format that required a more complicated kind of folding than simple halving. For detailed discussions of format, see Philip  Gaskell’s section on “Imposition” in A New Introduction to Bibliography (1972), pp. 78–117 (which includes exemplary diagrams showing the arrangement of pages on unfolded sheets in various formats), and  my “The Concept of Format” (2000), which includes an account of the history of the concept and its use by both printers and bibliographers. Gaskell’s discussion of  paper sizes and qualities (pp. 66–75) contains a list of standard paper sizes before 1800.

Notes to pp. 39–41

101

(Although the  bindings on pre-nineteenth-century books are normally postpublication additions and thus not relevant to production history, they can obscure or destroy paper evidence; bibiographers may therefore find useful some of the technical writings on custom binding such as Nicholas  Pickwoad’s 1995 article.)  13.  Hinman’s technique was obviously not appropriate for situations in which the number of type-pages (and/or blank pages) placed on the press was fewer than the number required to fill one side of a sheet, as in the single-page printing employed by printers in the 1450s and 1460s. 14. For example, in a 1958 article, George Walton  Williams, after reporting five quartos set by  formes, felt able to conclude that “setting by formes in quarto printing was a more common occurrence than has been thought” (p. 39). By 1965, when the number of quartos known to have been set by formes was about eighteen, Robert K.  Turner, Jr. (one of the prolific writers of bibliographical analysis in the 1960s), could say, “As an increasing number of Elizabethan play quartos are subjected to bibliographical analysis, it begins to appear that these books were more often than not composed by formes” (p. 255). The evidence was undeniably powerful, but the conclusion was overstated, lacking a comment on the constitution of the sample. For further comments on this chapter of bibliographical history (and the way it illuminates the role of bibliographical analysis in the history of printing), see  my 1981 article in Printing History.  15. Another motivation for setting by formes (in any format) would have been the need to finish a particular job as soon as possible, since setting by formes would have permitted printing to start sooner and would have accommodated printing on more than one press. 16. For example, on pp. 57–58 (context of other jobs), 91–94 (reliability of data), and 176–77 (effect of type supply).  Blayney has also given a lucid account of the significance of setting by  formes (along with a brief introduction to compositor analysis) in his 1991 pamphlet The First  Folio of Shakespeare (pp. 9–14), and he has summarized a great deal of the work on the Folio in his introduction to the 1996 edition of  Hinman’s facsimile. An earlier survey of the results of  compositorial analysis appeared in the 1987 Textual Companion to the Oxford Shakespeare, edited by Stanley  Wells et al. 17. In this article,  Weiss’s analysis of variants in (for example)  Middleton’s The Triumphs of Honour and Virtue (1622) shows that italic capitals (when not at the beginning of a verse-line) were sometimes replaced with lower-case letters because the capitals were needed for another job and the lower-case replacements kept the forme ready for use whenever the printing of it could resume.

102

Notes to pp. 41–44

18. One is encouraged by the appearance in 2005 of  R andall McLeod’s analysis of  Holinshed’s Chronicles (1587), a fine example of what ­t ypesetting analysis can achieve in skilled hands – in this case proposing that setting was not by formes. Indeed, his extensive and patient exposition can serve as a valuable introduction to the combined use of multiple analytical techniques (including those relating to presswork, discussed below). 19. The study of identifiable  ornaments had long been considered a way of discovering shared printing, as in  Greg’s 1921 article on the printing of the  Beaumont and  Fletcher folio; but this technique must be used with particular caution because of the ease with which ornaments could be lent and borrowed.  McKerrow’s early interest in the movements of ornaments is shown in his Printers’ & Publishers’ Devices in England & Scotland, 1485–1640 (1913), pp. xlii–xlvii.  20. The practice of keeping headlines intact had been put to bibliographical use in 1867 by William Frederick  Poole, an American librarian, in his edition of Edward  Johnson’s Wonder-Working Providence (a fact pointed out by William L.  Williamson in 1970). 21. Strictly speaking, a  skeleton-forme comprises all the parts of a forme other than the text-pages, thus including the chase (the frame holding everything together), the  “ furniture” (the pieces of wood surrounding the type), and the quoins (wedges to secure a tight fit), as well as the headlines and box rules. But bibliographers use the term to refer simply to the parts that print, which are the only parts they can prove were reused; and indeed the chase, furniture, and quoins were likely to have been different in many instances. Adrian  Weiss in his 2007 essay offers a good account of the process of moving ­r unning-titles or headlines to new text-pages and placing new furniture around the combination (p. 220); see also  Gaskell’s New Introduction (1972), pp. 109–10. The great value of box rules in revealing order of ­printing is made clear in  Hinman’s 1963 book, i, 154–57. (A method for reconstructing skeleton-formes – as bibliographers conceive them – in photocopy for ease of identification  was suggested by Randall  McLeod in 1979.) 22. This technique (like others that presuppose multi-page formes on the press) is not directly applicable to those books from the early years of printing (before the early or middle 1470s) that were printed one page at a time. (See also note 13 above.) 23. In  McKenzie’s nice phrase of 1969, skeleton-forme analysis has been “One of the more delicate exercises in advanced analytical bibliography” (p. 23). 24. The figures often used are a  composition rate of 1,000 ens (or types, in approximate terms) per hour and a  presswork rate of 250 sheets (on

Notes to pp. 44–46

103

one side) per hour (see  Hinman’s 1963 book, i, 39–47; cf.  Weiss’s 1999 article, pp. 54–57). 25. Much of  Blayney’s discussion (pp. 188–205), it should be noted, deals with establishing that a first  proofreading did take place before any printing had occurred. (The standard gathering of evidence on proofreading is Percy  Simpson’s 1935 book, Proof-Reading in the Sixteenth, Seventeenth & Eighteenth Centuries; J. K.  Moore’s book of 1992, Primary Materials Relating to Copy and Print in English Books of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, is a most useful survey of the surviving body of printers’ copies and proofs.)  26.  Collation of multiple copies of the same printing to discover textual  variants is obviously a prerequisite for scholarly editing. But even if one is not planning to produce an edition, a record of typographical differences (which often reveal successive stages of attempted correction, or even the accidental damage that can result from the action of the press or from handling and inking the formes) provides fundamental information about the course of presswork for any book. I should emphasize that the variants referred to here are those among copies of a single edition (typesetting).  Different  editions, when they employ different type or layout, are not hard to distinguish; but sometimes new editions consist of line-for-line resettings of previous editions, in the same type font, and in these cases a closer examination of spacings is required. Among the tests that can be used (summarized by  McKerrow on pp. 181–83) are noting the positions of the signature letters in relation to the lines of text just above them or comparing the places where a straight edge, when laid diagonally across a given page in two copies, intersects each line of type. The lure of having a shorthand way of distinguishing editions in catalogue entries led, beginning in the 1960s, to the development of several systems of “fingerprinting,” which record the letters that appear at specified positions or those that fall immediately above certain signatures; however useful such fingerprints may sometimes be, they can only serve as rough guides and cannot reveal resettings of pages not sampled (see Neil  Harris’s 2006 history and evaluation of the fingerprint approach).  Collating machines, useful both for identifying line-for-line resettings in the same typeface and for locating stop-press variants within editions, have been available since the late 1940s (the first one devised by  Hinman himself); see Steven Escar  Smith’s historical accounts of mechanical collation, published in 2000 and 2002.  27. Kenneth  Povey in 1960 described a special lamp for use in identifying the hillocks caused by the bite of the type. Sometimes the indentation evidence is lost through pressing; but even when it is present, the order of printing is not always immediately apparent because the perfecting forme does not flatten every bump created by the first forme, and

104

Notes to pp. 46–47

one therefore needs to note which bumps have ink on them (since they have to be on the side printed first). Such evidence, when examined in multiple copies, can assist in detecting cancel leaves, in identifying concurrent printing on two presses (since each forme of a sheet was the first one printed in some copies and the second in other copies), and in determining the method of half-sheet imposition employed (since only the “work-and-turn” method would result in variations as to which side of a given leaf was printed first – this method being the one in which all type-pages of a half-sheet are on the press at one time and the sheet is turned over for perfecting in such a way as to produce two identical half-sheets after cutting; cf. Povey’s 1956 explanation). In a 1965 study called “Working to Rule, 1600–1800,” Povey made an extensive survey, using the first-forme test, of printers’ habits in printing inner or outer formes first.  28. These  points or pins held the sheet in place for correct register and often served, through their arrangement, to prevent the sheet from being turned over the wrong way for perfecting. The holes they left in the paper, when still visible, have been put to bibliographical use in the study of fifteenth-century books since at least 1900 (see below). They can help confirm format because they fall in different general locations in different formats: in folios they are in the gutter, in quartos the upper margin, and in octavos the outer margin. See  Povey’s 1956 article and  Maslen’s of 1968. 29. As early as 1928, Michael  Sadleir, in his bibliography of  Trollope, explicitly recognized this function of  descriptive bibliographies, noting that each one can play a role in illustrating “the evolution of book-building” and “the history of book-handling.” In an essay called “The Treatment of Typesetting and Presswork in Bibliographical Description” (in the 1999 Studies in Bibliography),  I suggested forms for recording all the kinds of evidence (except that from paper) mentioned in this chapter; the essay also serves as a concise summary (but a somewhat fuller one than the present chapter offers) of the uses to which the various categories of evidence can be put. For the recording of paper evidence (e.g., watermarks and their states and positions, chainline intervals, density of wire-lines, dimensions of sheets), see  my “The Bibliographical Description of Paper,” supplemented by David L.  Vander Meulen’s “The Identification of Paper without Watermarks” and Paul  Needham’s “Allan H. Stevenson and the Bibliographical Uses of Paper” (in Studies in Bibliography for 1971, 1984, and 1994, respectively). On descriptive bibliography in general, see the introduction above (and the sketches of bibliographical history  I have written for various anniversaries, in 1982, 1984, and 1992). Of the many descriptive bibliographies that impressively serve as repositories of physical evidence,  a few excellent

Notes to pp. 47–50

105

examples are David  Gilson’s of Jane  Austen (1982), Patricia Lockhart  Fleming’s of Upper Canadian imprints (1988),  William B. Todd and Ann  Bowden’s of Sir Walter  Scott (1998), and J. D.  Fleeman’s of Samuel  Johnson (2000). 30. David L.  Gants is directing a project called “The Early English Booktrade  Database,” in which many physical details – including format and signature collation, number of printed sheets (not leaves), linear amount of type, typefaces, and watermarks – will be recorded for every English book through 1640. A vast database that already exists (though with fewer of these physical details at present) is the English  Short-Title Catalogue (covering 1475–1800 and available on the website of the British  Library); for the history of this international cooperative project, see the collection of essays edited by Henry L.  Snyder and Michael S.  Smith in 2003. 31. An analogous technique that can occasionally be used (and has been most fully studied by Neil  Harris in 2004) is to identify the blind  impressions made by composed type employed as “bearers” (to bear the pressure of the platen at places where the text-page was supposed to be blank): the page for which this type was composed as part of the text cannot be in the same forme. (See also the essays by David  Paisey in 1986 and Randall  McLeod in 2000.) One may be further assisted in rare instances by printed guidelines for folding or by printed  sheetnumbers (see the articles by Giles E.  Dawson in 1961 and W. A.  Jackson in 1954). On format, see note 12 above. 32. His article was not, however, the first time an incunabulist writing in English had explicitly applied the technique of tracing recurring  headlines: see D. C.  Bain’s discussion of the 1499 Summa de Exemplis in the 1940–41 volume of The Library. 33. The achievement of  Schwenke’s Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des ersten Buchdrucks (1900) is outlined in Paul  Needham’s 1990 essay on Schwenke (pp. 256–59); as mentioned before, that essay is also the best assessment of German analytical bibliography in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. 34. These doubts, as expressed by various writers over the years, were summarized and endorsed by Curt F.  Bühler in a 1957 article that was demolished in Paul  Needham’s masterly 1994 study of  Stevenson’s achievement (pp. 50–52). 35. Several of  Stevenson’s primary statements appeared in Studies in Bibliography, in 1948, 1951, and 1954; see also his Kansas lecture, published in 1961, and his 1962 essay in The Library. The need to study in detail the changing shapes of  watermarks and patterns of sewing dots (where the watermark wires were fastened to the mould wires) requires, as Stevenson pointed out, a means of recording watermarks that is more precise than

106

Notes to pp. 50–53

the old system of line tracings; photographs, beta- radiographs, and rubbings have now taken their place. (See note 43 below.) 36. He had published his ideas in summary form in two articles five years earlier.  Needham, in his 1994 essay on  Stevenson (pp. 44–55), provides an account of the work on the  Constance Missal that preceded Stevenson’s publications. 37. See, for example, “The  Paper Supply of the  Gutenberg Bible” (1985), “ISTC as a Tool for Analytical Bibliography” (1987), “Aldus  Manutius’s Paper Stocks” (1993), and “Res papirea: Sizes and Formats of the Late Medieval Book” (1994), in addition to the pieces cited below.  38. That article, “Johann  Gutenberg and the  Catholicon Press,” has aroused considerable controversy, and a sizable literature has followed in its wake.  (I listed some of it in 1995 in “Printing History and Other History,” footnote 29, in connection with my discussion of the controversy, and still more of it in the 2002 revision of Introduction to Bibliography, section 9D3, at 1982; David L.  Vander Meulen has also listed it in footnote 14 of his 2003–4 article on book history.)  39.  More recently, Needham (in collaboration with Blaise Agüera y Arcas) has advanced another revolutionary hypothesis: that  Gutenberg’s earliest types were not made from moulds containing matrices produced by punches but rather from nonreusable moulds (perhaps made of sand or clay, among other possibilities) created by fitting together a number of letterform elements. This hypothesis resulted from the study of computer enlargements that revealed the variety of shapes displayed by any given letter. It is essentially a contribution to the history of type manufacture, based on the images found in the books themselves; but it will have an effect on the analysis of typesetting and presswork as well, since every piece of type (not just damaged ones) will be understood to be recognizable when it reappears. (Needham and Agüera y  Arcas announced their hypothesis in London in December 2000 and in New York in January 2001, and Agüera y Arcas published an account of it in 2003.) 40. However, not all nonsignature numbers and symbols in lower margins during this period are press figures; some may be  paper-quality marks (distinguishing two issues on different paper) or  sheet-numbers (identifying whole sheets in books gathered in part-sheeets), as described by  B. J. McMullin in 1984 and 1993, respectively. (On  press figures in America, see  my 1966 article; on those in France, Germany, and Spain, see Robert  Dawson’s 2004 study.) 41. Or, in instances of half-sheet imposition, the determination of which of two alternative imposition schemes was used. The appearance of two  figures in a half-sheet gathering, for instance, would eliminate the possibility of the “work-and-turn” method (see note 27 above).

Notes to pp. 53–57

107

42. For example, in “Observations,” p. 171, and in an article on “Bibliography and the Editorial Problem in the Eighteenth Century” (1951–52), p. 46.  Todd was right in his 1955 Kansas lecture (published in 1958) to use the word “new” in his title, New Adventures among Old Books. (For the biographical context of these and other early essays of Todd’s, see his evocative autobiographical essay of 1998,  which also contains much information about Fredson  Bowers.) 43. See his 1988 piece in Literary Research. The use of beta- radiographs, having been introduced to English-speaking readers by J. S. G.  Simmons in 1961, was helpfully discussed by Allan  Stevenson in 1967; the most readily accessible article on the use of  c yclotrons for bibliographical research is probably the 1983 discussion by Richard N.  Schwab and his collaborators. (For a survey of the various techniques for reproducing watermarks, see David  Schoonover’s 1987 article.) 4 4.  Similarly, his 1991 book on the 1728  Dunciad, which includes a facsimile of the Berg Collection copy, is a model not only of how a facsimile should be presented in order to make a contribution to scholarship but also of how a particular copy of an edition can be placed in a rich context by drawing on all kinds of evidence, both internal and external (he has chapters on “The Work,” “The Edition,” “The Copy,” and “The [manuscript] Annotations”). (One of the best examples of the analysis of  running-titles in an eighteenth-century book is his 1982 article on this aspect of the 1728 Dunciad.)  45. The role of John  Carter and Michael  Sadleir (see note 29 above) as pioneers in paying serious bibliographical attention to nineteenthand twentieth-century books deserves to be recognized. By the early 1930s, each had published a study of  publishers’ bindings: Sadleir’s The Evolution of Publishers’ Binding Styles, 1770–1900 (1930) was the first volume in the historic “Bibliographia” series edited by Sadleir (with the subtitle “Studies in Book History and Book Structure, 1750–1900,” significant for its inclusion of “Book Structure”), and Carter’s Binding Variants in English Publishing, 1820–1900 (1932) was the sixth volume in the series. (Carter was also responsible in 1952 for what has become the standard glossary of bibliographical terminology, ABC for BookCollectors.) On Sadleir, see his 1951 autobiographical essay and Carter’s 1958 memoir; on Carter, see Donald C.  Dickinson’s 2004 biography. 46.  Publishers’ bindings were manufactured separately from the printed sheets, but any variations they exhibit may nevertheless provide clues to printing history. Although a variant binding could simply indicate that the copies of an impression were not all bound at one time, it could also alert one to the possibility (which should then be investigated) that the sheets are from a different impression. In either case the variant is a fact of production history. For help in analyzing publishers’ cloth,  see

108

Notes to pp. 57–62

the studies by William  Tomlinson and Richard  Masters (1996) and by Andrea  K rupp (2006). (See also the preceding note.) 47. Unless one is alert to the possibility of duplicate  plates, one can fail to recognize the fallacy of assuming that a collation of a first against a last printing of a plated edition will reveal all variants. For an illustration of this point, see Matthew  Bruccoli’s 1958 article on Babbitt. One should also recognize that  stop-press alterations in modern books do sometimes occur: nineteenth-century instances have been reported by Paul  Eggert (1995) and Gary  Schmidgall (2000), for example. C h a p t e r 3: A n a ly s i s of de s ig n f e at u r e s 1. The  French term histoire du livre is occasionally used to describe such studies because the genesis of this approach is usually traced to Lucien  Febvre and Marc  Bloch’s Annales school, and more specifically to Febvre and HenriJean  Martin’s L’Apparition du livre (1958) – translated into English by David  Gerard in 1976 as The Coming of the Book – which led to the four-­volume Histoire de l’ édition française (1982–86), edited by Martin and others. ­Multi-volume national histories of the book are now in progress (or recently completed) in many other countries; they differ from earlier general histories of publishing (such as F. A.  Mumby’s) by giving more attention to the reception of books, but in the process they sometimes fail to deal adequately with the physical production of books or to accommodate the insights that emerge from traditional bibliographical analysis. These problems are evident in two early milestones in the English-language pursuit of this field, both published in 1979, Robert  Darnton’s The Business of Enlightenment and Elizabeth  Eisenstein’s The Printing Press as an Agent of Change. In the  Bibliographical Society’s 1992 centenary volume, D. F.  McKenzie, writing on “History of the Book,” summed up the approach when he called it “a study of the changing conditions of meaning and hence of reading” (p. 297, his italics). For further comment, see my  Hanes Lecture, The History of Books as a Field of Study (1981), my introduction to Books and Society in History (1983), Nicolas  Barker’s “Reflections on the History of the Book” (1990), and the essays by Michael F.  Suarez and David L.  Vander Meulen in the 2003–4 volume of Studies in Bibliography.  I have listed many of the writings in this area in my Introduction to Bibliography (2002), section 3J (“Books in Society”); cf. section 6J (“Social Implications of Book Design”).  2.  I have tried to show that this approach and the intentionalist approach are complementary in  Textual Criticism since Greg (2005) or, more briefly, in A Rationale of Textual Criticism (1989) and “The Varieties of Scholarly Editing” (1995). Much of the literature of textual criticism and scholarly editing in English is listed in the latest revision (2002) of my  Introduction to Scholarly Editing. 

Notes to pp. 62–69

109

3. Roger E.  Stoddard has performed a useful service in talking about “marks in books” comprehensively, bringing together “marks of manufacture,” “marks of provenance,” and “marks of use.” In “Looking at Marks in Books” (2000), he says that such markings can be “eloquent of manufacturing processes, specific of provenance, telling of human relations, and suggestive of human thought” (p. 32). See also his 1985 exhibition catalogue, Marks in Books, Illustrated and Explained.  4.  McGann employs these terms, among other places, in his “What Is Critical Editing?” (1991), published both in Text 5 and (in revised form) in his The Textual Condition. 5. Study of the role of design in readers’  responses can thus be approached in two ways: the first is to focus on the design features themselves, from which one can try to infer, given the requisite historical and psychological knowledge, how various classes of readers at various times might have been likely to respond to the texts thus presented; the second, more direct, method is to look at the comments that readers actually made, either as annotations in the books they read or as remarks written or published elsewhere. (See also note 30 below.) 6. Thus  spelling and punctuation are normally excluded from “visual design,” though both of course have visual aspects. Historical studies of spelling and punctuation are listed in my  Introduction to Scholarly Editing (2002), sections 3A and 3B. The standard works on spelling and punctuation are D. G.  Scragg’s A History of English Spelling (1974) and M. B.  Parkes’s Pause and Effect (1992). 7. One example of an author who emphatically rejected special visual effects is Wallace  Stevens. After The Man with the Blue Guitar (1937) was published with a colophon stating that the “unusual blank spaces and extra-wide spacing of certain crucial words” were the author’s “experimental device,” Stevens wrote to Ronald Lane  Latimer, “This is pure nonsense. I never said any such thing and have a horror of poetry pretending to be contemporaneous because of typographical queerness” (September 16, 1937). This statement is quoted in the 1997 Library of America edition of Stevens’s poetry (p. 971) to explain its editors’ decision not to follow the first-edition spacing.  8. An extensive sampling of the  historical literature, along with suggestions for initial reading, can be found in my  Introduction to Bibliography (2002), parts 3 and 5–8. See also “Reference Bibliography,” in Philip  Gaskell’s A New Introduction to Bibliography (1972), pp. 392–411. The best known general survey of printing history is S. H.  Steinberg’s Five Hundred Years of Printing (1955); see also Michael  Twyman’s Printing 1770–1970 (1970) and his The British Library Guide to Printing History and Techniques (1998), and Geoffrey  Glaister’s Glossary of the Book (1960).

110

Notes to pp. 69–71

9. Reported by Jean François  Sobry in his Discours sur l’art de l’ imprimerie (1799), which was translated by Paul  Bloomfield and discussed by D. B.  Updike in 1928.  A nisson, who disliked the new  Didot design, was apparently motivated by a desire to prove that  Garamond type was more legible; his experiment showed that a page set in Garamond could  be read from farther away than a page set in Didot type of the same size, and the reason, Sobry says, is that “Garamond was careful to emphasise those parts of the shape of his types which distinguish them from one another.”  10.  His reputation is now tarnished as a result of the posthumous discovery that in his later work he manipulated (and probably falsified) data in order to advance his belief that social-class structure reflects levels of inherited intelligence. Whether or not his attitudes affected the specific conclusions of his typographical investigations, the general approach of his studies of type legibility (which is all I am concerned with here) remains important.  11. Some prominent earlier studies are those by T. C.  Hansard and Charles H.  Babbage in the 1820s and Émile  Javal in the 1870s (as discussed by R. L.  Pyke in his Medical Research Council Report on the Legibility of Print in 1926); E. C.  Sandfords (1888); E. B.  Huey (1908); Barbara E.  Roethlein (1912); G. W.  Ovink (1938); and Donald G.  Paterson and Miles A.  Tinker (1940, preceded by other work of theirs going back to 1928), plus the 1912 report on schoolbooks from the  British Association for the Advancement of Science. One of the classic works in the history of typography, Lucien Alphonse  Legros and John Cameron  Grant’s Typographical Printing-Surfaces (1916), which deals primarily with the mechanics of its subject (Legros was an engineer), includes a chapter on “Legibility” (pp. 156–92) that refers to several earlier psychological and physiological studies; the chapter also reports on the authors’ own project for determining the “legibility coefficients” of similar characters (such as “b” and “h”) by measuring the nonoverlapping areas in superimposed letters of a given font.  12. One way that  paper affects legibility, apart from its color and degree of opacity, is that some type designs with very thin strokes may be less readable when used with smooth-finish paper, as explained by Beatrice  Warde in The Crystal Goblet (1955): a smooth surface “takes the inked copy with such ease that little or no impression into the fabric of the paper is necessary, and, therefore, the only ink which comes off the type is that on the actual printing surface ” (p. 140) – and so the strokes appear thinner.  13. Indeed,  he discounted in it the value of such testing: “the universal in the mind of the reader … will be preferred to any fount created de novo from data supplied by a scientific inquiry … Nothing can be more

Notes to pp. 71–74

111

important than legibility, yet, notwithstanding all the work which has been done towards its investigation, vagueness and hesitation mark the reports of medical, physiological, psychological, and typographical authorities” (p. 310 in David  McKitterick’s 1980 edition). As an example, he cited R. L.  Pyke’s 1926 report on legibility (see note 11 above). 14. Nicolas  Barker, in chapter 12 (pp. 283–302) of his 1972 biography of  Morison, recounts the series of events (1930–32) that led to the production of this design. 15. Marshall  Lee, in Bookmaking (1965), puts the matter this way: “There has been a considerable amount of research in readability, but the problem has too many subtleties to ever yield to rational study alone. Nevertheless, where many tests are in agreement with each other and with the observations of experienced designers, it is fair to assume that some truth has been found” (p. 96). 16. After examining a  t ype design in terms of the various characteristics mentioned above, the historian may wish to identify the design by name; one of the books useful in this process is  Rookledge’s International Typefinder (1983). (On the historical background of the different design families, see – besides  Morison’s work – A. F.  Johnson’s standard Type Designs (1934); on the  description of type, see my 1966 article.) 17. This article – fittingly at the beginning of a new enterprise – glanced backward over the history of experiments in legibility, mentioning several of the works cited in notes 9 and 11 above. Among the later writers prominent in this area are Peter  Burnhill and James  Hartley, some of whose articles were to appear in  Wrolstad’s journal. For an extensive list of work of this kind, including articles appearing in psychological journals (especially Journal of Applied Psychology, Journal of Educational Psychology, and British Journal of Educational Psychology), see my  Introduction to Bibliography (2002), section 6J1. There is also a great deal of writing on the psychology of reading that bypasses book design and goes directly from written text as language to the responses in readers’ minds. For example, Ellen J.  E srock’s The Reader’s Eye (1994), which assesses some of the work on readers’ visual imaging, does not consider the role of physical presentation in that process. 18. At the  beginning of his  journal’s tenth year, he wrote a “manifesto” for it, based on research suggesting that “writing – not speech – has been the mainstream of the historic development of language” (p. 5). Following from this “new concept of visible language,” his journal, he hoped, could “provide the rallying point for a concerted effort from all disciplines which impinge on language study to clarify the relationship among three basic components: language per se and its expression as visible language and as audible language” (p. 37).



Notes to pp. –

. The first of these conferences was held on September –, , at Geldrop, The Netherlands. It resulted in a volume, Processing of Visible Language, Volume  (), containing some three dozen papers; the editors (Paul A. Kolers, Wrolstad, and Herman Bouma) stated in their introduction that the idea was to bring together psychologists, graphic designers, and engineers because these groups “have lost much of the mutual communication that their joint enterprise should encourage.” In the present context, the most relevant papers are grouped under the heading “Design of Graphic Language,” with an introduction by Wrolstad, who pointed out that an achievement of the conference was to allow representatives from the worlds of writing research and reading research “to sit down and reason together.” The second volume of the anthology, published in  by the same editors, followed the second conference, held September –, , at Niagara-onthe-Lake, Ontario; this conference placed greater emphasis on “the design of language, both in its historical development and in its current display.” A third conference, held May  – June , , at Airlie House, Warrenton, Virginia, led to a third anthology, Toward a New Understanding of Literacy (edited by Wrolstad and Dennis F. Fisher, ), which again stressed “interdisciplinary exploration.” The many special issues of Visible Language are also anthologies on particular subjects, such as “The Spatial Arrangement of Text” (edited by James Hartley and Peter Burnhill, ) or “The Avant-Garde and the Text” (edited by Stephen C. Foster, ). . Briem’s was the first of eleven tributes gathered in the Winter  number under the title “A Visible Tribute to Merald Wrolstad, –.” . Although the following discussion focuses on nonpictorial elements, illustrations (when present) naturally form another link with contemporary artistic trends; two standard surveys that are useful for associating book illustrations with period styles of bookmaking are David Bland’s The Illustration of Books () and Edward Hodnett’s Five Centuries of English Book Illustration (). Bookbindings also convey information to readers, but only those placed on books by their publishers (that is, after edition-binding began in the late eighteenth century) can be analyzed as a part of the prepublication process. Nevertheless, bindings of all periods inevitably reflect the stylistic sensibilities and the culture of their times – connections made for the earlier periods by Anthony Hobson in Humanists and Bookbinders () and by Mirjam Foot in The History of Bookbinding as a Mirror of Society (). See also Paul Needham’s Twelve Centuries of Bookbindings, – (); and for edition-binding, see the books by Douglas Ball (), Ellen K. Morris and Edward S. Levin (), and Edmund M. B. King ().

Notes to pp. 76–78

113

22. A good example of a study that pursues such associations is Paul F.  Grendler’s “Form and Function in Italian Renaissance Popular Books” (1993). 23. See note 8 above. The most  relevant parts of my  Introduction to Bibliography (2002) for this particular purpose are sections 2E3 (printing and typographical journals), 6H (book design), 7D–7G (illustration), and 8D–8E (binding).  2 4. The  interchange of views between Max  Bill and Jan  Tschichold in 1946 is an example of a debate about modernism versus traditionalism in typography, explicitly making social and political connections. A translation, introduced by Christopher  Burke and Robin  K inross, appeared in Typography Papers for 2000; in Burke’s words, the dispute “can be regarded as a struggle towards a consciousness of the possible consequences of typographic practice.” (Cf. the suggestive title of Kinross’s essay in the 1997 number, “Type as Critique.”) Another symbolic moment, three years after the Bill–Tschichold exchange, was the “Graphic Forms” conference held at  Harvard in January 1949, with an international roster of speakers representing both historicism and European modernism; one of the themes was “how the spirit of the age should be translated into the printed page” (in the words of Walter Dorwin  Teague). The lectures were published in a 1949 book,  Graphic Forms, which has been placed in historical perspective by Ellen Mazur  Thomson in a 2006 essay. An example of a recent article that deals with the political and social associations of letterforms is Peter  Bain and Paul  Shaw’s “Blackletter: Type and National Identity” (1999). 25. But  Morison’s many other magisterial treatments of both provide relevant background for reading this book, especially the last two chapters: for example,  Type Designs of the Past and Present (1926) and The Typographic Book 1450–1935 (1963). A substantial selection of Morison’s essays was edited by David  McKitterick in 1980–81. 26. A roughly contemporaneous statement of Morison’s conception of  bibliography, though less sweeping, has a characteristic comprehensiveness: “Critical bibliography is the science that identifies, separates and classifies details of the physical construction of surfaces and single sheets, tablets, books, and all other materials to which signs, alphabetical and otherwise, are applied. Consequently, it discovers the principles that underlie distinctions in the form and the production of textual composition, whether manuscript or printed”  (the opening two sentences of the 1963 essay “On the Classification of Typographical Variations,” in the revised wording published in 1968). Thus Morison and  Greg, each with a broad vision for bibliography, are complementary in their emphases. 

114

Notes to pp. 79–83

27. A  book that deserves to be mentioned in this context is Armando  Petrucci’s La scrittura (1986), which takes a similar approach to the interaction of lettering and culture; it was translated into English by Linda  Lappin as Public Lettering: Script, Power, and Culture in 1993. The work of Nicolete  Gray should also be recalled here for her treatment of public lettering, as reflected in Lettering on Buildings (1960) and A History of Lettering (1986) and in her 1974 essay for Visible Language, “Lettering and Society.” (Michael  Twyman published a careful assessment of her work in 1998. ) See also Johanna  Drucker’s 1995 book, The Alphabetic Labyrinth: The Letters in History and Imagination.  28. For readings beyond this core group, see my  Introduction to Bibliography (2002), section 6J2. 29.  McKitterick makes particularly clear the necessity, when pursuing this aim, of recognizing the complex and continuing relationship between  manuscripts and printed books, for the (often exaggerated) “boundary between manuscript and print is as untidy chronologically as it is commercially, materially or socially” (p. 12). Another study that makes this point is Paul  Saenger’s 1996 account of the gradual ­development of conventions in the printed book that affected the history of reading. 30.  Documentary sources for a knowledge of actual received meaning are generally to be found outside the books themselves, in the letters of readers or the essays of critics, for example. But  readers do often leave some of their responses on the pages of text, in the form of marks and notes; and there has in recent years been an increased interest in the study of marginalia as a part of the history of reading. See, for example, the  Beinecke Library catalogue of Bernard M.  Rosenthal’s collection, Printed Books with Manuscript Annotations (1997). Marginalia are not in themselves bibliographical evidence in the usual sense (any more than the same notes written on pieces of paper outside of books would be). But they offer, within books, tangible evidence linking those books to one or more past moments of their postpublication lives, and they are thus one of the sources for interpreting the social effect of that large class of bibliographical evidence  consisting of the design features of books. (Cf. notes 5 and 39.) 31. Presented at the same Wolfenbuttel symposium (on “Buch und Buchhandel in Europa im achtzehnten Jahrhundert”) as Nicolas  Barker’s paper mentioned earlier, and published in 1981. 32. For a detailed account of the influence of  Greg’s “The Rationale of Copy-Text” (1950), see my  Textual Criticism since Greg (2005). 33. For more detailed discussion of this flaw of  McKenzie’s, see my  essays in Studies in Bibliography in 1986 (pp. 14–18) and 1991 (pp. 87–99), as well as “The Work of D. F. McKenzie” in Papers of the Bibliographical

Notes to pp. 83–87

115

Society of America in 2004. (Another detailed assessment of McKenzie’s achievement was offered by Harold  Love in 2001.) 34. Available thus far only in a privately circulated reproduction of the typescript (with a printed title-page and cover); it contains a preface indicating that the text “has not been revised or corrected although some small changes have been made to compensate for the absence of the slides.” “For the moment,” McKenzie adds, “I should prefer the lectures to stand simply as such, as fairly tentative explorations of themes that have interested me.” Among the libraries that have the reproduced typescript are those of Cambridge, Oxford, and Harvard universities and the Folger, Huntington, and Newberry libraries.  35. Four years later, for example, Ruth Samson  Luborsky published a study of  Spenser’s The Shepheardes Calender (1579),  arguing that it “makes fair claim to being the first printed book of English poetry whose presentation was planned deliberately to be allusive” (p. 29) and that Spenser himself was responsible. (See also S. K.  Heninger’s 1988 article.) And an example dealing with a later period is Johanna  Drucker’s 1991 study of “Typographic Manipulation of the Poetic Text in the Early TwentiethCentury Avant-Garde. ” 36. The question of letterforms is briefly and ambiguously mentioned by Brooke  Crutchley, the  Cambridge University printer, in his preface to Line upon Line: he says that he has felt free to alter the “style of lettering” in the inscriptions chosen for inclusion, since that of the originals is “often fortuitous and inappropriate” (p. 7). 37. The  following passage from Visible Words is characteristic in that its unexceptionable statement about “visual form” is followed by one that mentions only layout: “a reader may be affected in the very act of appreciating the meaning of a sequence of words by the visual form in which they are presented to him: the quality of the impact that a piece of writing makes upon our minds may be in part determined by the layout, and particularly by the lineation” (p. 143). Thus Sparrow would probably have agreed with Robert H. W.  Waller, who (in a 1980 article) treated spacing and other layout devices as “macro-punctuation.” Sparrow’s series of Lapidaria (1943–81) impressively displays his thesis regarding the expressive power of lineation; as he says in the sixth volume (1969), he does at times “vary lineation so as to give effect to the presumed intention of the composer.”  38. Although most authors do not make every one of these elements an intended part of their works, writers of the class of pattern poems called  “concrete poetry” do (by definition) usually make conscious use of all of them. A pioneer study of early pattern poems is Margaret  Church’s 1946 article on “The First English Pattern Poems”; see also Kenneth  Newell’s Pattern Poems (1976) and Dick  Higgins’s Pattern Poetry (1987).

116

Notes to p. 87

One of the most detailed examinations of a pattern poem, discussing editorial issues and using bibliographical analysis, is Randall   McLeod’s treatment of George  Herbert’s “Easter-Wings” in his “fiat flux” (1994). I have included writings on concrete  poetry, along with studies of other kinds of shaped poetry and other authorial uses of book-design features, in my listing in  Introduction to Bibliography (2002), section 6J3. 39. As, of course, can signatures and  bookplates. In any case, each  postpublication addition to a book documents a stage in its history. David  Pearson’s Provenance Research in Book History (1994) carefully explains the process of attempting to reconstruct the postpublication histories of books, using both the evidence they still contain and such external sources as booksellers’ catalogues and inventories of estates.  (See also note 30 above.) A substantial selection from the literature of bookbinding is listed in my  Introduction to Bibliography (2002), part 8.

Further reading: works cited

A l ph a be t ic a l l i st Abbott, Craig S. 1976. “Offset Slur as Bibliographical Evidence,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 70: 538–41. Agüera y Arcas, Blaise. 2003. “Temporary Matrices and Elemental Punches in Gutenberg’s DK Type,” in Incunabula and Their Readers: Printing, Selling and Using Books in the Fifteenth Century, ed. Kristian Jensen (London: British Library), pp. 1–12. Ames, Joseph. 1749. Typographical Antiquities (London: Printed by W. Faden and sold by J. Robinson). Rev. William Herbert, 1785–90 (3 vols.; London: Printed for the editor). Rev. Thomas Frognall Dibdin, 1810–19 (4 vols.; London: Printed for William Miller by William Savage). Amory, Hugh. 1996. “The Trout and the Milk: An Ethnobibliographical Talk,” Harvard Library Bulletin n.s. 7.1 (Spring): 50–65. Aubin, Paul. See Tanselle 1993a. Bain, D. C. 1940. “Some Notes on the Printing of the Summa de Exemplis, 1499,” The Library 4th series 21 (1940–41): 192–98. Bain, Peter, and Paul Shaw. 1999. “Blackletter: Type and National Identity,” Printing History 19.2/20.1: 1–80. Baines, Phil. 1990. See Perfect 1983. Baker, William. See Howard-Hill 1999. Bald, R. C. 1942. “Evidence and Inference in Bibliography,” English Institute Annual 1941, pp. 159–83. Ball, Douglas. 1985. Victorian Publishers’ Bindings (London: Library Association; Williamsburg, Va.: Book Press). Barber, Giles, and Bernhard Fabian, eds. 1981. Buch und Buchhandel in Europa im achtzehnten Jahrhundert (Fünftes Wolfenbütteler Symposium, 1977; Hamburg: Ernst Hauswedell). Barker, Nicolas. 1972a. Stanley Morison (London: Macmillan).   1972b. See Morison 1972.   1980. See Carter (J.) 1952. 117

118

Further reading: works cited

  1981. “Typography and the Meaning of Words: The Revolution in the Layout of Books in the Eighteenth Century,” in Barber 1981, pp. 126–65.   1983. See Carter (J.) 1934.   1987. The Butterfly Books: An Enquiry into the Nature of Certain Twentieth Century Pamphlets (London: Bertram Rota).   1990. “Reflections on the History of the Book,” The Book Collector 39: 9–26. Reprinted, 2003, in Form and Meaning in the History of the Book (London: British Library), pp. 269–78. Bayfield, M. A. 1920. “Elizabethan Printing: An Instructive Blunder,” Times Literary Supplement, September 23, pp. 618–19. Followed by comments from J. Dover Wilson (September 30, p. 636), Bayfield (October 14, pp. 667–68), A. W. Pollard (October 21, p. 680), and Bayfield (November 11, p. 738). Belanger, Terry. 2008. “A Short Description of the BAP [Book Arts Press] and RBS [Rare Book School],” in Book Arts Press Address Book (10th edn., March 2008; Charlottesville: Book Arts Press, University of Virginia), pp. 6–15 (supplemented by “The RBS Faculty & Their Courses, 1983–2008,” pp. 238–69, and “BAP/RBS Lectures 1–500, 1972–2007,” pp. 273–318). Bennet, Thomas. 1715. An Essay on the Thirty Nine Articles of Religion, Agreed on in 1562, and Revised in 1571 (London: Printed by M. J. for W. Innys). Benton, Megan L. See Gutjahr 2001. The Bibliographical Society 1892–1942: Studies in Retrospect. 1945. (London: Bibliographical Society). Bill, Max. 1946. See Burke 2000. Blades, William. 1861. The Life and Typography of William Caxton (2 vols.; London: J. Lilly, 1861–63).   1891. The Pentateuch of Printing, with a Chapter on Judges (London: Elliot Stock). Bland, David. 1951. The Illustration of Books (London: Faber & Faber). 2nd edn., 1953 (Faber & Faber). 3rd edn., 1962 (Faber & Faber).   1963. See Simon 1945. Blayney, Peter W. M. 1982. The Texts of “King Lear” and Their Origins: Volume I, Nicholas Okes and the First Quarto (Cambridge: University Press). See also Blayney’s letter in the Times Literary Supplement, January 27, 1984, p. 85.   1991. The First Folio of Shakespeare (Washington: Folger Shakespeare Library).   1996. “Introduction to the Second Edition,” in The Norton Facsimile of the First Folio of Shakespeare, ed. Charlton Hinman (New York: Norton), pp. xxvii–xxxvii. See also Hinman 1968. Bloomfield, Paul. 1928. See Sobry 1799. Boghardt, Martin. See Needham 1994b.

Alphabetical list

119

Bond, William H. 1948. “Casting off Copy by Elizabethan Printers: A Theory,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 42: 281–91. Bornstein, George. 2001. Material Modernism: The Politics of the Page (Cambridge: University Press). Bouma, Herman. See Kolers 1979, 1980. Bowden, Ann. See Todd 1998b. Bowers, Fredson. 1939. “Notes on Running-Titles as Bibliographical Evidence,” The Library 4th series 19 (1938–39): 315–38.   1942. “The Headline in Early Books,” English Institute Annual 1941, pp. 185–205. Reprinted in Bowers 1975, pp. 199–211.   1947. “An Examination of the Method of Proof Correction in Lear,” The Library 5th series 2 (1947–48): 20–44. Reprinted in Bowers 1975, pp. 212–39.   1949a. “Bibliography and the University,” University of Pennsylvania Library Chronicle 15: 37–51. Reprinted in Bowers 1975, pp. 3–14.   1949b. Principles of Bibliographical Description (Princeton: University Press). See also Tanselle 1994.   1950. “Some Relations of Bibliography to Editorial Problems,” Studies in Bibliography 3 (1950–51): 37–62. Reprinted in Bowers 1975, pp. 15–36.   1952. “Bibliography, Pure Bibliography, and Literary Studies,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 46: 186–208. Reprinted in Bowers 1975, pp. 37–53.   1954. “Shakespeare’s Text and the Bibliographical Method,” Studies in Bibliography 6: 71–91.   1955. On Editing Shakespeare and the Elizabethan Dramatists (Rosenbach Lectures 1954; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Library for the Rosenbach Foundation).   1959a. The Bibliographical Way (University of Kansas Publications, Library Series, no. 7; Lawrence: University of Kansas Libraries). Reprinted in Bowers 1975, pp. 54–74.   1959b. Textual and Literary Criticism (Sandars Lectures 1958; Cambridge: University Press).   1964. Bibliography and Textual Criticism (Lyell Lectures 1959; Oxford: Clarendon Press).   1965. [Discussion of compositorial stints], in Nathaniel Hawthorne, The House of the Seven Gables, ed. Bowers (Centenary Edition, vol. ii; Columbus: Ohio State University Press), pp. xxxviii–lviii.   1966. Bibliography and Modern Librarianship (Berkeley: School of Librarianship; Los Angeles: School of Library Service, University of California). Reprinted in Bowers 1975, pp. 75–93.   1971. “Four Faces of Bibliography,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of Canada 10: 33–45. Reprinted in Bowers 1975, pp. 94–108.

120

Further reading: works cited

  1975. Essays in Bibliography, Text, and Editing (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia for the Bibliographical Society of the University of Virginia).   1977. [Biographical sketch of Charlton Joseph Kadio Hinman], The Book Collector 26: 389–91. Brack, O M, Jr. See McMullin 1994. Bradley, Henry. 1928. The Collected Papers (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Bradshaw, Henry. 1860ff. See Bradshaw 1904, 1909, 1966, 1972, 1980, 1981.   1870. A Classified Index of the Fifteenth Century Books in the Collection of M. J. De Meyer, Which Were Sold at Ghent in November, 1869 (Memoranda, no. 2; London: Macmillan, April 1870). Reprinted in Bradshaw 1889, pp. 206–36.   1889. Collected Papers, ed. F. J. [Francis Jenkinson] (Cambridge: University Press).   1904. “Letters of Henry Bradshaw to Officials of the British Museum,” ed. A. W. Pollard, The Library 2nd series 5: 266–92, 431–42.   1909. “Eleven Letters from Henry Bradshaw to S. W. Lawley,” ed. Francis Jenkinson, in Fasciculus Ioanni Willis Clark dicatus (Cambridge: Privately printed at the University Press), pp. 115–34.   1966. Henry Bradshaw’s Correspondence on Incunabula with J. W. Holtrop and M. F. A. G. Campbell, ed. Wytze and Lotte Hellinga (2 vols.; Amsterdam: Menno Hertzberger, 1966, and A. L. Van Gendt, 1978).   1972. “Henry Bradshaw’s Correspondentië met Ferdinand Vander Haeghen,” ed. J. Machiels, Archives et bibliothèques de Belgique 43: 598–614.   1980. “Henry Bradshaw and M. F. A. G. Campbell: Some Further Corres­ pondence,” ed. David McKitterick, in Hellinga Festschrift (Amsterdam: Israel), pp. 335–38.   1981. “Henry Bradshaw and J. W. Holtrop: Some Further Corres­ pondence,” ed. David McKitterick, Quaerendo 11: 128–64.   1984. Henry Bradshaw, 1831–1886, ed. Roy Stokes (The Great Bibliographers Series, no. 6; Metuchen, N. J.: Scarecrow Press). Bray, Joe. See McLeod 2000. Briem, Gunnlaugur S. E. et al. 1987. “A Visible Tribute to Merald Wrolstad, 1923–1987,” Visible Language 21.1 (Winter): 3–15. British Association for the Advancement of Science. 1912. Report on the Influence of School-Books upon Eyesight (London: The Association). Bronson, Bertrand H. 1958. “Printing as an Index of Taste in EighteenthCentury England,” Bulletin of the New York Public Library 62: 371–87, 443–62. Reprinted, 1958, as a pamphlet (New York: Public Library). Reprinted, 1968, in Facets of the Enlightenment: Studies in English Literature and Its Contexts (Berkeley: University of California Press), pp. 326–65. Brooks, Douglas A. See Maguire 2005.

Alphabetical list

121

Bruccoli, Matthew J. 1957. James Branch Cabell: A Bibliography, Part II. Notes on the Cabell Collections at the University of Virginia (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press).   1958. “Textual Variants in Sinclair Lewis’s Babbitt,” Studies in Bibliography 11: 263–68.   1963. “Concealed Printings in Hawthorne,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 57: 42–49. Bühler, Curt F. 1948. “The Headlines of William de Machlinia’s Year-Book, 37 Henry VI,” Studies in Bibliography 1 (1948–49): 125–32.   1949. [Review of Studies in Bibliography 1 (1948–49)], Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 43: 227–29.   1957. “Watermarks and the Dates of Fifteenth-Century Books,” Stu­dies in Bibliography 9: 217–24. Reprinted in Early Books and Manuscripts: Forty Years of Research (New York: Grolier Club and Pierpont Morgan Library, 1973), pp. 257–65. [Cf. Needham 1994a, pp. 50–52.] Burke, Christopher, and Robin Kinross, eds. 2000. “The Dispute between Max Bill and Jan Tschichold of 1946, with a Later Contribution [1948] by Paul Renner,” Typography Papers 4: 57–90. Burnhill, Peter. 1970. “Typographic Education: Headings in Text,” Journal of Typographic Research 4: 353–65.   1971, 1981. See Hartley 1971, 1981. Burt, Cyril. 1955. “A Psychological Study of Typography,” British Journal of Statistical Psychology 8.1: 29–57.   1959. A Psychological Study of Typography, with introduction by Stanley Morison (Cambridge: University Press). Cahill, Thomas A. See Schwab 1983. Campbell, M. F. A. G. 1870ff. See Bradshaw 1966, 1980. Capell, Edward, ed. 1760. Prolusions; or, Select Pieces of Antient Poetry (London: J. & R. Tonson). Carpenter, Kenneth E. See Tanselle 1983. Carter, Harry. 1958. See Moxon 1683. Carter, John. 1932. Binding Variants in English Publishing, 1820–1900 (Bibliographia, no. 6; London: Constable; New York: Ray Long & Richard R. Smith).   1934. Carter and Graham Pollard, An Enquiry into the Nature of Certain Nineteenth Century Pamphlets (London: Constable; New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons). Reprinted, 1983, with an epilogue, and with notes by Nicolas Barker and John Collins (London: Scolar Press); accompanied, in a separate volume, by Barker and Collins’s A Sequel to “An Enquiry” (London: Scolar Press).   1948. Taste and Technique in Book-Collecting (Sandars Lectures 1947; New York: R. R. Bowker; Cambridge: University Press). Reprinted, 1970, with an epilogue (London: Private Libraries Association).

122

Further reading: works cited

  1952. ABC for Book-Collectors (London: Hart-Davis). 6th edn., 1980, rev. Nicolas Barker (London: Granada). 8th edn., 2004, with Barker as coauthor (New Castle, Del.: Oak Knoll Press; London: British Library).   1958. “Michael Sadleir: A Valediction,” The Book Collector 7: 58–61. Chapman, R. W. 1924. “Notes on Cancel Leaves,” The Library 4th series 5 (1924–25): 249–58.   1930. Cancels (Bibliographia, no. 3; London: Constable; New York: Richard R. Smith). Chartier, Roger. See Martin 1982. Church, Margaret. 1946. “The First English Pattern Poems,” PMLA 61: 636–50. Clarke, Adam. 1806. The Bibliographical Miscellany (2 vols.; London: W. Baynes). Clegg, Cyndia Susan. See McLeod 2005. Collins, John. 1983. See Carter (J.) 1934. Conley, Tom. 1992. The Graphic Unconscious in Early Modern French Writing (Cambridge: University Press). Copinger, W. A. 1893. “Inaugural Address,” Transactions of the Bibliographical Society 1 (1892–93): 29–59.   1894. “Presidential Address,” Transactions of the Bibliographical Society 2 (1893–94): 103–22. Crutchley, Brooke. See Sparrow 1967. Daly, Peter M. See Heninger 1988. Darnton, Robert. 1979. The Business of Enlightenment: A Publishing History of the “Encyclopédie,” 1775–1800 (Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press). Davis, Herbert. 1957. [Review of Studies in Bibliography 7 (1955)], Review of English Studies n.s. 8: 215–17.   1958. See Moxon 1683. Davison, Peter. 1972. “Science, Method, and the Textual Critic,” Studies in Bibliography 25: 1–28.   1977. “The Selection and Presentation of Bibliographic Evidence,” Analytical and Enumerative Bibliography 1: 101–36. Davison, Peter, ed. 1992. The Book Encompassed: Studies in TwentiethCentury Bibliography (Cambridge: University Press). Dawson, Giles E. 1961. “Guide-Lines in Small Formats (about 1600),” Studies in Bibliography 14: 206–8. Dawson, Robert. 2004. “Notes on Press-Figures in France and the Localization of Books during the Later 18th Century,” Bibliographical Society of Australia and New Zealand Bulletin 28.3: 97–121. Day, Kenneth. See Morison 1963b. Dibdin, Thomas Frognall. 1810. See Ames 1749.

Alphabetical list

123

Dickinson, Donald C. 2004. John Carter: The Taste & Technique of a Bookman (New Castle, Del.: Oak Knoll Press). Doh, Herman. 1974. “Compositorial Responsibility in Fortune by Land and Sea, 1655,” The Library 5th series 29: 379–404. Doran, Madeleine. 1942. “An Evaluation of Evidence in Shakespearean Textual Criticism,” English Institute Annual 1941, pp. 95–114. Draudt, Manfred. 1987. “The Rationale of Current Bibliographical Methods: Printing House Studies, Computer-Aided Compositor Studies, and the Use of Statistical Methods,” Shakespeare Survey 40: 145–53. [Cf. Jackson (M. P.) 1989.] Dreyfus, John. See Morison 1963a. Drucker, Johanna. 1991. “Typographic Manipulation of the Poetic Text in the Early Twentieth-Century Avant-Garde,” Visible Language 25: 231–56.   1994. The Visible Word: Experimental Typography and Modern Art, 1909–1923 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press).   1995. The Alphabetic Labyrinth: The Letters in History and Imagination (New York: Thames & Hudson). Eggert, Paul. 1995. “A Cautionary Tale: Stop-Press Correction in The Recollections of Geoffry Hamlyn (1859) [by Henry Kingsley],” Bibliographical Society of Australia and New Zealand Bulletin 19: 267–69. Eisenstein, Elizabeth L. 1979. The Printing Press as an Agent of Change (2 vols.; Cambridge: University Press). Elam, Kimberly. 1990. Expressive Typography: The Word as Image (New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold). Erdman, David V., and Ephim G. Fogel, eds. 1966. Evidence for Authorship: Essays on Problems of Attribution (Ithaca, N. Y.: Cornell University Press). Erne, Lukas. See Honigmann 2004. Esrock, Ellen J. 1994. The Reader’s Eye: Visual Imaging as Reader Response (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press). Ezell, Margaret J. M., and Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe, eds. 1994. Cultural Artifacts and the Production of Meaning: The Page, the Image, and the Body (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press). Fabian, Bernhard. See Barber 1981. Farnham, Willard. 1916. “Colloquial Contractions in Beaumont, Fletcher, Massinger, and Shakespeare as a Test of Authorship,” PMLA 31: 326–58. Farr, Cecilia Konchar. 2005. Reading the Graphic Surface: The Presence of the Book in Prose Fiction (Manchester: University Press). Febvre, Lucien, and Henri-Jean Martin. 1958. L’Apparition du livre (Paris: Albin Michel). Translated, 1976, by David Gerard as The Coming of the Book: The Impact of Printing 1450–1800 (London: NLB).

124

Further reading: works cited

Fisher, Dennis F. See Wrolstad 1986. Fleeman, J. D. 1964. “William Somervile’s The Chace, 1735,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 58: 1–7.   2000. A Bibliography of the Works of Samuel Johnson, ed. James McLaverty (2 vols.; Oxford: Clarendon Press). Fleming, Patricia Lockhart. 1988. Upper Canadian Imprints, 1801–1841: A Bibliography (Toronto: University of Toronto Press). Flores, R. M. 1975. The Compositors of the First and Second Madrid Editions of “Don Quixote” Part I (London: Modern Humanities Research Association). Fogel, Ephim G. See Erdman 1966. Foot, Mirjam. 1998. The History of Bookbinding as a Mirror of Society (Panizzi Lectures 1997; London: British Library). Foster, Stephen C., ed. 1987. “The Avant-Garde and the Text,” Visible Language 21.3–4 (Summer-Autumn). Foxon, David. 1956. “On Printing at One Pull and Distinguishing Impressions by Point-Holes,” The Library 5th series 11: 284–85.   1970. Thoughts on the History and Future of Bibliographical Description (Los Angeles: School of Library Service; Berkeley: School of Librarianship, University of California).   1975. English Verse 1701–1750: A Catalogue of Separately Printed Poems with Notes on Contemporary Collected Editions (2 vols.; Cambridge: University Press).   1991. Alexander Pope and the Early Eighteenth-Century Book Trade, ed. James L. McLaverty (Lyell Lectures 1976; Oxford: Clarendon Press). Francis, F. C. 1945. “The Bibliographical Society: A Sketch of the First Fifty Years,” in The Bibliographical Society 1945, pp. 1–22. Gants, David L. 2004. “The Early English Booktrade Database,” www.lib. unb.ca/Texts/Gants/EEBD/. Gardner, Helen. 1969, 1970. See Wilson (F. P.) 1945, 1959. Gascoigne, Bamber. 1986. How to Identify Prints: A Complete Guide to Manual and Mechanical Processes from Woodcut to Ink Jet (New York: Thames & Hudson). Gaskell, Philip. 1949. “Eighteenth Century Press Numbers: Their Use and Usefulness,” The Library 5th series 4 (1949–50): 249–61.   1959. John Baskerville: A Bibliography (Cambridge: University Press).   1972. A New Introduction to Bibliography (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Corrected printing, 1974. Gaskell, Roger. 2004. “Printing House and Engraving Shop: A Mysterious Collaboration,” The Book Collector 53: 213–51. Gerard, David. 1976. See Febvre 1958. Gibson, Strickland. 1951. “Thomas Bennet, a Forgotten Bibliographer,” The Library 5th series 6: 43–47.

Alphabetical list

125

Gilson, David. 1982. A Bibliography of Jane Austen (Soho Bibliographies, no.  21; Oxford: Clarendon Press). Rev. edn., 1997 (Winchester: St. Paul’s Bibliographies; New Castle, Del.: Oak Knoll Press). Glaister, Geoffrey Ashall. 1960. Glossary of the Book (London: Allen & Unwin). Rev. edn., 1979 (Allen & Unwin). Goldfinch, John. See Needham 1987. Grant, John Cameron. See Legros 1916. Graphic Forms: The Arts as Related to the Book. 1949. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press.) Gray, Nicolete. 1960. Lettering on Buildings (London: Architectural Press).   1974. “Lettering and Society,” Visible Language 8: 247–60.   1986. A History of Lettering: Creative Experiment and Letter Identity (Oxford: Phaidon). Greetham, D. C. See Tanselle 1995b. Greg, W. W. 1906. See Pollard (A. W.) 1906b.   1908. “On Certain False Dates in Shakespearian Quartos,” The Library 2nd series 9: 113–31, 381–409. Reprinted in Greg 1998, pp. 35–67.   1914. “What Is Bibliography?,” Transactions of the Bibliographical Society 12 (1911–13): 39–53. Reprinted in Greg 1966, pp. 75–88, and in Greg 1998, pp. 85–96.   1921. “The Printing of the Beaumont and Fletcher Folio of 1647,” The Library 4th series 2 (1921–22): 109–15.   1930. “The Present Position of Bibliography,” The Library 4th series 11 (1930–31): 241–62. Reprinted in Greg 1966, pp. 207–25, and in Greg 1998, pp. 119–34.   1932. “Bibliography – An Apologia,” The Library 4th series 13 (1932–33): 113–43. Reprinted in Greg 1966, pp. 239–66, and in Greg 1998, pp. 135–57.   1933. “The Function of Bibliography in Literary Criticism Illustrated in a Study of the Text of King Lear,” Neophilologus 19: 241–62. Reprinted in Greg 1966, pp. 267–97, and in Greg 1998, pp. 159–86.   1934. “A Formulary of Collation,” The Library 4th series 14 (1933–34): 365–82. Reprinted in Greg 1966, pp. 298–313.   1939. A Bibliography of the English Printed Drama to the Restoration (Illustrated Monographs, no. 24; 4 vols.; London: Bibliographical Society, 1939–59).   1940a. “Ronald Brunlees McKerrow, 1872–1940,” Proceedings of the British Academy 26: 488–515 (and as a separate). Reprinted in McKerrow 1974, pp. 1–23.   1940b. The Variants in the First Quarto of “King Lear”: A Bibliographical and Critical Inquiry (London: Oxford University Press for the Bibliographical Society). Partially reprinted in Greg 1998, pp. 187–200.

126

Further reading: works cited

  1942. The Editorial Problem in Shakespeare: A Survey of the Foundations of the Text (Clark Lectures 1939; Oxford: Clarendon Press). 2nd edn., 1951 (Clarendon Press). 3rd edn., 1954 (Clarendon Press).   1945. “Bibliography – A Retrospect,” in The Bibliographical Society 1945, pp. 23–31.   1950a. “The Rationale of Copy-Text,” Studies in Bibliography 3 (1950–51): 19–36. Reprinted in Greg 1966, pp. 374–91, and in Greg 1998, pp. 213–28.   1950b. [Review of Studies in Bibliography 1 (1948–49)], Modern Language Review 45: 76.   1955. The Shakespeare First Folio: Its Bibliographical and Textual History (Oxford: Clarendon Press).   1960. Biographical Notes 1877–1947 (Oxford: New Bodleian Library).   1966. Collected Papers, ed. J. C. Maxwell (Oxford: Clarendon Press).   1998. Sir Walter Wilson Greg: A Collection of His Writings, ed. Joseph Rosenblum (The Great Bibliographers Series, no. 11; Lanham, Md.: Scarecrow Press). Grendler, Paul F. 1993. “Form and Function in Italian Renaissance Popular Books,” Renaissance Quarterly 46: 451–85. Gutjahr, Paul C., and Megan L. Benton, eds. 2001. Illuminating Letters: Typography and Literary Interpretation (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press). Haebler, Konrad. 1905. Typenrepertorium der Wiegendrucke (5 vols.; Halle: R. Haupt, etc., 1905–24). Hailey, R. Carter. 2005. “The Shakespearian Pavier Quartos Revisited,” Studies in Bibliography 57 (2005–6): 151–95. Hammond, Anthony. 1986. “The White Devil in Nicholas Okes’s Shop,” Studies in Bibliography 39: 135–76. Handley, Miriam. See McLeod 2000. Harris, Michael. See Roberts 1988. Harris, Neil. 2004a. “Analytical Bibliography: An Alternative Prospectus,” http://ihl.enssib.fr/siteihl.php?page=55.   2004b. “The Blind Impressions in the Aldine Hypnerotomachia Poliphili,” Gutenberg-Jahrbuch 2004, pp. 93–146.   2006. “Tribal Lays and the History of the Fingerprint,” in Many into One: Problems and Opportunities in Creating Shared Catalogues of Older Books, ed. David J. Shaw (London: Consortium of European Research Libraries), pp. 21–72. Reprinted, 2007, as a pamphlet with two pages of errata. Hartley, James. 1971. Hartley and Peter Burnhill, “Experiments with Unjustified Text,” Visible Language 5: 265–77.   1978. Designing Instructional Text (London: Kogan Page). Hartley, James, ed. 1980. The Psychology of Written Communication: Selected Readings (London: Kogan Page).

Alphabetical list

127

Hartley, James, and Peter Burnhill, eds. 1981. “The Spatial Arrangement of Text,” Visible Language 15.1 (Winter). Hartwig, Otto. See Wallau 1900. Harvey, Ross. See McKitterick 1993a. Hayford, Harrison. See Tanselle 1991a. Hazen, Allen T. 1942. A Bibliography of the Strawberry Hill Press (New Haven: Yale University Press). Heller, Scott. 1996. “Visual Images Replace Text as Focal Point for Many Scholars,” Chronicle of Higher Education, July 19, pp. A8-A9, A15. Hellinga, Lotte. 1966. See Bradshaw 1966.   1982. Caxton in Focus: The Beginning of Printing in England (London: British Library).   1987. See Needham 1987.   1989. “Analytical Bibliography and the Study of Early Printed Books with a Case-Study of the Mainz Catholicon,” Gutenberg-Jahrbuch 1989, pp. 47–96. Hellinga, Lotte, ed. 2007. Catalogue of Books Printed in the XVth Century Now in the British Library (BMC Part XI: England; ‘t Goy-Houten, Netherlands: Hes & De Graaf). Includes essays by Hellinga on “Methods of Production,” pp. 19–36, and on “Printing Types and Other Typographical Material,” pp. 335–50. Hellinga, Wytze. See Bradshaw 1966. Heninger, S. K. 1988. “The Typographical Layout of Spenser’s Shepheardes Calender,” in Word and Visual Imagination: Studies in the Interaction of English Literature and the Visual Arts, ed. Karl Josef Höltgen, Peter M. Daly, and Wolfgang Lottes (Erlangen: Universitätsbibliothek Erlangen-Nürnberg), pp. 33–71. Henry, Anne C. See McLeod 2000. Herbert, William. 1785. See Ames 1749. Higgins, Dick. 1987. Pattern Poetry: Guide to an Unknown Literature (Albany: State University of New York). Hill, W. Speed. 1999. “Where Are the Bibliographers of Yesteryear?,” in Pilgrimage for Love: New Essays in Early Modern Literature in Honor of Josephine A. Roberts, ed. Sigrid King (Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies), pp. 115–32. Hinman, Charlton. 1940. “Principles Governing the Use of Variant Spellings as Evidence of Alternate Setting by Two Compositors,” The Library 4th series 21 (1940–41): 78–94.   1942. “New Uses for Headlines as Bibliographical Evidence,” English Institute Annual 1941, pp. 207–22.   1955. “Cast-Off Copy for the First Folio of Shakespeare,” Shakespeare Quarterly 6: 259–73.   1963. The Printing and Proof-Reading of the First Folio of Shakespeare (2 vols.; Oxford: Clarendon Press).

128

Further reading: works cited

Hinman, Charlton, ed. 1968. The Norton Facsimile of the First Folio of Shakespeare (New York: Norton). See also Blayney 1996. Hobson, Anthony. 1989. Humanists and Bookbinders: The Origins and Diffusion of the Humanistic Bookbinding 1459–1559 (Cambridge: University Press). Hodnett, Edward. 1988. Five Centuries of English Book Illustration (Aldershot: Scolar Press). Höltgen, Karl Josef. See Heninger 1988. Holtrop, J. W. 1856. Monuments typographiques des Pays-Bas au quinzième siècle (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1856–68).   1864ff. See Bradshaw 1966, 1981. Honigmann, E. A. J. 1965a. “Spelling Tests and the First Quarto of King Lear,” The Library 5th series 20: 310–15.   1965b. The Stability of Shakespeare’s Text (London: Edward Arnold; Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press).   2004. “The New Bibliography and Its Critics,” in Textual Performances: The Modern Reproduction of Shakespeare’s Drama, ed. Lukas Erne and Margaret Jane Kidnie (Cambridge: University Press), pp. 77–93. Horne, Thomas Hartwell. 1814. An Introduction to the Study of Bibliography (London: Printed by G. Woodfall for T. Cadell and W. Davies). Howard-Hill, T. H. 1963. “Spelling and the Bibliographer,” The Library 5th series 18: 1–28. Signed “T. H. Hill.”   1972. Ralph Crane and Some Shakespeare First Folio Comedies (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia for the Bibliographical Society of the University of Virginia).   1973. “The Compositors of Shakespeare’s Folio Comedies,” Studies in Bibliography 26: 61–106.   1976. Compositors B and E in the Shakespeare First Folio and Some Recent Studies (Columbia, S.C.: Distributed as reproduced typescript).   1977. A Reassessment of Compositors B and E in the First Folio Tragedies (Columbia, S.C.: Distributed as reproduced typescript).   1980. “New Light on Compositor E of the Shakespeare First Folio,” The Library 6th series 2: 156–78.   1999. “Alice Walker,” in Twentieth-Century British Book Collectors and Bibliographers, First Series, ed. William Baker and Kenneth Womack (Dictionary of Literary Biography, vol. 201; Detroit: Gale Research), pp. 297–305.   2006. “Early Modern Printers and the Standardization of English Spelling,” Modern Language Review 101: 16–29. Hoy, Cyrus. 1955. “The Shares of Fletcher and His Collaborators in the Beaumont and Fletcher Canon,” Studies in Bibliography 8 (1956): 129–46; 9 (1957): 143–62; 11 (1958): 85–106; 12 (1959): 91–116; 13 (1960): 77–108; 14 (1961): 45–67; 15 (1962): 71–90.

Alphabetical list

129

Huey, Edmund Burke. 1908. The Psychology and Pedagogy of Reading (New York: Macmillan). Immroth, John Phillip. See McKerrow 1974. Jackson, MacD. P. 1989. [Comments on Draudt 1987], Shakespeare Survey 42: 208–9. Jackson, William A. 1954. “Printed Quire and Sheet Numbers,” Harvard Library Bulletin 6: 96–102, 363–74. Jacob, Henry. See Warde 1955. Janssen, Frans A. 1995. “Layout as Means of Identification,” Quaerendo 25: 46–58. Jenkinson, Francis. 1889. “Prefatory Note,” in Bradshaw 1889, p. v. Signed “F. J.”   1909. See Bradshaw 1909. Jensen, Kristian. See Agüera y Arcas 2003. Johnson, A. F. 1934. Type Designs: Their History and Development (London: Grafton). 2nd edn., 1959 (London: Grafton). 3rd edn., 1966 (London: Deutsch). Johnson, Barry C. 1985. Lost in the Alps: A Portrait of Robert Proctor, the “Great Bibliographer,” and of His Career in the British Museum (London: Privately printed). Johnson, Francis R. 1933. A Critical Bibliography of the Works of Edmund Spenser Printed before 1700 (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press). Jowett, John. See Wells 1987. Kaufmann, Michael. 1994. Textual Bodies: Modernism, Postmodernism, and Print (Lewisburg, Pa.: Bucknell University Press). Kidnie, Margaret Jane. See Honigmann 2004. King, Edmund M. B. 2003. Victorian Decorated Trade Bindings, 1830–1880: A Descriptive Bibliography (London: British Library; New Castle, Del.: Oak Knoll Press). King, Sigrid. See Hill 1999. Kinross, Robin. 1997. “Type as Critique,” Typography Papers 2: 77–87.   2000. See Burke 2000. Kirschbaum, Leo. 1957. [Review of Studies in Bibliography 9 (1957)], Shakespeare Quarterly 8: 544–46. Kirsop, Wallace. See McKitterick 1993a. Knotts, Walter E. 1949. “Press Numbers as a Bibliographical Tool: A Study of Gay’s The Beggar’s Opera, 1728,” Harvard Library Bulletin 3: 198–212. Kolers, Paul A., Merald E. Wrolstad, and Herman Bouma, eds. 1979. Processing of Visible Language: Volume i (New York: Plenum Press).   1980. Processing of Visible Language 2 (New York: Plenum Press). Krupp, Andrea. 2006. “Bookcloth in England and America, 1823–50,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 100 (2006): 25–87.

130

Further reading: works cited

Reprinted, 2008, in revised form as a separate (New Castle, Del.: Oak Knoll Press; London: British Library; New York: Bibliographical Society of America). Kusko, Bruce H. See Schwab 1983. Kyles, Gillian G. M. 1999. “Alteration of Leading within Editions,” Studies in Bibliography 52: 187–91. Lancaster, John. See Maslen 1991. Lappin, Linda. 1993. See Petrucci 1986. Lavagnino, John. See Weiss 2007. Lee, Marshall. 1965. Bookmaking: The Illustrated Guide to Design & Production (New York: Bowker). 2nd edn., 1979 (New York: Bowker). 3rd edn., 2004 (New York: Norton). Lee, Sidney. 1902. “Introduction,” in Shakespeare Comedies, Histories, & Tragedies: Being a Reproduction in Facsimile of the First Folio Edition, 1623 (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Legros, Lucien Alphonse, and John Cameron Grant. 1916. Typographical Printing-Surfaces: The Technology and Mechanism of Their Production (London: Longmans, Green). Lepschy, Anna Laura. See Paisey 1986. Levenston, Edward A. 1992. The Stuff of Literature: Physical Aspects of Texts and Their Relation to Literary Meaning (Albany: State University of New York Press). Levin, Edward S. See Morris 2000. Littau, Karin. 2006. Theories of Reading: Books, Bodies, and Bibliomania (Cambridge: Polity Press). Lottes, Wolfgang. See Heninger 1988. Love, Harold. 2001. “The Intellectual Heritage of Donald Francis McKenzie,” The Library 7th series 2: 266–80.   2002. Authorship and Attribution: An Introduction (Cambridge: University Press). Luborsky, Ruth Samson. 1980. “The Allusive Presentation of The Shepheardes Calender,” Spenser Studies 1: 29–67. Machiels, J. See Bradshaw 1972. Maguire, Laurie E. 1996. “The Rise of the New Bibliography,” in Shakespearean Suspect Texts: The “Bad” Quartos and Their Contexts (Cambridge: University Press), pp. 21–71, 343–58.   2005. “How Many Children Had Alice Walker?,” in Printing and Parenting in Early Modern England, ed. Douglas A. Brooks (Aldershot, Hampshire, and Burlington, Vt.: Ashgate), pp. 327–50. Maittaire, Michael. 1719. Annales typographici (5 vols.; The Hague: Isaac Vaillant, 1719–41). Martin, Henri-Jean. 1958. See Febvre 1958.   1982. Histoire de l’ édition française, ed. Martin, Roger Chartier, and JeanPierre Vivet (4 vols.; Paris: Promodis, 1982–86).

Alphabetical list

131

Maslen, K. I. D. 1968. “Point-Holes as Bibliographical Evidence,” The Library 5th series 23: 240–41. Maslen, K. I. D., and John Lancaster, eds. 1991. The Bowyer Ledgers: The Printing Accounts of William Bowyer Father and Son Reproduced on Microfiche with a Checklist of Bowyer Printing 1699–1777, a Commentary, Indexes, and Appendixes (London: Bibliographical Society; New York: Bibliographical Society of America). Masters, Richard. See Tomlinson 1996. Maxwell, J. C. See Greg 1966. McDonald, Peter D. See McKenzie 2002. McGann, Jerome. 1991a. The Textual Condition (Princeton: University Press).   1991b. “What Is Critical Editing?,” Text 5: 15–29. Reprinted in revised form in McGann 1991a, pp. 48–68.   1993. Black Riders: The Visible Language of Modernism (Princeton: University Press). McIlwraith, A. K. 1930. “Some Bibliographical Notes on Massinger,” The Library 4th series 11 (1930–31): 87–91. McKenzie, D. F. 1966. The Cambridge University Press, 1696–1712: A Bibliographical Study (2 vols.; Cambridge: University Press).   1969. “Printers of the Mind: Some Notes on Bibliographical Theories and Printing-House Practices,” Studies in Bibliography 22: 1–75. Reprinted in McKenzie 2002, pp. 13–85.   1973. “ ‘Indenting the Stick’ in the First Quarto of King Lear (1608),” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 67: 125–30. Reprinted in McKenzie 2002, pp. 86–90..   1976. The London Book Trade in the Later Seventeenth Century (Sandars Lectures 1976; distributed as reproduced typescript).   1981. “Typography and Meaning: The Case of William Congreve,” in Barber 1981, pp. 81–125. Reprinted in McKenzie 2002, pp. 198–236.   1986. Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts (Panizzi Lectures 1985; London: British Library). Reprinted in McKenzie 1999, pp. 7–76.   1992. “History of the Book,” in Davison 1992, pp. 290–301.   1993. “What’s Past is Prologue”: The Bibliographical Society and History of the Book (Centenary Lecture 1992; Hearthstone Publications). Reprinted in McKenzie 2002, pp. 259–75.   1999. Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts (Cambridge: University Press).   2002. Making Meaning: “Printers of the Mind” and Other Essays, ed. Peter D. McDonald and Michael F. Suarez (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press). McKerrow, Ronald B. 1913. Printers’ & Publishers’ Devices in England & Scotland, 1485–1640 (Illustrated Monographs, no. 16; London: Bibliographical Society).

132

Further reading: works cited

  1914. “Notes on Bibliographical Evidence for Literary Students and Editors of English Works of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries,” Transactions of the Bibliographical Society 12 (1911–13): 211–318.   1925. “Elizabethan Printers and the Composition of Reprints,” The Library 4th series 5 (1924–25): 357–64. Reprinted in McKerrow 1974, pp. 80–86.   1927. An Introduction to Bibliography for Literary Students (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Corrected printing, 1928. See also McKitterick 1994.   1931. “The Elizabethan Printer and Dramatic Manuscripts,” The Library 4th series 12 (1931–32): 253–75. Reprinted in McKerrow 1974, pp. 139–58.   1974. Ronald Brunlees McKerrow: A Selection of His Writings, ed. John Phillip Immroth (The Great Bibliographers Series, no. 1; Metuchen, N.J.: Scarecrow Press). McKitterick, David. 1980. See Bradshaw 1980; Morison 1980.   1981. See Bradshaw 1981.   1983. The Sandars and Lyell Lectures: A Checklist (New York: Jonathan A. Hill).   1986. Cambridge University Library, a History: The Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries (Cambridge: University Press).   1992. A History of Cambridge University Press (3 vols.; Cambridge: University Press, 1992–2004).   1993a. “The Acceptable Face of Print,” in An Index of Civilisation: Studies in Printing and Publishing History in Honour of Keith Maslen, ed. Ross Harvey, Wallace Kirsop, and B. J. McMullin (Clayton, Victoria: Centre for Bibliographical and Textual Studies, Monash University), pp. 15–30.   1993b. “Old Faces and New Acquaintances: Typography and the Association of Ideas,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 87: 163–86.   1994. “Introduction,” in Ronald B. McKerrow, An Introduction to Bibliography for Literary Students (1994 printing; Winchester: St. Paul’s Bibliographies; New Castle, Del.: Oak Knoll Press), pp. xi–xxxi. See also McKerrow 1927.   2003. Print, Manuscript and the Search for Order, 1450–1830 (Lyell Lectures 2000; Cambridge: University Press). McLaverty, James L. See Foxon 1991; Fleeman 2000. McLeod, Randall. 1979. “A Technique of Headline Analysis, with Application to Shakespeares Sonnets, 1609,” Studies in Bibliography 32: 197–210.   1994. “fiat flux,” in Crisis in Editing: Texts of the English Renaissance, ed. McLeod (Toronto Conferences on Editorial Problems, 1988; New York: AMS Press), pp. 61–172. Signed “Random Cloud.”

Alphabetical list

133

  1999. “IMAGIC: a long discourse,” Studies in the Literary Imagination 32.1 (Spring): 190–215. Signed “Orlando F. Booke.”   2000. “Where Angels Fear to Read,” in Mar(k)ing the Text: The Presentation of Meaning on the Literary Page, ed. Joe Bray, Miriam Handley, and Anne C. Henry (Aldershot: Ashgate), pp. 144–92.   2005. “Chronicling Holinshed’s Chronicles: Textual Commentary,” in The Peaceable and Prosperous Regiment of Blessed Queene Elisabeth: A Facsimile from Holinshed’s “Chronicles” (1587), ed. Cyndia Susan Clegg (San Marino, Calif.: Huntington Library), pp. 19–76. McManaway, James G. 1938. “Thomas Dekker: Further Textual Notes,” The Library 4th series 19 (1938–39): 176–79. McMullin, B. J. 1979. “The Origins of Press Figures in English Printing, 1629–1671,” The Library 6th series 1: 307–35.   1983. “Press Figures and Format,” Bibliographical Society of Australia and New Zealand Bulletin 7: 109–19.   1984. “Paper-Quality Marks and the Oxford Bible Press 1682–1717,” The Library 6th series 6: 39–49.   1993a. “Sheet Numbers, ‘Constable’s Miscellany’ and Irma,” Bibliographical Society of Australia and New Zealand Bulletin 17: 33–43.   1993b. See McKitterick 1993a.   1994. “Further Observations on the Incidence and Interpretation of Press Figures,” in Writers, Books, and Trade: An Eighteenth-Century English Miscellany for William B. Todd, ed. O M Brack, Jr. (New York: AMS Press), pp. 177–200.   2003. “Watermarks and the Determination of Format in British Paper, 1794–circa 1830,” Studies in Bibliography 56 (2003–4): 295–315.   2008. “Machine-Made Paper, Seam Marks, and Bibliographical Analysis,” The Library 7th series 9: 62–88. Mitchell, C. J. 1983. “Quotation Marks, National Compositorial Habits and False Imprints,” The Library 6th series 5: 359–84. Montgomery, William. See Wells 1987. Moore, J. K. 1992. Primary Materials Relating to Copy and Print in English Books of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (Oxford: Bibliographical Society). Morison, Stanley. 1923. On Type Faces: Examples of the Use of Type for the Printing of Books (London: Medici Society and The Fleuron).   1926. Type Designs of the Past and Present (London: The Fleuron). Revised and enlarged, 1962, as On Type Designs, Past and Present: A Brief Introduction (London: Ernest Benn).   1930a. “First Principles of Typography,” Fleuron 7: 61–72. Reprinted, 1936, in book form with slight revisions (Cambridge: University Press). 2nd edn., 1967, with postscript (Cambridge: University Press).

134

Further reading: works cited

  1930b. Memorandum on a Proposal to Revise the Typography of “The Times” (London: The Times). Reprinted in Morison 1980, pp. 295–317.   1944. The Typographic Arts: Past, Present & Future (Edinburgh: James Thin). Reprinted, 1959, in The Typographic Arts: Two Lectures (London: Theodore Brun, 1949; Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1950).   1957. Aspects of Authority and Freedom in Relation to Graeco-Latin Script, Inscription, and Type: Sixth Century B.C. to Twentieth Century A.D. (Lyell Lectures 1957; 6 pamphlets; Cambridge: Privately printed as “Unrevised Proof” at the University Press). For revised and published version, see Morison 1972.   1959. “Introduction,” in Burt 1959, pp. ix–xix.   1960. Talbot Baines Reed: Author, Bibliographer, Typefounder (Cambridge: Privately printed at the University Press).   1963a. “On the Classification of Typographical Variations,” in Type Specimen Facsimiles, ed. John Dreyfus (London: Bowes & Bowes and Putnam), pp. ix–xxix. Reprinted, 1968, with slight revisions in Letter Forms, Typographical and Scriptorial (New York: Typophiles; London: Nattali & Maurice), pp. 1–132.   1963b. Morison and Kenneth Day, The Typographic Book 1450–1935 (London: Ernest Benn).   1972. Politics and Script: Aspects of Authority and Freedom in the Development of Graeco-Latin Script from the Sixth Century B.C. to the Twentieth Century A.D., ed. Nicolas Barker (Lyell Lectures 1957; Oxford: Clarendon Press). For preliminary version, see Morison 1957.   1980. Selected Essays on the History of Letter-Forms in Manuscript and Print, ed. David McKitterick (2 vols.; Cambridge: University Press, 1980–81). Morris, Ellen K., and Edward S. Levin. 2000. The Art of Publishers’ Bookbindings, 1815–1915 (Los Angeles: William Dailey Rare Books). Mosser, Daniel W. See Needham 2000. Moxon, Joseph. 1683. Mechanick Exercises: Or, the Doctrine of Handy-Works, Applied to the Art of Printing (London: Printed for Joseph Moxon), ii. New edition, 1958, 1962, ed. Herbert Davis and Harry Carter (London: Oxford University Press). Mumby, Frank Arthur. 1930. Publishing and Bookselling: A History from the Earliest Times to the Present Day (London: Cape). 5th edn., 1974, expanded by Ian Norrie (London: Cape). Myers, Robin. 1978. “William Blades’s Debt to Henry Bradshaw and G. I. F. Tupper in His Caxton Studies: A Further Look at Unpublished Documents,” The Library 5th series 33: 265–83.   1988. See Roberts 1988.

Alphabetical list

135

Needham, Paul. 1979. Twelve Centuries of Bookbindings, 400–1600 (New York: Pierpont Morgan Library; London: Oxford University Press).   1982. “Johann Gutenberg and the Catholicon Press,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 76: 395–456.   1985. “The Paper Supply of the Gutenberg Bible,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 79: 303–74.   1987. “ISTC as a Tool for Analytical Bibliography,” in Bibliography and the Study of 15th-Century Civilisation, ed. Lotte Hellinga and John Goldfinch (London: British Library), pp. 39–54.   1988. The Bradshaw Method: Henry Bradshaw’s Contribution to Bibliography (Hanes Lecture; Chapel Hill, N.C.: Hanes Foundation, Rare Book Collection, University Library, University of North Carolina).   1990. “Paul Schwenke and Gutenberg Scholarship: The German Contribution, 1885–1921,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 84: 241–64.   1993. “Aldus Manutius’s Paper Stocks: The Evidence of Two Uncut Books,” Princeton University Library Chronicle 55 (1993–94): 287–307.   1994a. “Allan H. Stevenson and the Bibliographical Uses of Paper,” Studies in Bibliography 47: 23–64.   1994b. “Res papirea: Sizes and Formats of the Late Medieval Book,” in Rationalisierung der Buchherstellung im Mittelalter und in der frühen Neuzeit, ed. Peter Rück and Martin Boghardt (Marburg an der Lahn: Institut für Historische Hilfswissenschaften), pp. 123–45.   2000. “Concepts of Paper Study,” in Puzzles in Paper: Concepts in Historical Watermarks, ed. Daniel W. Mosser, Michael Saffle, and Ernest W. Sullivan II (New Castle, Del.: Oak Knoll Press), pp. 1–36.   2006. “IDL, ILC, WILC: Gerard van Thienen’s Contributions to the Study of Incunabula,” Quaerendo 36: 3–24.   2007. “The Paper of English Incunabula,” in Hellinga 2007, pp. 311–34. Newell, Kenneth B. 1976. Pattern Poetry: A Historical Critique from the Alexandrian Greeks to Dylan Thomas (Boston: Marlborough House). Norrie, Ian. 1974. See Mumby 1930. O’Keeffe, Katherine O’Brien. See Ezell 1994. Ovink, G. W. 1938. Legibility, Atmosphere-Value, and Forms of Printing Types (Leiden: A. W. Sijthoff). Paisey, David. 1986. “Blind Printing in Early Continental Books,” in Book Production and Letters in the Western European Renaissance: Essays in Honour of Conor Fahy, ed. Anna Laura Lepschy, John Took, and Dennis E. Rhodes (London: Modern Humanities Research Association), pp. 220–33. Pantzer, Katharine F. 1986. “Introduction,” in A Short-Title Catalogue of Books Printed in England, Scotland, & Ireland and of English Books

136

Further reading: works cited

Printed Abroad 1475–1640, rev. Pantzer (3 vols.; London: Bibliographical Society, 1976–91), i (1986), xix–xliii. See also Pollard 1926. Panzer, G. W. F. 1793. Annales typographici (5 vols.; Nuremberg: J. E. Zeh, 1793–97). Parkes, M. B. 1992. Pause and Effect: An Introduction to the History of Punctuation in the West (Aldershot: Scolar Press). Paterson, Donald G., and Miles A. Tinker. 1929. “Studies of Typographical Factors Influencing Speed of Reading,” Journal of Applied Psychology 13 (1929) – 16 (1932): passim. (E.g., “II. Size of Type,” 13: 120–30; “III. Length of Line,” 13: 205–19; “X. Style of Type Face,” 16: 605–13.)   1940. How to Make Type Readable: A Manual … Based on Twelve Years of Research Involving Speed of Reading Tests (New York: Harper). Pearson, David. 1994. Provenance Research in Book History: A Handbook (London: British Library). Perfect, Christopher, and Gordon Rookledge. 1983. Rookledge’s International Typefinder: The Essential Handbook of Typeface Recognition and Selection (London: Sarema Press). 2nd edn., 1990, rev. Phil Baines (Sarema Press). Petrucci, Armando. 1986. La scrittura: ideologia e rappresentazione (Torino: G. Einaudi). Translated, 1993, by Linda Lappin as Public Lettering: Script, Power, and Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Pickwoad, Nicholas. 1995. “The Interpretation of Bookbinding Structure: An Examination of Sixteenth-Century Bindings in the Ramey Collection in the Pierpont Morgan Library,” The Library 6th series 17: 209–49. Pollard, Alfred W. 1904a. “Robert Proctor,” The Library 2nd series 5: 1–34. Reprinted in Proctor 1905, pp. ix–xl.   1904b. See Bradshaw 1904.   1905. See Proctor 1905.   1906a. “Shakespeare in the Remainder Market,” The Academy, June 2, pp. 528–29.   1906b. Pollard and W. W. Greg, “Some Points in Bibliographical Descrip­ tions,”  Transactions of the Bibliographical Society 9 (1906–8): 31–52. Reprinted in Pollard 1976, pp. 116–29.   1908. “Introduction,” in Catalogue of Books Printed in the XVth Century Now in the British Museum (London: British Museum), i, x–xxviii.   1909. Shakespeare Folios and Quartos: A Study in the Bibliography of Shakespeare’s Plays, 1594–1685 (London: Methuen).   1916. “Our Twenty-First Birthday,” Transactions of the Bibliographical Society 13 (1913–15): 9–27.   1920. See Bayfield 1920.   1923. “Elizabethan Spelling as a Literary and Bibliographical Clue,” The Library 4th ser. 4 (1923–24): 1–8.

Alphabetical list

137

  1926. “Preface,” in A Short-Title Catalogue of Books Printed in England, Scotland, & Ireland and of English Books Printed Abroad 1475–1640, ed.  Pollard and G. R. Redgrave (London: Bibliographical Society), pp. v–ix.   1938. “My First Fifty Years,” in A Select Bibliography of the Writings of Alfred W. Pollard, ed. H. T. [Henry Thomas] (Oxford: Printed for subscribers at the University Press), pp. 1–15.   1976. Alfred William Pollard: A Selection of His Essays, ed. Fred W. Roper (The Great Bibliographers Series, no. 2; Metuchen, N. J.: Scarecrow Press). Pollard, Graham. See Carter 1934. Poole, William Frederick. 1867. [Comment on running-titles, in his introduction], in Edward Johnson, Wonder-Working Providence of Sion’s Saviour in New England (Andover, Mass.: Warren F. Draper), p. xliii. Povey, Kenneth. 1956. “On the Diagnosis of Half-Sheet Impositions,” The Library 5th series 11: 268–72.   1959. “A Century of Press Figures,” The Library 5th series 14: 251–73.   1960. “The Optical Identification of First Formes,” Studies in Bibliography 13: 189–90.   1965. “Working to Rule, 1600–1800: A Study of Pressmen’s Practice,” The Library 5th series 20: 13–54. Price, Hereward T. 1937. “Towards a Scientific Method of Textual Criticism for the Elizabethan Drama,” Journal of English and Germanic Philology 36: 151–67. Proctor, Robert. 1898. An Index to the Early Printed Books in the British Museum … with Notes of Those in the Bodleian Library (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner, 1898–99). Supplemented, 1900–3 (London: Chiswick Press).   1905. Bibliographical Essays, ed. A. W. Pollard (London: Chiswick Press). Prothero, G. W. 1888. A Memoir of Henry Bradshaw (London: Kegan Paul, Trench). Prown, Jules David. 1982. “Mind in Matter: An Introduction to Material Culture Theory and Method,” Winterthur Portfolio 17: 1–19. Reprinted, 2001, in Art as Evidence: Writings on Art and Material Culture (New Haven: Yale University Press), pp. 69–95. Pyke, R. L. 1926. Report on the Legibility of Print (London: His Majesty’s Stationery Office). Redgrave, G. R. See Pollard 1926. Reed, Talbot Baines. 1891. “Memoir of the Late William Blades,” in Blades 1891, pp. ix–xviii. Renner, Paul. 1948. See Burke 2000. Rhodes, Dennis E. See Paisey 1986.

138

Further reading: works cited

Roberts, Julian. 1988. “The Bibliographical Society as a Band of Pioneers,” in Pioneers in Bibliography, ed. Robin Myers and Michael Harris (Winchester: St. Paul’s Bibliographies), pp. 86–100.   1992. “The Bibliographical Society, 1942–1992,” in Davison 1992, pp. 12–23. Rodriguez, Catherine M. 2004. “The Use of Web Seam Evidence to Determine Format,” Bibliographical Society of Australia and New Zealand Bulletin 28.3: 122–24. Roethlein, Barbara Elizabeth. 1912. “The Relative Legibility of Different Faces of Printing Types,” Journal of Applied Psychology 24: 1–36. Rogers, Shef. 1996. “How Many Ts Had Ezra Pound’s Printer?,” Studies in Bibliography 49: 277–83. Rookledge, Gordon. See Perfect 1983. Roper, Fred W. See Pollard 1976. Rosenblum, Joseph. See Greg 1998. Rosenthal, Bernard M. 1997. The Rosenthal Collection of Printed Books with Manuscript Annotations (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University). Rück, Peter. See Needham 1994b. Sadleir, Michael. 1928. Trollope: A Bibliography (London: Constable).   1930. The Evolution of Publishers’ Binding Styles, 1770–1900 (Bibliographia, no. 1; London: Constable; New York: Richard R. Smith). Excerpted in Sadleir 1980, pp. 69–80.   1951. “Passages from the Autobiography of a Bibliomaniac,” in XIX Century Fiction: A Bibliographical Record Based on His Own Collection (2 vols.; London: Constable; Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press), i, xi–xxvi. Reprinted, 1962, as a pamphlet (Los Angeles: University of California Library). Excerpted in Sadleir 1980, pp. 87–96.   1980. Michael Sadleir, 1888–1957, ed. Roy Stokes (The Great Bibliographers Series, no. 5; Metuchen, N.J.: Scarecrow Press). Saenger, Paul. 1996. “The Impact of the Early Printed Page on the History of Reading,” Bulletin du bibliophile 1996: 237–301. Saffle, Michael. See Needham 2000. Sandfords, E. C. 1888. “The Relative Legibility of the Small Letters,” American Journal of Psychology 1: 402–35. Satchell, Thomas. 1920. “The Spelling of the First Folio,” Times Literary Supplement, June 3, p. 352. Sayce, R. A. 1966. “Compositorial Practices and the Localization of Printed Books, 1530–1800,” The Library 5th series 31: 1–45. Reprinted, 1979, as a pamphlet with additons and corrections (Occasional Publications, no. 13; Oxford: Oxford Bibliographical Society). Schmidgall, Gary. 2000. “1855: A Stop-Press Revision [in Leaves of Grass],” Walt Whitman Quarterly Review 18.1–2 (Summer–Fall): 73–75.

Alphabetical list

139

Schoonover, David E. 1987. “Techniques of Reproducing Watermarks: A Practical Introduction,” in Essays in Paper Analysis, ed. Stephen Spector (Washington: Folger Shakespeare Library), pp. 154–67. Schwab, Richard N., Thomas A. Cahill, Bruce H. Kusko, and Daniel L. Wick. 1983. “Cyclotron Analysis of the Ink [and paper] in the 42-Line Bible,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 77: 285–315. Schwenke, Paul. 1896. Hans Weinreich und die Anfänge des Buchdrucks in Königsberg (Königsberg: Beyer).   1900. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des ersten Buchdrucks [constituting Festschrift zur Gutenbergfeier] (Berlin: Königlichen Bibliothek).   1923. Johannes Gutenbergs zweiundveierzigzeilige Bibel: Ergänzungsband zur Faksimile-Ausgabe [of 1913] (Leipzig: Insel-Verlag). Scragg, D. G. 1974. A History of English Spelling (Manchester: University Press). Shady, Raymond C. See Werstine 1984. Shand, G. B. See Werstine 1984. Shaw, David. 1972. “A Sampling Theory for Bibliographical Research,” The Library 5th series 27: 310–19.   2006. See Harris (N.) 2006. Shaw, Paul. See Bain (P.) 1999. Shillingsburg, Peter L. 1975. “Detecting the Use of Stereotype Plates,” Editorial Quarterly 1.1: 2–3.   1979. “Register Measurement as a Method of Detecting Hidden Printings,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 73: 484–88. Simmons, J. S. G. 1961. “The Leningrad Method of Watermark Reproduction,” The Book Collector 10: 329–30.   1967. See Stevenson 1967a. Simon, Oliver. 1945. Introduction to Typography (London: Faber & Faber). 2nd edn., 1963, rev. David Bland (Faber & Faber). Simpson, Percy. 1935. Proof-Reading in the Sixteenth, Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (London: Oxford University Press). Smith, Michael S. See Snyder 2003. Smith, Steven Escar. 2000. “ ‘The Eternal Verities Verified’: Charlton Hinman and the Roots of Mechanical Collation,” Studies in Bibliography 53: 129–61.   2002. “ ‘Armadillos of Invention’: A Census of Mechanical Collators,” Studies in Bibliography 55: 133–70. Snyder, Henry L., and Michael S. Smith, eds. 2003. The English Short-Title Catalogue: Past, Present, Future (New York: AMS Press). Sobry, Jean François. 1799. Discours sur l’art de l’ imprimerie (Paris: n.p.). [Includes comments on experiment regarding type legibility by Jean Anisson in 1790s.] Translated by Paul Bloomfield, with an

140

Further reading: works cited

introduction by Daniel Berkeley Updike, in “A Translation of the Reports of [Théophile] Berlier & Sobry on Types of [Joseph Gaspard] Gillé fils,” Fleuron 6 (1928): 167–83 [see p. 181]. Sparrow, John. 1943. Lapidaria (8 vols.; Cambridge: University Press, 1943, 1951, 1954, 1958, 1965, 1969; Cambridge: Rampant Lions Press, 1975, 1981).   1967. Line upon Line: An Epigraphical Anthology, with preface by Brooke Crutchley (Cambridge: University Press).   1969. Visible Words: A Study of Inscriptions in and as Books and Works of Art (Sandars Lectures 1964; Cambridge: University Press). Spector, Stephen. See Schoonover 1987. Steele, Oliver L. 1962a. “Half-Sheet Imposition of Eight-Leaf Quires in Formes of Thirty-Two and SIxty-Four Pages,” Studies in Bibliography 15: 274–78.   1962b. “A Note on Half-Sheet Imposition in Nineteenth and Twentieth Century Books,” Gutenberg-Jahrbuch 1962, pp. 545–47.   1962c. “On the Imposition of the First Edition of Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter,” The Library 5th series 17: 250–55.   1963. “Evidence of Plate Damage as Applied to the First Impression of Ellen Glasgow’s The Wheel of Life,” Studies in Bibliography 16: 223–31. Steinberg, S. H. 1955. Five Hundred Years of Printing (Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books). 2nd edn., 1961 (Penguin). 3rd edn., 1974 (Penguin). 4th edn., 1996, rev. John Trevitt (New Castle, Del.: Oak Knoll Press; London: British Library). Stevenson, Allan H. 1948. “New Uses of Watermarks as Bibliographical Evidence,” Studies in Bibliography 1 (1948–49): 151–82.   1951. “Watermarks Are Twins,” Studies in Bibliography 4 (1951–52): 57–91 (with addendum on p. 235).   1954. “Chain-Indentations in Paper as Evidence,” Studies in Bibliography 6: 181–95.   1961a. Observations on Paper as Evidence (University of Kansas Publications, Library Series, no. 11; Lawrence: University of Kansas Libraries).   1961b. “Paper,” in Catalogue of Botanical Books in the Collection of Rachel McMasters Miller Hunt (Pittsburgh: Hunt Botanical Library), ii (1961), clxxvi–clxxx.   1962a. “Paper as Bibliographical Evidence,” The Library 5th series 17: 197–212.   1962b. “Paper Evidence and the Missale speciale,” Gutenberg-Jahrbuch 1962, pp. 94–105.   1967a. “Beta-Radiography and Paper Research,” in VII International Congress of Paper Historians, Communications, ed. J. S. G. Simmons, pp. 159–68.

Alphabetical list

141

  1967b. The Problem of the Missale speciale (London: Bibliographical Society). Also published in a “Special American Issue” (Pittsburgh: Thomas C. Pears III). Stoddard, Roger E. 1985. Marks in Books, Illustrated and Explained (Cambridge, Mass.: Houghton Library).   2000. “Looking at Marks in Books,” Gazette of the Grolier Club 51: 27–47. Stokes, Roy. 1980. See Sadleir 1980.   1984. “Commentary,” in Bradshaw 1984, pp. 1–40. Suarez, Michael F. 2002. See McKenzie 2002.   2003. “Historiographical Problems and Possibilities in Book History and National Histories of the Book,” Studies in Bibliography 56 (2003–4): 141–70. Sullivan, Ernest W., II. See Needham 2000. Swann, Cal. 1991. Language and Typography (London: Lund Humphries). Tannenbaum, Samuel A. 1937. [Comment on Price 1937], Shakespeare Association Bulletin 12 (July): 191. Tanselle, G. Thomas. 1966a. “The Identification of Type Faces in Bibliographical Description,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 60: 185–202. Reprinted, 1967, with a postscript in Journal of Typographic Research 1: 427–47.   1966b. “Press Figures in America: Some Preliminary Observations,” Studies in Bibliography 19: 123–60.   1971. “The Bibliographical Description of Paper,” Studies in Bibliography 24: 27–67. Reprinted in Tanselle 1979, pp. 203–43.   1974. “Bibliography and Science,” Studies in Bibliography 27: 55–89. Reprinted in Tanselle 1979, pp. 1–36.   1979. Selected Studies in Bibliography (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia for the Bibliographical Society of the University of Virginia).   1981a. “Analytical Bibliography and Renaissance Printing History,” Printing History 3.1: 24–33. Reprinted as “Analytical Bibliography and Printing History,” in Tanselle 1998a, pp. 291–306.   1981b. The History of Books as a Field of Study (Hanes Lecture; Chapel Hill: Hanes Foundation, Rare Book Collection, Academic Affairs Library, University of North Carolina). Reprinted in Tanselle 1998a, pp. 41–55.   1982. “Physical Bibliography in the Twentieth Century,” in Books, Manuscripts, and the History of Medicine: Essays on the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Osler Library, ed. Philip M. Teigen (New York: Science History Publications), pp. 55–79.   1983. “Introduction,” in Books and Society in History, ed. Kenneth E. Carpenter (New York: R. R. Bowker), pp. xvii–xxiii.

142

Further reading: works cited

  1984. “The Evolving Role of Bibliography, 1884–1984,” in Books and Prints, Past and Future: Papers Presented at The Grolier Club Centennial Convocation, 26–28 April 1984 (New York: Grolier Club), pp. 15–31.   1985. “Title-Page Transcription and Signature Collation Reconsidered,” Studies in Bibliography 38: 45–81.   1986. “Historicism and Critical Editing,” Studies in Bibliography 39: 1–46. Reprinted in Tanselle 2005b, pp. 109–54.   1987. “A Sample Bibliographical Description with Commentary,” Studies in Bibliography 40: 1–30.   1988. “Bibliographical History as a Field of Study,” Studies in Bibliography 41: 33–63.   1989a. A Rationale of Textual Criticism (Rosenbach Lectures 1987; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press).   1989b. “Reproductions and Scholarship,” Studies in Bibliography 42: 25–54. Reprinted in Tanselle 1998a, pp. 59–88.   1991a. [On the signatures in Clarel], in Herman Melville, Clarel, ed. Harrison Hayford et al. (Northwestern-Newberry Edition, vol. 12; Evanston, Ill.: Northwestern University Press; Chicago: The Newberry Library), pp. 678–79.   1991b. “Textual Criticism and Literary Sociology,” Studies in Bibliography 44: 83–143. Reprinted in Tanselle 2005b, pp. 155–215.   1992a. A Description of Descriptive Bibliography (Engelhard Lecture on the Book; Washington: Library of Congress). Also printed in Studies in Bibliography 45 (1992): 1–30. Reprinted in Tanselle 1998a, pp. 127–56.   1992b. “Issues in Bibliographical Studies since 1942,” in Davison 1992, pp. 24–36.   1993a. “Enumerative Bibliography and the Physical Book,” in Scholarly Publishing in Canada and Canadian Bibliography, ed. Paul Aubin et al. (Canadian Issues, vol. 15; Montréal: Association for Canadian Studies), pp. 145–59. Reprinted in Tanselle 1998a, pp. 186–99.   1993b. “The Life and Work of Fredson Bowers,” Studies in Bibliography 46: 1–154. Reprinted, 1993, as a separate volume (Charlottesville: Bibliographical Society of the University of Virginia).   1994. “Introduction,” in Fredson Bowers, Principles of Bibliographical Description (1994 printing; Winchester: St. Paul’s Bibliographies; New Castle, Del.: Oak Knoll Press), pp. v–xiv. See also Bowers 1949.   1995a. “Printing History and Other History,” Studies in Bibliography 48: 269–89. Reprinted in Tanselle 1998a, pp. 307–27.   1995b. “The Varieties of Scholarly Editing,” in Scholarly Editing: A Guide to Research, ed. D. C. Greetham (New York: Modern Language Association of America), pp. 9–32.   1997. “A History of Studies in Bibliography: The First Fifty Volumes,” Studies in Bibliography 50: 125–70. Reprinted in Vander Meulen 1998, pp. 125–70.

Alphabetical list

143

  1998a. Literature and Artifacts (Charlottesville: Bibliographical Society of the University of Virginia).   1998b. “A Rationale of Collecting,” Studies in Bibliography 51: 1–25. Reprinted, 1999, without footnotes and with a few revisions, in Raritan 19.1 (Summer): 23–50.   1999. “The Treatment of Typesetting and Presswork in Bibliographical Description,” Studies in Bibliography 52: 1–57.   2000. “The Concept of Format,” Studies in Bibliography 53: 67–115.   2001. “Textual Criticism at the Millennium,” Studies in Bibliography 54: 1–80. Reprinted in Tanselle 2005b, pp. 277–356.   2002a. Introduction to Bibliography: Seminar Syllabus (5th edn.; Charlottesville: Book Arts Press, University of Virginia Rare Book School). Also available on the internet at www.rarebookschool.org/ tanselle/.   2002b. Introduction to Scholarly Editing: Seminar Syllabus (2nd edn.; Charlottesville: Book Arts Press, University of Virginia Rare Book School). Also available on the internet at www.rarebookschool.org/ tanselle/.   2004. “The Work of D. F. McKenzie,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 98: 511–21.   2005a. “The Textual Criticism of Visual and Aural Works,” Studies in Bibliography 57 (2005–6): 1–37.   2005b. Textual Criticism since Greg: A Chronicle, 1950–2000 (Charlottes­ ville: Bibliographical Society of the University of Virginia). Taylor, Gary. See Wells 1987; Weiss 2007. Teigen, Philip M. See Tanselle 1982. Thomas, Henry. See Pollard 1938. Thomson, Ellen Mazur. 2006. “The Graphic Forms Lectures,” Printing History 25.1: 42–55. Tinker, Miles A. 1928. “The Relative Legibility of the Letters, the Digits, and Certain Mathematical Signs,” Journal of General Psychology 1: 472–96.   1929. See Paterson 1929.   1932. “The Influence of the Form of Type on the Perception of Words,” Journal of Applied Psychology 16: 167–74.   1940. See Paterson 1940. Todd, William B. 1949. “Procedures for Determining the Identity and Order of Certain Eighteenth-Century Editions” (University of Chicago Ph.D. dissertation).   1950. “Observations on the Incidence and Interpretation of Press Figures,” Studies in Bibliography 3 (1950–51): 171–205.   1951. “Bibliography and the Editorial Problem in the Eighteenth Century,” Studies in Bibliography 4 (1951–52): 41–55.   1952. “Concurrent Printing: An Analysis of Dodsley’s Collection of Poems by Several Hands,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 46: 45–57.

144

Further reading: works cited

  1956. “Patterns in Press Figures: A Study of Lyttleton’s Dialogues of the Dead,” Studies in Bibliography 8: 230–35.   1958. New Adventures among Old Books: An Essay in Eighteenth-Century Bibliography (University of Kansas Publications, Library Series, no. 4; Lawrence: University of Kansas Libraries).   1998a. “Some Early Encounters with Fredson Bowers,” in Vander Meulen 1998, pp. 213–24.   1998b. Todd and Ann Bowden, Sir Walter Scott: A Bibliographical History, 1796–1832 (New Castle, Del.: Oak Knoll Press). Tomlinson, William, and Richard Masters. 1996. Bookcloth 1823–1980: A Study of Early Use and the Rise of Manufacture, Winterbottom’s Dominance of the Trade in Britain and America, Production Methods and Costs and the Identification of Qualities and Designs (Stockport, Cheshire: D. Tomlinson). Took, John. See Paisey 1986. Trevitt, John. 1996. See Steinberg 1955. Tribble, Evelyn B. 1993. Margins and Marginality: The Printed Page in Early Modern England (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia). Tschichold, Jan. 1946. See Burke 2000. Turner, Robert K., Jr. 1962. “Printing Methods and Textual Problems in A Midsummer Night’s Dream Q1,” Studies in Bibliography 15: 33–55.   1965. “The Printing of A King and No King,” Studies in Bibliography 18: 255–61.   1966. “Reappearing Types as Bibliographical Evidence,” Studies in Bibliography 19: 198–209.   1967. “The Text of Heywood’s The Fair Maid of the West,” The Library 5th series 22: 299–325.   1974. “The Printers and the Beaumont and Fletcher Folio of 1647: Section 1 (Thomas Warren’s),” Studies in Bibliography 27: 137–56. Twyman, Michael. 1970a. Lithography, 1800–1850: The Techniques of Drawing on Stone in England and France and Their Application in Works of Topography (London: Oxford University Press).   1970b. Printing 1770–1970: An Illustrated History of Its Development and Uses in England (London: Eyre & Spottiswoode).   1979. “A Schema for the Study of Graphic Language,” in Kolers 1979, pp. 117–50.   1986. “Articulating Graphic Language: A Historical Perspective,” in Wrolstad 1986, pp. 188–251.   1990. Early Lithographed Books: A Study of the Design and Production of Improper Books in the Age of the Handpress (London: Farrand Press and the Private Libraries Association).   1998a. The British Library Guide to Printing: History and Techniques (London: British Library).   1998b. “Nicolete Gray: A Personal View of Her Contribution to the Study of Letterforms,” Typography Papers 3: 87–102.

Alphabetical list

145

Updike, Daniel Berkeley. 1928. See Sobry 1799. Vander Meulen, David L. 1981. “A Descriptive Bibliography of Alexander Pope’s  Dunciad, 1728–1751” (University of Wisconsin Ph.D. dissertation).   1982. “The Printing of Pope’s Dunciad, 1728,” Studies in Bibliography 35: 271–85.   1984. “The Identification of Paper without Watermarks: The Example of Pope’s Dunciad,” Studies in Bibliography 37: 58–81.   1988a. “The Low-Tech Analysis of Early Paper,” Literary Research 13: 89–94.   1988b. Where Angels Fear to Tread: Descriptive Bibliography and Alexander Pope (Engelhard Lecture on the Book; Washington: Library of Congress).   1989. “The Dunciad in Four Books and the Bibliography of Pope,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 83: 293–310.   1991. Pope’s “Dunciad” of 1728: A History and Facsimile (Charlottesville: Published for the Bibliographical Society of the University of Virginia and the New York Public Library by the University Press of Virginia).   1997. “A History of the Bibliographical Society of the University of Virginia: The First Fifty Years,” Studies in Bibliography 50: 1–81. Reprinted in Vander Meulen 1998, pp. 1–81.   2003. “How to Read Book History,” Studies in Bibliography 56 (2003–4): 171–93.   2008. “Thoughts on the Future of Bibliographical Analysis,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of Canada 46: 17–34. Vander Meulen, David L., ed. 1998. The Bibliographical Society of the University of Virginia: The First Fifty Years (Charlottesville: Bibliographical Society of the University of Virginia). Vivet, Jean-Pierre. See Martin 1982. Walker, Alice. 1953. Textual Problems of the First Folio (Cambridge: University Press).   1954. “The Folio Text of 1 Henry IV,” Studies in Bibliography 6: 45–59.   1955. “Compositor Determination and Other Problems in Shakespearian Texts,” Studies in Bibliography 7: 3–15.   1956. “Some Editorial Principles (with Special Reference to Henry V ),” Studies in Bibliography 8: 95–111. Wallau, Heinrich. 1888. “Über Puncturen in alten Drucken,” Centralblatt für Bibliothekswesen 5: 91–93.   1900. “Die zweifarbigen Initialen der Psalterdrucke von Johann Fust und Peter Schöffer,” in Festschrift zum fünfhundertjährigen Geburstage von Johann Gutenberg, ed. Otto Hartwig (Leipzig: Harrassowitz), pp. 261–304. Waller, Robert H. W. 1980. “Graphic Aspects of Complex Texts: Typography as Macro-Punctuation,” in Kolers 1980, pp. 241–53.

146

Further reading: works cited

Warde, Beatrice. 1955. The Crystal Goblet: Sixteen Essays on Typography, ed. Henry Jacob (London: Sylvan Press). Weiss, Adrian. 1988. “Reproductions of Early Dramatic Texts as a Source of Bibliographical Evidence,” Text 4: 237–68.   1990. “Font Analysis as a Bibliographical Method: The Elizabethan PlayQuarto Printers and Compositors,” Studies in Bibliography 43: 95–164.   1991. “Bibliographical Methods for Identifying Unknown Printers in Elizabethan/Jacobean Books,” Studies in Bibliography 44: 183–228.   1992. “Shared Printing, Printer’s Copy, and the Text(s) of Gascoigne’s A Hundreth Sundrie Flowres,” Studies in Bibliography 45: 71–104.   1999a. “A ‘Fill-In’ Job: The Textual Crux and Interrupted Printing in Thomas Middleton’s The Triumph of Honour and Virtue (1622),” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 93: 53–73.   1999b. “Watermark Evidence and Inference: New Style Dates of Edmund Spenser’s Complaints and Daphnaida,” Studies in Bibliography 52: 129–54.   2007. “Casting Compositors, Foul Cases, and Skeletons: Printing in Middleton’s Age,” in Thomas Middleton and Early Modern Textual Culture: A Companion to the Collected Works, ed. Gary Taylor and John Lavagnino (Oxford: Clarendon Press), pp. 195–225 (cf. “Running-Title Movements and Printing Method,” pp. 484–85). Wells, Stanley, and Gary Taylor, with John Jowett and William Montgomery. 1987. William Shakespeare: A Textual Companion (Oxford: Clarendon Press). Werstine, Paul. 1984. “The Editorial Usefulness of Printing House and Compositor Studies,” in Play-Texts in Old Spelling, ed. G. B. Shand and Raymond C. Shady (New York: AMS Press), pp. 35–64. Expanded version of “Editorial Uses of Compositor Study,” Analytical & Enumerative Bibliography 2 (1978): 153–65.   2001. “Scribe or Compositor: Ralph Crane, Compositors D and F, and the First Four Plays in the Shakespeare First Folio,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 95: 315–39. Wick, Daniel L. See Schwab 1983. Wiggins, Richard H. 1967. “Effects of Three Typographic Variables [line lengths, spacing, right margins] on Speed of Reading,” Journal of Typographic Research 1: 5–18. Williams, George Walton. 1958. “Setting by Formes in Quarto Printing,” Studies in Bibliography 11: 39–53. Williams, Philip. 1948. “The Compositor of the Pied-Bull Lear,” Studies in Bibliography 1 (1948–49): 59–68. Williamson, Hugh. 1956. Methods of Book Design: The Practice of an Industrial Craft (London: Oxford University Press). 2nd edn., 1966 (Oxford University Press). 3rd edn., 1983 (New Haven: Yale University Press).

Chronological index

147

Williamson, William L. 1970. “An Early Use of Running Title and Signature Evidence in Analytical Bibliography [by William F. Poole, 1867],” Library Quarterly 40: 245–49.   1978. “A Quest for Copies of the Articles,” The Book Collector 27: 27–39.   1981. “Thomas Bennet and the Origins of Analytical Bibliography,” Journal of Library History 16: 177–86. Willoughby, Edwin Eliott. 1929. “A Note on the Typography of the Running Titles of the First Folio,” The Library 4th series 9 (1928–29): 385–87.   1932. The Printing of the First Folio of Shakespeare (London: Oxford University Press for the Bibliographical Society). Wilson, F. P. 1945. “Shakespeare and the ‘New Bibliography,’” in The Bibliographical Society 1945, pp. 76–135. Reprinted, 1970, as a separate volume, ed. Helen Gardner (Oxford: Clarendon Press).   1959. “Walter Wilson Greg, 1875–1959,” Proceedings of the British Academy 45: 307–34. Reprinted, 1969, in his Shakespearian and Other Studies, ed. Helen Gardner (Oxford: Clarendon Press), pp. 219–50. Wilson, John Dover. 1920. See Bayfield 1920.   1934. The Manuscript of Shakespeare’s “Hamlet” and the Problems of Its Transmission: An Essay in Critical Bibliography (Sandars Lectures 1932; 2 vols.; New York: Macmillan; Cambridge: University Press).   1945. “Alfred William Pollard, 1859–1944,” Proceedings of the British Academy 31: 256–306. Reprinted in Pollard 1976, pp. 1–57. Winship, Michael. 1983. “Printing with Plates in the Nineteenth Century United States,” Printing History 5.2: 15–26. Womack, Kenneth. See Howard-Hill 1999. Wrolstad, Merald. 1967a. “A Prefatory Note to the First Number,” Journal of Typographic Research 1: 3–4.   1967b. “Editorial,” Journal of Typographic Research 1: 343–44.   1971. “Visible Language: The Journal for Research on the Visual Media of Language Expression,” Visible Language 5: 5–12.   1976. “A Manifesto for Visible Language,” Visible Language 10: 5–40.   1979, 1980. See Kolers 1979, 1980. Wrolstad, Merald, and Dennis F. Fisher, eds. 1986. Toward a New Understanding of Literacy (New York: Praeger). Wyllie, John Cook. 1953. “The Forms of Twentieth Century Cancels,” Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 47: 95–112.

C h ronol o gic a l i n de x 1683  Moxon. 1715  Bennet. 1719  Maittaire. 1749 Ames.

148

Further reading: works cited

1760 Capell. 1785 Herbert. 1793 Panzer. 1799 Sobry. 1806 Clarke. 1810 Dibdin. 1814 Horne. 1856 Holtrop. 1860ff. Bradshaw. 1861 Blades. 1864ff. Holtrop. 1867 Poole. 1870 Bradshaw. 1870ff. Campbell. 1888 Prothero. Sandfords. Wallau. 1889 Bradshaw. Jenkinson. 1891 Blades. Reed. 1893 Copinger. 1894 Copinger. 1896 Schwenke. 1898 Proctor. 1900 Hartwig. Schwenke. Wallau. 1902 Lee (S.). 1904 Bradshaw. Pollard (A. W.). 1905 Haebler. Pollard (A. W.). Proctor. 1906 Greg. Pollard (A. W.). 1908 Greg. Huey. Pollard (A. W.). 1909 Bradshaw. Jenkinson. Pollard (A. W.). 1912 British Association for the Advancement of Science. Roethlein. 1913 McKerrow. 1914 Greg. McKerrow. 1916 Farnham. Grant. Legros. Pollard (A. W.). 1920 Bayfield. Pollard (A. W.). Satchell. Wilson (J. D.). 1921 Greg. 1923 Morison. Pollard (A. W.). Schwenke. 1924 Chapman. 1925 McKerrow. 1926 Morison. Pollard (A. W.). Pyke. Redgrave. Thomas. 1927 McKerrow. 1928 Bloomfield. Bradley. Sadleir. Sobry. Tinker. Updike. 1929 Paterson. Tinker. Willoughby. 1930 Chapman. Greg. McIlwraith. Morison. Mumby. Sadleir.

Chronological index

149

1931 McKerrow. 1932 Carter (J.). Greg. Tinker. Willoughby. 1933 Greg. Johnson (F. R.). 1934 Carter (J.). Greg. Johnson (A. F.). Pollard (G.). Wilson (J. D.). 1935 Simpson. 1937 Price. Tannenbaum. 1938 McManaway. Ovink. Pollard (A. W.). Thomas. 1939 Bowers. Greg. 1940 Bain (D. C.). Greg. Hinman. Paterson. Tinker. 1942 Bald. Bowers. Doran. Greg. Hazen. Hinman. 1943 Sparrow. 1944 Morison. 1945 Bibliographical Society. Francis. Greg. Simon. Wilson (F. P.). Wilson (J. D.). 1946 Bill. Church. Tschichold. 1947 Bowers. 1948 Bond. Bühler. Carter (J.). Renner. Stevenson. Williams (P.). 1949 Bowers. Bühler. Gaskell (P.). Graphic Forms. Knotts. Todd. 1950 Bowers. Greg. Todd. 1951 Bland. Gibson. Sadleir. Stevenson. Todd. 1952 Bowers. Carter (J.). Todd. 1953 Walker. Wyllie. 1954 Bowers. Jackson (W. A.). Stevenson. Walker. 1955 Bowers. Burt. Greg. Hinman. Jacob. Steinberg. Walker. Warde. 1956 Foxon. Hoy. Povey. Todd. Walker. Williamson (H.). 1957 Bruccoli. Bühler. Davis. Kirschbaum. Morison. 1958 Bronson. Bruccoli. Carter (H.). Carter (J.). Davis. Febvre. Martin. Todd. Williams (G. W.). 1959 Bowers. Burt. Gaskell (P.). Morison. Povey. Wilson (F. P.). 1960 Glaister. Gray. Greg. Morison. Povey. 1961 Dawson (G. E.). Simmons. Stevenson. 1962 Steele. Stevenson. Turner. 1963 Bland. Bruccoli. Day. Dreyfus. Hinman. Howard-Hill. Morison. Steele. 1964 Bowers. Fleeman. 1965 Bowers. Honigmann. Lee (M.). Povey. Turner. 1966 Bowers. Bradshaw. Erdman. Fogel. Greg. Hellinga (L.). Hellinga (W.). Maxwell. McKenzie. Sayce. Tanselle. Turner. 1967 Crutchley. Simmons. Sparrow. Stevenson. Turner. Wiggins. Wrolstad. 1968 Hinman. Maslen. 1969 Gardner. McKenzie. Sparrow.

150

Further reading: works cited

1970 Burnhill. Foxon. Gardner. Twyman. Williamson (W. L.). 1971 Bowers. Burnhill. Hartley. Tanselle. Wrolstad. 1972 Barker. Bradshaw. Davison. Gaskell (P.). Howard-Hill. Machiels. Morison. Shaw (D.). 1973 Howard-Hill. McKenzie. 1974 Doh. Gray. Immroth. McKerrow. Norrie. Scragg. Tanselle. Turner. 1975 Bowers. Flores. Foxon. Shillingsburg. 1976 Abbott. Gerard. Howard-Hill. McKenzie. Newell. Pollard (A. W.). Roper. Wrolstad. 1977 Bowers. Davison. Howard-Hill. 1978 Hartley. Myers. Williamson (W. L.). 1979 Bouma. Darnton. Eisenstein. Kolers. McLeod. McMullin. Needham. Shillingsburg. Tanselle. Twyman. Wrolstad. 1980 Barker. Bouma. Bradshaw. Hartley. Howard-Hill. Kolers. Luborsky. McKitterick. Morison. Sadleir. Stokes. Waller. Wrolstad. 1981 Barber. Barker. Bradshaw. Burnhill. Fabian. Hartley. McKenzie. McKitterick. Tanselle. Vander Meulen. Williamson (W. L.). 1982 Blayney. Chartier. Gilson. Hellinga (L.). Martin. Needham. Prown. Tanselle. Teigen. Vander Meulen. Vivet. 1983 Barker. Cahill. Carpenter. Collins. Kusko. McKitterick. McMullin. Mitchell. Perfect. Rookledge. Schwab. Tanselle. Wick. Winship. 1984 Bradshaw. McMullin. Shady. Shand. Stokes. Tanselle. Vander Meulen. Werstine. 1985 Ball. Needham. Johnson (B. C.). Stoddard. Tanselle. 1986 Fisher. Gascoigne. Gray. Hammond. Lepschy. McKenzie. McKitterick. Paisey. Pantzer. Petrucci. Rhodes. Tanselle. Took. Twyman. Wrolstad. 1987 Barker. Briem. Draudt. Foster. Goldfinch. Hellinga (L.). Higgins. Jowett. Montgomery. Needham. Schoonover. Spector. Tanselle. Taylor. Wells. 1988 Daly. Fleming. Foot. Harris (M.). Heninger. Hodnett. Höltgen. Lottes. Myers. Needham. Roberts. Tanselle. Vander Meulen. Weiss. 1989 Hellinga (L.). Hobson. Jackson (M. P.). Tanselle. Vander Meulen. 1990 Baines. Barker. Elam. Needham. Twyman. Weiss. 1991 Blayney. Drucker. Foxon. Hayford. Lancaster. Maslen. McGann. McLaverty. Swann. Tanselle. Vander Meulen. Weiss. 1992 Conley. Davison. Levenston. McKenzie. McKitterick. Moore. Parkes. Roberts. Tanselle. Weiss.

Subject guide

151

1993 Aubin. Grendler. Harvey. Kirsop. Lappin. McGann. McKenzie. McKitterick. McMullin. Needham. Tanselle. Tribble. 1994 Boghardt. Brack. Drucker. Esrock. Ezell. Kaufmann. McKitterick. McLeod. McMullin. Needham. O’Keeffe. Pearson. Rück. Tanselle. 1995 Drucker. Eggert. Greetham. Janssen. Pickwoad. Tanselle. 1996 Amory. Blayney. Heller. Hinman. Maguire. Masters. Rogers. Saenger. Tomlinson. Trevitt. 1997 Kinross. Rosenthal. Tanselle. Vander Meulen. 1998 Bowden. Greg. Rosenblum. Tanselle. Todd. Twyman. Vander Meulen. 1999 Bain (P.). Baker. Hill. Howard-Hill. King (S.). Kyles. McLeod. McKenzie. Shaw (P.). Tanselle. Weiss. Womack. 2000 Bill. Bray. Burke. Fleeman. Handley. Henry. Kinross. Levin. McLaverty. McLeod. Morris. Mosser. Needham. Renner. Saffle. Schmidgall. Smith (S. E.). Stoddard. Sullivan. Tanselle. Tschichold. 2001 Benton. Bornstein. Gutjahr. Love. Tanselle. Werstine. 2002 Love. McDonald. McKenzie. Smith (S. E.). Suarez. Tanselle. 2003 Agüera y Arcas. Jensen. King (E. M. B.). McKitterick. McMullin. Smith (M. S.). Snyder. Suarez. Vander Meulen. 2004 Dawson (R.). Dickinson. Erne. Gants. Gaskell (R.). Harris (N.). Honigmann. Kidnie. Rodriguez. Tanselle. 2005 Brooks. Clegg. Farr. Hailey. Maguire. McLeod. Tanselle. 2006 Harris (N.). Howard-Hill. Krupp. Littau. Needham. Shaw (D.). Thomson. 2007 Hellinga (L.). Lavagnino. Needham. Taylor. Weiss. 2008 Belanger. McMullin. Vander Meulen. S ubj e ct gu i de  T h e or y, h i s t or y, bio g r a p h y Theory of bibliographical analysis Introductions: Bradshaw 1870. Greg 1914. McKerrow 1927, pp. 175–263. Bowers 1964. McKenzie 1986. Needham 1990, pp. 241–43. Tanselle 1992b. Harris (N.) 2004a. Vander Meulen 2008. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9A1 and 9C. Examples: Clarke 1806. Horne 1814. Bradshaw 1870, 1889, 1904, 1909, 1966, 1972, 1980, 1981, 1984. Copinger 1893, 1894. Proctor 1905. Pollard (A. W.) 1908, 1926, 1976. Greg 1914, 1930, 1932, 1933, 1945, 1966, 1998. McKerrow 1914, 1927, 1974. Price 1937. Tannenbaum 1937. Bald 1942. Doran 1942. Bowers 1949a, 1950, 1952, 1954, 1955, 1959a–b, 1964, 1966, 1971, 1975. Todd 1949. Kirschbaum 1957. Honigmann 1965b. Wrolstad 1967a–b, 1971, 1976. McKenzie 1969, 1993, 1999, 2002. Davison 1972, 1977. Shaw (D.) 1972.

152

Further reading: works cited

Tanselle 1974, 1979, 1981, 1989b, 1993a, 1995a, 1998, 1999. Werstine 1984. Stoddard 1985, 2000. Pantzer 1986. Draudt 1987. Jackson (M. P.) 1987. Hellinga 1982, 1989. Weiss 1988, 1999b. Amory 1996. Heller 1996. Hill 1999. History of bibliographical analysis Introductions: Francis 1945. Tanselle 1982, 1984. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 1C2 and 1F. Examples: Pollard (A. W.) 1916. Updike 1928. Bibliographical Society 1945. Francis 1945. Wilson (F. P.) 1945. Morison 1963a. Foxon 1970. Williamson (W. L.) 1970, 1978, 1981. Myers 1978. Tanselle 1981a, 1982, 1984, 1992b, 1997. McKitterick 1983. Wells 1987. Needham 1988, 1990, 1994a, 2006. Roberts 1988, 1992. Davison 1992. Blayney 1996. Maguire 1996. Vander Meulen 1997, 1998, 2008. Burke 2000. Smith (S. E.) 2000, 2002. Snyder 2003. Harris (N.) 2004a. Honigmann 2004. Belanger 2008.   Biography of analytical bibliographers Introduction: Tanselle 1988. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, section 1G1. Examples: Thomas Bennet (1673–1728): Gibson 1951. Williamson (W. L.) 1978, 1981.  William Blades (1824–90): Reed 1891. Myers 1978.  Fredson Bowers (1905–91): Tanselle 1993b, 1994. Todd 1998a.  Henry Bradshaw (1831–86): Prothero 1888. Jenkinson 1889. Myers 1978. Stokes 1984. McKitterick 1986. Needham 1988.  John Carter (1905–75): Dickinson 2004. Nicolete Gray (1911–97): Twyman 1998b.  W. W. Greg (1875–1959): Wilson (F. P.) 1959. Greg 1960. Rosenblum 1998.  Charlton Hinman (1911–77): Bowers 1977. Smith (S. E.) 2000.  D. F. McKenzie (1931–99): Love 2001. Tanselle 2004.  R. B. McKerrow (1872–1940): Greg 1940a. Immroth 1974. McKitterick 1994.  Stanley Morison (1889–1967): Barker 1972a.  A. W. Pollard (1859–1944): Pollard (A. W.) 1938. Wilson (J. D.) 1945. Roper 1976.  Robert Proctor (1868–1903): Pollard (A. W.) 1904a. Johnson (B. C.) 1985.  Talbot B. Reed (1852–93): Morison 1960.  Michael Sadleir (1888–1957): Sadleir 1951, 1980. Carter (J.) 1958.  Paul Schwenke (1853–1921): Needham 1990.  Allan H. Stevenson (1903–70): Needham 1994a.  William B. Todd (1919– ): Todd 1998a.  Gerard van Thienen (1939- ): Needham 2006.  Alice Walker (1900–82): Howard-Hill 1999. Maguire 2005.  Merald Wrolstad (1923–87): Briem 1987. 

Subject guide

153

A n a ly s i s of M a n u fac t u r i ng C l u e s  Compositor study: identification of printing shops through   type and/or font analysis Introductions: Bradshaw 1870. Weiss 1990, 1991. Tanselle 1999, section Ia, pp. 8–14. Related background: Morison 1926. Gaskell (P.) 1972, pp. 9–39, 207–13. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9D2 and 9E3. Examples: 15th century: Maittaire 1719. Ames 1749. Herbert 1785. Panzer 1793. Dibdin 1810. Holtrop 1856. Blades 1861. Bradshaw 1870, 1889, 1904, 1909, 1966, 1972, 1980, 1981, 1984. Schwenke 1896. Proctor 1898. Haebler 1905. Hellinga (L.) 2007. 16th-17th centuries: Weiss 1992.  Compositor study: identification of printing shops or their   geographical locations through compositorial practices Introductions: Sayce 1966. Mitchell 1983. Janssen 1995. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, section 9E15. Example: 18th century: Dawson 2004. Compositor study: identification of individual compositors through examination of their habits in  spelling, capitalization, contractions, and punctuation Introductions: Hinman 1963, i, 180–226. Howard-Hill 1963. Blayney 1982, pp. 151–77. Tanselle 1999, section Ib, pp. 14–17. Related background: Bayfield 1920. Bowers 1965. Howard-Hill 1972, 2006. Werstine 2001. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9E8–10 and 9G2. Examples: 16th-17th centuries: Satchell 1920. Willoughby 1932, pp. 56–59. Wilson (J. D.) 1934. Hinman 1940. Williams (P.) 1948. Walker 1953, 1954, 1955, 1956. Bowers 1959, pp. 77–85; 1964, pp. 176–97. Honigmann 1965a. Turner 1966, 1974. Howard-Hill 1973, 1976, 1977, 1980. Flores 1975, pp. 1–17. Hammond 1986. Werstine 2001. Compositor study: identification of individual compositors through examination of their habits in setting  headings, speech prefixes, and stage directions Introductions: Hinman 1963, i, 178–79. Blayney 1982, pp. 177–79. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, section 9E11. Examples: 16th-17th centuries: McIlwraith 1930. Wilson (J. D.) 1934. Hinman 1940. Walker 1953, 1954. Bowers 1959, pp. 87–88. Howard-Hill 1976, 1980. Werstine 1984.

154

Further reading: works cited Compositor study: identification of individual compositors through examination of their habits in right-margin  justification

List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9E7 and 9G2. Example: 16th-17th centuries: Doh 1974. Compositor study: identification of individual compositors through examination of  substitutions of types, turned types, transpositions, and ligatures List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9E12–14.  Compositor study: identification of individual compositors through examination of  composing-stick measures List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, section 9E6. Examples: 16th-17th centuries: Moxon 1683. McKenzie 1973. Hammond 1986, pp. 137–42 . Compositor study: determination of order of setting pages through analysis of recognizably  damaged types (and ornaments and rules), type shortages, lineation, and spacing Introductions: Hinman 1963, i, 52–150, 154–71. Blayney 1982, pp. 57–58, 90–94, 124–25, 176–77; 1991, pp. 9–14. Tanselle 1999, section Ia, pp. 8–14. McLeod 2005, pp. 46–56. Weiss 2007, pp. 216–19. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9D3, 9E2, 9E4–5, and 9G2. Examples: 16th-17th centuries: Bennet 1715. Pollard 1909, pp. 134–35. Greg 1921. McKerrow 1925. Bond 1948. Gibson 1951. Hinman 1955. Williams (G. W.) 1958. Turner 1962, 1965, 1966, 1967, 1974. Hammond 1986. Weiss  1999a.  Presswork study: analysis of  paper Introductions: Stevenson 1961a, 1962a. Tanselle 1971. Vander Meulen 1984, 1988a. Needham 1994a, 2000. See also Stevenson 1951. Related background: McKerrow 1927, pp. 97–108. Simmons 1961. Stevenson 1967a. Gaskell (P.) 1972, pp. 57–77, 214–30. McMullin 1984. Schoonover 1987. Needham 1994b, 2007. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9D5, 9F2, 9G5, and 9H4. Examples: 15th century: Bühler 1957. Stevenson 1962b, 1967b. Needham 1982, 1985, 1993, 2007. Schwab 1983. 16th-17th centuries: Greg 1908 (cf. Pollard

Subject guide

155

[A. W.] 1906a). Stevenson 1948, 1954. Blayney 1991. Weiss 1999b. Hailey 2005. 18th century: Hazen 1942. Stevenson 1954; 1961b, pp. clxxvi–clxxx. Vander Meulen 1981, pp. 47–58; 1984; 1991, pp. 154–55. 19th-20th centuries: Carter, Pollard 1934, pp. 42–55. Barker 1987, pp. 111–27. McMullin 2003, 2008. Rodriguez 2004.  Presswork study: determination of  imposition and format Introductions: Gaskell (P.) 1972, pp. 78–109. Tanselle 2000. See also Povey 1956. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9D6, 9F3–4, 9G6, and 9H5. Examples: 15th century: Needham 1987, 1994b. 16th-17th centuries: Jackson (W. A.) 1954. Dawson 1961. 18th century: Vander Meulen 1982. McMullin 1983, 1993a. 19th-20th centuries: Steele 1962, 1963. McMullin 1993a, 2003, 2008. Rogers 1996. Rodriguez 2004 . Presswork study: identification of  skeleton-formes through running-title and box-rule analysis Introductions: Hinman 1963, i, 154–78. Blayney 1982, pp. 122, 124–25. Tanselle 1999, section IIa, pp. 18–24. McLeod 2005, pp. 56–58. Weiss 2007, pp. 220–22, 484–85. Related background: Poole 1867. Williamson (W. L.) 1970. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9D7, 9F5–6, and 9G7. Examples: 15th century: Bain (D. C.) 1940. Bühler 1948. 16th-17th ­centuries: Pollard 1909, pp. 134–37. Willoughby 1929; 1932, pp. 21–24, 42–46. Johnson (F. R.) 1933, pp. 16–17. McManaway 1938. Bowers 1939, 1942, 1947. Hinman 1942. Turner 1962, 1965, 1966, 1974. McLeod 1979. 18th century: Vander Meulen 1982.  Presswork study: analysis of printed  signatures List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9E16, 9F7, 9G8, and 9H7. Example: 19th-20th centuries: Tanselle 1991a.  Presswork study: analysis of  point-hole positions Introduction: Tanselle 1999, section IIb, pp. 24–28. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9D8, 9F8, and 9G9. Examples: 15th century: Wallau 1888. Schwenke 1900. Pollard (A.W.) 1908, pp. xiv–xv, xxi. Stevenson 1967b, p. 342. Needham 1982, p. 417. Stoddard 1985, item 1. 16th-17th centuries: Povey 1956. 18th century: Foxon 1956. Maslen 1968. Vander Meulen 1981, p. 62; 1989, p. 307.

156

Further reading: works cited Presswork study: determination of  first- and second-forme impressions through type-bite evidence

Introductions: Povey 1960. Tanselle 1999, section IIc, pp. 28–31. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9D9, 9F9, and 9G10. Examples: 15th century: Wallau 1900, p. 280. Needham 1994a, p. 27. 16th17th centuries: Povey 1956, p. 270; 1965. 18th century: Povey 1959, p. 257. Vander Meulen 1981, pp. 61–62; 1989, p. 302. Presswork study: analysis of  stop-press alterations and proofreading Introductions: Hinman 1963, i, 226–334. Blayney 1982, pp. 188–218. Tanselle 1999, section IId, pp. 31–41. McLeod 2005, pp. 27–45, 57–60. Related background: Simpson 1935. Hinman 1968. Moore 1992. Smith (S. E.) 2000, 2002. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9D10, 9F10, and 9G11. Examples: 15th century: Schwenke 1923. 16th-17th centuries: Willoughby 1932, pp. 62–65. Greg 1940, pp. 40–57. Bowers 1947. Flores 1975, pp. 18–40. 19th-20th centuries: Eggert 1995. Schmidgall 2000. Presswork study: analysis of  impressions from bearer type and other material not meant to print Introduction: Tanselle 1999, section IIe, pp. 41–43. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9D11 and 9F11. Examples: 15th century: Stoddard 1985, items 4, 7. Harris (N.) 2004b. 16th17th centuries: Blayney 1982, p. 140. Stoddard 1985, item 5. Paisey 1986. McLeod 2000.  Presswork study: analysis of  cancels Introductions: Wyllie 1953. McLeod 2005, pp. 61–71. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9D12, 9F12, 9G13, and 9H13. Examples: 16th-17th centuries: Stevenson 1954. 18th century: Chapman 1924, 1930. Stevenson 1954. Gaskell (P.) 1959.  Presswork study: analysis of printed  press figures Introduction: Tanselle 1999, section IIf, pp. 43–51. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9G4 and 9H3. Examples: 18th century: Gaskell (P.) 1949. Knotts 1949. Todd 1949, pp.6–38; 1950; 1951; 1952; 1956; 1958. Povey 1959. Fleeman 1964. Tanselle 1966b. McMullin 1979, 1983, 1994. Vander Meulen 1981, pp. 63–64; 1989; 1991, pp. 153–54. Dawson 2004. 

Subject guide

157

Presswork study: identification of impressions through analysis of  furniture width Introduction: Tanselle 1999, section IIg, pp. 51–54. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, section 9H8. Examples: Bruccoli 1957, 1963. Shillingsburg 1979.  Presswork study: identification of impressions through analysis of  plate damage or alteration and of offset slur Introduction: Tanselle 1999, section IIh, pp. 54–57. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, section 9H9. Examples: Bruccoli 1958. Steele 1963. Shillingsburg 1975. Abbott 1976 (offset slur). Winship 1983.  Presswork study: identification of impressions through analysis of changes in  leading Example: Kyles 1999.  Study of the production of  pictorial material Introductions: Bland 1951, pp. 107–52. Twyman 1970a, 1998a. Gaskell (P.) 1972, pp. 154–59, 266–73. Gascoigne 1986. Gaskell (R.) 2004. Lists of the scholarship: Gaskell (P.) 1972, pp. 399, 408. Tanselle 2002a, sections 7E2, 7F2, 7G2. Example: McLeod 1999.  Study of the production of  bindings Introductions: Custom bindings: Gaskell (P.) 1972, pp. 146–53. Pearson 1994. Pickwoad 1995. Publishers’ bindings: Gaskell (P.) 1972, pp. 231–50. Tomlinson 1996. Krupp 2006. Lists of the scholarship: Gaskell (P.) 1972, pp. 398–99, 406–7. Tanselle  2002a, sections 8D2, 8E. A n a ly s i s of De s ig n F e at u r e s  Psychological study List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, section 6J1. Examples: Sobry 1799. Sandfords 1888. Huey 1908. British Association 1912. Roethlein 1912. Legros 1916. Pyke 1926. Tinker 1928, 1932. Updike 1928. Paterson 1929, 1940. Morison 1930a–b. Ovink 1938. Simon 1945. Burt 1955, 1959. Warde 1955. Williamson (H.) 1956. Lee (M.) 1965. Wiggins 1967.

158

Further reading: works cited

Wrolstad 1967a–b, 1971, 1976, 1986. Burnhill 1970. Hartley 1971, 1978, 1980, 1981. Kolers 1979, 1980. Twyman 1979, 1981, 1986. Waller 1980. Swann 1991.  Cultural study Related background: Scragg 1974. Parkes 1992. Howard-Hill 2006. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, section 6J2. Examples: Morison 1923, 1944, 1957, 1963b, 1972, 1980. Graphic Forms 1949. Bland 1951. Bronson 1958. Gray 1960, 1974, 1986. Needham 1979. Barker 1981. Ball 1985. Petrucci 1986. Hodnett 1988. Hobson 1989. Foxon 1991. Conley 1992. McKitterick 1992, 1993a–b, 2003. Grendler 1993. Drucker 1995. Saenger 1996. Kinross 1997. Foot 1998. Bain (P.) 1999. Burke 2000. Morris 2000. King (E. M. B.) 2003. Farr 2005. Littau 2006. Thomson 2006.   Aesthetic study List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, section 6J3. Examples: Sparrow 1943, 1967, 1969. Church 1946. Newell 1976. Luborsky 1980. McKenzie 1981. Foster 1987. Higgins 1987. Heninger 1988. Elam 1990. Drucker 1991, 1994. Foxon 1991. Conley 1992. Levenston 1992. McGann 1993. Tribble 1993. Ezell 1994. Kaufmann 1994. McLeod 1994. Bornstein 2001 . Gutjahr 2001. R e l at e d F i e l d s T h at U s e P h y s ic a l E v i de nc e  Attribution of authorship Introduction: Love 2002. List of the scholarship: Erdman 1966, pp. 395–523. Examples: Farnham 1916. Pollard (A. W.) 1923. Hoy 1956.   Book collecting and provenance research Introductions: Carter 1948, 1952. Pearson 1994. Tanselle 1998b. Lists of the scholarship: Pearson 1994. Tanselle 2002a, section 1D. Book  history: history of books in society, including bookselling, librarianship, and reading (see also Book collecting above) Introductions: Tanselle 1981b, 1983. Barker 1990. McKenzie 1992, 1993. Suarez 2003. Vander Meulen 2003.

Subject guide

159

Related background: Prown 1982. Pearson 1994. Rosenthal 1997. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 1D3, 1E, and 3J. Examples: Febvre 1958. McKenzie 1976. Darnton 1979. Eisenstein 1979. Martin 1982. Stoddard 1985, 2000. McKitterick 1986, 1992, 2003. See also Cultural study and Aesthetic study above , p. 158.  Codicology and palaeography List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9J6, 9J8, and 9J9.  Descriptive bibliography Introductions: Bowers 1949b. Vander Meulen 1988b. Tanselle 1992a. Related background: Pollard (A. W.) 1906. Greg 1934. Foxon 1970. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, part 4. Examples: Capell 1760. Sadleir 1928. Johnson (F. R.) 1933. Greg 1939. Hazen 1942. Gaskell (P.) 1959. McKenzie 1966. Tanselle 1966a, 1985, 1987, 1999. Foxon 1975. Vander Meulen 1981. Gilson 1982. Fleming 1988. Todd 1998. Fleeman 2000. Gants 2004. Harris (N.) 2006.   Forensics List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002a, sections 9H14 and 9J9. Examples: Carter 1934. Barker 1983, 1987.   History of type, paper, illustration, binding, printing, publishing Introductions: McKerrow 1914, 1927. Gaskell (P.) 1972. Related background: Type: Morison 1923, 1926, 1930b, 1944, 1963b, 1980. Johnson (A. F.) 1934. Needham 1982. Perfect 1983. McKitterick 1992, 2003. Agüera y Arcas 2003. Hellinga (L.) 2007. Paper: Stevenson 1967b. Needham 1994b, 2007. See also Presswork study: analysis of paper above, pp. 154–55. Illustration: Bland 1951. Gascoigne 1986. Hodnett 1988. Gaskell (R.) 2004. See also Study of the production of pictorial material above, p. 157. Binding: Sadleir 1930. Carter (J.) 1932. Needham 1979. Ball 1985. Hobson 1989. Pearson 1994. Pickwoad 1995. Tomlinson 1996. Foot 1998. Morris 2000. King (E. M. B.) 2003. Krupp 2006. See also Study of the production of bindings above, p. 157. Printing and publishing: Moxon 1683. McKerrow 1913. Legros 1916. Pollard (A. W.) 1926. Mumby 1930. Steinberg 1955. Glaister 1960. McKenzie 1966. Twyman 1970a–b, 1990, 1998a. Needham 1982. Pantzer 1986. Maslen 1991. McKitterick 1992, 2003. Hellinga (L.) 2007. See also Book history above, pp. 158–59.

160

Further reading: works cited

Lists of the scholarship: Gaskell (P.) 1972, pp. 392–411. Tanselle 2002a, parts 3 and 5–8 (including suggestions for basic reading).   Textual criticism and scholarly editing Introduction: Tanselle 1989a, 1995b. List of the scholarship: Tanselle 2002b (including suggestions for basic reading). Examples: Lee (S.) 1902. Bradley 1928. McKerrow 1931. Price 1937. Greg 1942, 1950a, 1955. Bowers 1950, 1955, 1959b, 1964, 1975. Todd 1951. Walker 1956. Davison 1972. Werstine 1984. Tanselle 1986, 1991b, 2001, 2005a–b. Wells 1987. McGann 1991. 

Index

books, 6–14, 48–52; of 16th- and 17th-century books, 15–28, 31–47; of 18th-century books, 52–56, 79–80, 82–84; of 19th- and 20th-century books, 56–59, 84–85. See also book design; compositor study; presswork study bibliographical description, 93, 104, 159; collation formula in, 14, 91; definition of, 3, 4, 19, 46, 56, 104; title-page transcription in, 89, 91 Bibliographical Society [London], 5, 17, 18, 19, 20–21, 22, 76, 89, 91, 92, 108; founding of, 11–12 Bibliographical Society of America, 80 Bibliographical Society of the University of Virginia, 93 Bill, Max, 113 bindings, 4; custom, 87, 101, 112, 157; publishers’, 57, 87, 107, 112, 157. See also bookmaking Blades, William, 7, 9–10, 12, 13, 89, 90 Bland, David, 112 Blayney, Peter W. M., 29, 35–36, 41, 46, 100, 101, 103 blind impressions, 105, 156 Bloch, Marc, 108 Bloomfield, Paul, 110 Bodley Head, 85 Bond, W. H., 37–38 book collecting, 9, 90, 158 book design: aesthetic study of, 68, 81–87, 158; basic principles for study of, 29, 61–69, 88; cultural study of, 68, 75–81, 113, 114, 158; psychological study of, 68, 69–75, 110–12, 157–58 book history. See books in society bookmaking: historical studies of the elements of, 68–69, 77, 109, 111, 113, 159–60

Abbott, Craig S., 58 Agüera y Arcas, Blaise, 106 Ames, Joseph, 8–9 Amory, Hugh, 96 analytical bibliography. See bibliographical analysis Anisson, Jean, 69, 110 Apollinaire, Guillaume, 66 artifacts, 2, 7, 30, 89; visual attributes of, 61–62, 63, 66–68 attribution of authorship, 98, 158 Austen, Jane, 105 Babbage, Charles H., 110 Bain, D. C., 105 Bain, Peter, 113 Bald, R. C., 25–26, 95 Ball, Douglas, 112 Barker, Nicolas, 57, 78, 79–80, 81, 108, 111, 114 Barthes, Roland, 74 Baskerville, John, 55 Bayfield, M. A., 98 bearer type, 105, 156 Beaumont, Francis, 98, 102 Beinecke Library, 114 Belanger, Terry, 94 Bennet, Thomas, 8, 89 Benton, Megan L., 86 beta-radiographs, 56, 106, 107 Bible, 42-line (Gutenberg), 49, 106 bibliographical analysis: and science, 18–19, 20, 95; criticisms of, 25–29, 94–96; definition of, 1–2, 3–4, 60, 62–64, 88, 113; historical development of theoretical basis for, 6–30, 151–52; inductive reasoning in, 24, 25–26, 27, 32, 35, 52, 95; lives of those engaged in, 152; of 15th-century

161

162

Index

bookplates, 19, 116 books in society, 2, 21, 28, 29–30, 62, 108, 158–59 bookselling, 158–59 Bornstein, George, 86 Bouma, Herman, 112 Bowden, Ann, 105 Bowers, Fredson, 4, 22, 25, 55, 91, 95; career, 93–94, 107; on bibliographical method, 22–24; on McKenzie, 28; on 19th-century compositors, 58; on proofreading, 45–46; on running-titles, 37, 43, 45, 48 Bowyer, William, 27, 54, 56, 95 Bradley, Henry, 93 Bradshaw, Henry, 31, 49, 51, 89, 93; bibliographical method of, 6–7, 12, 13, 14, 16, 93; descriptive formula of, 91; influence of, 8, 9, 10–11, 12, 13, 18; letters of, 89, 90 Briem, Gunnlaugur S. E., 75, 112 British Association for the Advancement of Science, 110 British Library, 51, 105 British Museum, 12–14, 51, 90 Bronson, Bertrand H., 79 Brown, Bob, 85 Bruccoli, Matthew J., 58, 108 Bühler, Curt F., 23, 48, 49, 105 Burke, Christopher, 113 Burnhill, Peter, 111, 112 Burt, Cyril, 69–71, 73, 74, 110 Cambridge: University, 5, 6, 91, 93; University Library, 90; University Press, 8, 26, 27, 80, 97, 115 Campbell, M. F. A. G., 10–11, 90 cancels, 57, 58, 62, 104, 156; defined, 55 Capell, Edward, 89 Carroll, Lewis, 67, 86 Carter, John, 56, 90, 107 casting off copy. See compositor study: use of damaged types Catholicon, 52, 106 Caxton, William, 10 chainlines, 9, 38, 47, 55. See also presswork study: analysis of paper and determination of imposition and format Chapman, R. W., 55, 93 Chicago, University of, 53 Church, Margaret, 115 Clarke, Adam, 90 codicology. See manuscripts

collation: of signatures, 91; of text, 103 composing sticks, 27, 98, 154 composition (typesetting): speed of, 102. See also compositor study compositor study, 26, 31–42, 58, 101, 153–54; habits in justification, 34, 98, 154; habits in setting headings, 33, 34, 153; habits in spelling, 31–36, 62, 98, 99, 153; habits in type substitutions, 34, 154; habits in use of composing-stick measures, 27, 98, 154; identification of shops through compositorial practice, 97, 153; identification of shops through type and font analysis, 6–7, 8, 12, 14, 41–42, 49, 153; use of damaged types to determine order of setting, 8, 14, 36–42, 47, 68, 100, 101, 154. See also ornaments computers, 4, 47, 105 concrete poetry, 67, 74, 85, 115–16 Congreve, William, 82–83, 84 Conley, Tom, 86 Constance Missal, 50, 106 Copinger, W. A., 11–12, 20 Crane, Ralph, 98 Crutchley, Brooke, 115 Cummings, E. E., 84 cyclotrons, 56, 107 Darnton, Robert, 108 Davis, Herbert, 26, 95 Davison, Peter, 95 Dawson, Giles E., 105 Dawson, Robert, 106 de Machlinia, William, 48 De Meyer, M. J., 6, 89 deckle: defined, 47 descriptive bibliography. See bibliographical description Dibdin, Thomas Frognall, 9, 11 Dickinson, Donald C., 107 Didot type, 69, 110 Doh, Herman, 98 Doran, Madeleine, 25, 95 Draudt, Manfred, 96 Drucker, Johanna, 86, 114, 115 editing. See textual criticism editions: identification of, 103; sizes of, 44–45. See also impressions Edwards, A. W. F., 5 Eggert, Paul, 108 Eisenstein, Elizabeth, 108

Index Elam, Kimberly, 86 electronic databases, 47, 105 electronic texts, 4 Eliot, T. S., 67, 77 Engelhard Lectures, 4 English Short-Title Catalogue, 105 enumerative bibliography, 20–21, 92 Erdman, David V., 98 Esrock, Ellen J., 111 Ezell, Margaret J. M., 86 facsimiles, 49, 80, 101, 107 Farnham, Willard, 98 Farr, Cecilia K., 86 Febvre, Lucien, 29, 108 film, 61 fingerprinting (to identify editions), 103 first-forme impressions, 46, 47, 49, 56, 104, 156 Fisher, Dennis F., 112 Fleeman, J. D., 54–55, 105 Fleming, Patricia Lockhart, 105 Fletcher, John, 98, 102 Flores, R. M., 98 Fogel, Ephim G., 98 folio: defined, 38 Foot, Mirjam, 112 forensics, 5, 159 Forman, Harry Buxton, 57 format: defined, 38–39. See also forme; presswork study: determination of imposition and format forme: defined, 16, 38, 44; inner, 38. See also format Foster, Stephen C., 112 Fox, Peter, 5 Foxon, David F., 55, 56, 83–84, 89 Francis, F. C., 91 furniture, 58, 157; defined, 102 Gants, David L., 105 Garamond type, 69, 110 Gascoigne, Bamber, 99 Gaskell, Philip, 4, 28, 53, 55, 93, 100, 102, 109 Gaskell, Roger, 99 gathering, 17, 62, 97; defined, 38, 100. See also quire Gerard, David, 108 Gibson, Strickland, 89 Gilson, David, 105 Glaister, Geoffrey, 109 Grant, John Cameron, 110

163

Graphic Forms, 113 Gray, Nicolete, 114 Greg, W. W., 5, 23, 24, 91, 92, 95, 99, 102; on nature of bibliography, 18–22, 113; on copy-text, 82, 84, 114; on description, 93; on McKerrow, 92; on Pavier quartos, 16, 50; on printer’s copy, 97; on proofreading, 45; relation of to Pollard, 91; style of, 23 Grendler, Paul F., 113 Gutenberg, Johann, 106; 42-line Bible, 49, 106 Gutjahr, Paul C., 86 Haebler, Konrad, 12 Hailey, R. Carter, 56 Hammond, Anthony, 98 Hanes Lectures, 108 Hansard, T. C., 110 Harris, Neil, 97, 103, 105 Hartley, James, 111, 112 Harvard University, 113 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 58 Hazen, Allen, 55 headings, 33, 34, 153 headlines: defined, 43. See also presswork study: analysis of running-titles Heller, Scott, 61 Hellinga, Lotte, 48, 49, 51, 90 Hellinga, Wytze, 90 Heninger, S. K., 115 Herbert, George, 66, 86, 116 Herbert, William, 9 Higgins, Dick, 115 Hill, T. H. See Howard-Hill, T. H. Hill, W. Speed, 96 Hinman, Charlton, 22, 25, 36, 41, 60, 93, 103; collating machine, 103; facsimile of First Folio, 49, 101; major book, 24–25; on box rules, 102; on identification of typecases, 37, 42; on setting by formes, 39–40, 101; on running-titles, 43, 44–45, 48; on spelling, 32, 33, 34, 35 histoire du livre. See books in society history of bookmaking and its elements. See bookmaking Hobson, Anthony, 112 Hodnett, Edward, 112 Holinshed, Raphael, 102 Höltgen, Karl Josef, 86 Holtrop, J. W., 10, 90 Honigmann, E. A. J., 26, 98, 99 Horne, Thomas Hartwell, 9

164

Index

Housman, A. E., 95 Howard-Hill, T. H., 35, 98, 99 Howe, Susan, 85 Hoy, Cyrus, 98 Huey, E. B., 110 illustrations: 4, 62, 65, 83, 87, 99–100, 112, 157; engravings, 99–100; woodcuts, 14, 37, 99, 100. See also bookmaking imposition: defined, 43, 100. See also presswork study: determination of imposition and format impressions: defined, 53; identification of, 57, 58. See also editions incunables. See incunabula incunabula: defined, 8. See also bibliographical analysis: of 15th-century books intention: of authors, 28, 62, 65–68, 81–87, 115; of designers and publishers, 65, 70, 81 Jackson, MacD. P., 96 Jackson, W. A., 105 Jaggard, William, 16, 91 Janssen, Frans A., 97 Javal, Émile, 110 Jenkinson, Francis, 11, 89, 90 Johnson, A. F., 111 Johnson, Barry, 91 Johnson, Edward, 102 Johnson, Francis R., 43 Johnson, Samuel, 105 Jones, J. Winter, 10, 90 justification, 98, 154; defined, 34 Kaufmann, Michael, 86 Kelmscott Press, 85 King, Edmund M. B., 112 Kinross, Robin, 113 Kirschbaum, Leo, 26, 95 Knotts, Walter E., 53 Kolers, Paul A., 112 Krupp, Andrea, 108 Kyles, Gillian G. M., 58 Lancaster, John, 95 language, 7 Lappin, Linda, 114 Latimer, Ronald Lane, 109 Lawley, S. W., 90 leading, 58, 157

Lee, Marshall, 111 Lee, Sidney, 15 legibility, 68, 69–75, 110–12, 157–58 Legros, Alphonse, 110 letterforms. See type designs: typography lettering: public, 77–79, 85–86, 114 Levenston, Edward A., 86 Levin, Edward S., 112 Lewis, Wyndham, 73 librarianship, 158–59 line length and spacing. See typography Lister, William, 72 Littau, Karin, 86 Love, Harold, 98, 115 Luborsky, Ruth Samson, 115 Lyell Lectures, 23, 83, 84 Machiels, J., 90 Maguire, Laurie E., 96, 99 Mallarmé, Stéphane, 66 manuscripts, 4, 114, 159 Manutius, Aldus, 106 maps, 4, 99 marginalia, 87, 114 margins. See typography Martin, Henri-Jean, 29, 108 Maslen, Keith, 95, 104 Massinger, Philip, 33 Masters, Richard, 108 material culture. See artifacts Mattaire, Michael, 9 McGann, Jerome J., 62, 67, 84–85, 109 McIlwraith, A. K., 33 McKenzie, D. F., 45, 91, 95, 98, 108; on authorial use of typography, 82–83; on bibliographical method, 25, 26–29, 35, 40, 102; on Cambridge University Press, 96–97; on cultural clues, 75–76; on press figures, 55; on textual criticism, 84, 114–15 McKerrow, Ronald B., 92, 93, 97, 99; Introduction to Bibliography, 4, 17–18, 92; on ornaments, 37, 102; on seriatim setting, 100; on spelling, 33; on tests for editions, 103 McKitterick, David, 5, 90, 91, 92, 93, 111, 113; on relation of books and manuscripts, 114; on responses to typography, 80–81 McLaverty, James, 83 McLeod, Randall, 100, 102, 105, 116 McManaway, James G., 48 McMullin, B. J., 54, 55, 57, 58, 106 Melville, Herman, 59

Index Middleton, Thomas, 40, 101 Missale speciale, 50, 106 Mitchell, C. J., 97 Moore, J. K., 103 Morison, Stanley, 7, 69, 74, 90, 111; on concept of bibliography, 113; on cultural associations of letterforms and book design, 73, 77–79, 80, 81; on history of type designs, 111, 113; on legibility of type, 71–72, 110; on Reed, 89 Morris, Ellen K., 112 Morris, William, 85 Moxon, Joseph, 98 Mumby, F. A., 108 Munby, A. N. L., 93 music, 4, 99, 100 Myers, Robin, 90 Needham, Paul, 5, 49, 89, 106, 112; on bibliographical method, 11, 51–52, 59, 91; on Catholicon, 52, 106; on German and Dutch bibliographers, 90, 91, 105; on Gutenberg’s type, 106; on paper analysis, 51–52, 55, 104, 105, 106 New Bibliography. See bibliographical analysis: definition of and of 16th- and 17th-century books Newell, Kenneth, 115 Nodier, Charles, 67 octavo: defined, 38 offset, 57, 58 O’Keeffe, Katherine O’Brien, 86 ornaments, 37, 100, 102 Ovink, G. W., 110 Paisey, David, 105 palaeography. See manuscripts Panizzi Lectures, 35 Pantzer, Katharine F., 92 Panzer, G. W. F., 9, 13 paper: quality marks, 106; relation to legibility, 110; sizes, 100. See also bookmaking; presswork study: analysis of paper and determination of imposition and format Parkes, M. B., 109 Paterson, Donald G., 110 Pavier, Thomas, 16, 50 Pearson, David, 116 perfecting: defined, 45 Petrucci, Armando, 114

165

Pickwoad, Nicholas, 101 plates, 52, 57, 58, 108, 157 point-holes, 46, 47, 56, 62, 104, 155; defined, 13, 46 Pollard, A. W., 18, 21, 29, 90, 91, 92, 93, 95, 96, 97, 99; British Museum catalogue, 12, 13–14, 51; on Greg, 91; on printing of Shakespeare, 15–17, 43; on spelling, 59, 99; Short-Title Catalogue, 92 Pollard, Graham, 56 Poole, William Frederick, 102 Pope, Alexander, 55, 56, 83–84, 107 Pound, Ezra, 67–68, 85 Povey, Kenneth, 54, 103–04 press figures, 27, 52–55, 62, 106, 156 pressmen: speed of work, 102. See also presswork study presswork study, 43–47, 49, 51–52, 154–57; analysis of bearer-type impressions, 105, 156; analysis of cancels, 55, 57, 58, 62, 156; analysis of furniture width, 58, 157; analysis of leading, 58, 157; analysis of offset slur, 58, 157; analysis of paper, 9, 14, 16, 38–39, 47, 50–51, 55–56, 58, 105, 154–55; analysis of plate damage, 57, 58, 157; analysis of point-hole positions, 13, 46, 47, 56, 62, 104, 155; analysis of press figures, 27, 52–55, 62, 106, 156; analysis of proofreading, 45–46, 49, 103, 156; analysis of running-titles and skeleton-formes, 16, 22, 25, 27, 37, 43–46, 47, 48, 56, 62, 102, 105, 107, 155; analysis of signatures, 13, 17, 59, 91, 155; analysis of stop-press alterations, 8, 14, 46, 62, 103, 108, 156; determination of first-forme impressions, 46, 47, 49, 56, 104, 156; determination of imposition and format, 9, 38–39, 43, 47, 53, 57–58, 62, 68, 100–1, 155 Price, H. T., 94–95 primary records, 27–28, 95 printer’s copy, 13, 97–98 printing history, 109. See also bookmaking printings. See impressions Proctor, Robert, 12, 13, 91 Prokosch, Frederick, 57 proofreading, 45–46, 49, 103, 156 Prothero, G. W., 10, 90 provenance, 116, 158 Prown, Jules David, 89 publishing history, 57, 108. See also bookmaking; books in society

166

Index

punctuation: history of, 109 Pyke, R. L., 110, 111 quarto: defined, 38 quire, 25, 39; defined, 100. See also gathering reading and readers’ responses, 2, 7, 61–62, 63–64, 65, 66, 80, 109, 111, 114, 158–59. See also book design: psychological study of Reed, Talbot Baines, 89, 90 Renaissance drama. See bibliographical analysis: of 16th- and 17th-century books reproductions, 99 Roberts, Julian, 91 Rodriguez, Catherine, 58 Roethlein, Barbara E., 110 Rogers, Shef, 67–68 Rookledge, Gordon, 111 Rosenbach Lectures, 23, 94 Rosenthal, Bernard M., 114 Roxburghe, Duke of, 9 running-titles. See presswork study: analysis of running-titles Sadleir, Michael, 104, 107 Saenger, Paul, 114 Sandars, Samuel, 91 Sandars Lectures, 1, 5, 12, 23, 84, 86, 90, 94 Sandfords, E. C., 110 Satchell, Thomas, 31–32, 33, 98 Sayce, R. A., 97 Schmidgall, Gary, 108 scholarly editing. See textual criticism Schoonover, David, 107 Schwab, Richard N., 107 Schwenke, Paul, 12, 49, 51, 91, 105 Scott, Walter, 105 Scragg, D. G., 109 setting by formes. See compositor study: use of damaged types Shakespeare, William, 14; Folio, 16, 24–25, 31–32, 33–34, 37, 39, 42, 49, 97, 99, 101; 2 Henry IV, 98; King Lear, 35, 45, 99; Macbeth, 31–32, 34; Pavier quartos, 16, 50; Richard II, 33 Shaw, David, 95 Shaw, Paul, 113 sheet-numbers, 105, 106 Shillingsburg, Peter L., 58 signatures: analysis of, 59, 91, 97, 103, 155; defined, 13, 17 Simmons, J. S. G., 107

Simon, Oliver, 72 Simpson, Percy, 103 skeleton-formes: defined, 44. See also presswork study: analysis of running-titles Smith, Michael S., 105 Smith, Steven Escar, 103 Snyder, Henry L., 105 Sobry, Jean François, 110 Somervile, William, 54 sort, 49; defined, 42 Sparrow, John, 85–86, 115 speech prefixes, 33, 34, 153 spelling: compositors’ habits of, 31–36, 62, 98, 99, 153; history of, 99, 109 Spenser, Edmund, 115 stage directions, 33, 34, 153 Steele, Oliver, 57 Steinberg, S. H., 109 Stevens, Wallace, 109 Stevenson, Allan H., 52, 94, 105, 106; on paper analysis, 50–51, 53, 55, 107 Stoddard, Roger E., 109 Stokes, Roy, 89 stop-press alterations, 8, 14, 46, 62, 103, 108, 156 Studies in Bibliography, 22–23, 25, 26, 48, 53, 55, 94 Suarez, Michael F., 108 Swann, Cal, 86 Tannenbaum, Samuel A., 95 Tanselle, G. Thomas: on bibliographical description, 4, 91, 104, 111; on textual criticism, 89, 96, 108, 109, 114; writings on other topics, 58, 89, 91, 92, 93, 95, 99, 100, 101, 104, 106, 108, 114; Introduction to Bibliography cited, 3, 98, 108, 109, 111, 113, 114, 116 Teague, Walter Dorwin, 113 textual collation, 103 textual criticism, 15, 17, 19, 21, 23, 26, 28–29, 39, 58, 62, 66, 82–83, 84, 93, 96, 97, 108, 160. See also intention Thackeray, William M., 67 Thomson, Ellen Mazur, 113 Tinker, Miles A., 110 Todd, William B., 52–54, 56, 105, 107 Tomlinson, William, 108 Tonson, Jacob, 82 Traherne, Thomas, 66 Tribble, Evelyn B., 86

Index Trinity College, Cambridge, 91 Trollope, Anthony, 104 Tschichold, Jan, 113 Turner, Robert K., Jr., 101 Twain, Mark, 67 Twyman, Michael, 75, 99, 109, 114 type-cases. See compositor study: identification of shops through type and font analysis type damage. See compositor study: use of damaged types type designs: history of, 111, 113. See also bookmaking; typography typesetting: speed of, 102. See also compositor study typography: historical associations of, 73, 75–81; stylistic details of, 68, 69–70, 71, 72, 74, 76, 79, 82, 83, 84–85, 87 Updike, D. B., 110 van Thienen, Gerard, 90 Vander Haeghen, Ferdinand, 90 Vander Meulen, David L., 4, 5, 93, 106, 108; on analysis of Dunciad, 55–56, 107; on bibliographical analysis in general, 97; on paper analysis, 55–56, 104 video, 61 Virginia, University of, 22, 23, 93–94 Visible Language, 73–74, 111

167

Walker, Alice, 33, 34, 35, 95, 99 Wallau, Heinrich, 49 Waller, Robert H. W., 115 Warde, Beatrice, 72, 110 watermarks, 38–39, 47, 58, 105. See also presswork study: analysis of paper and determination of imposition and format Webster, John, 98 Weiss, Adrian, 95, 102, 103; on fill-in jobs, 41, 101; on identifying type-cases, 42, 49; on use of originals, 99; on setting by formes, 40–41 Wells, Stanley, 101 Werstine, Paul, 96, 98 Whitman, Walt, 87 Wiggins, Richard H., 74 Williams, George Walton, 101 Williams, Philip, 99 Williams, William Carlos, 84 Williamson, Hugh, 72 Williamson, William L., 89, 102 Willoughby, E. E., 33–34, 37, 43 Wilson, F. P., 15–16, 22, 91, 92 Wilson, John Dover, 92, 93, 94–95 Winship, Michael, 58 Wise, Thomas J., 57 Wrolstad, Merald E., 73–75, 111–12 Wyllie, John Cook, 57 x-height: defined, 71. See also typography