Rotten Bibliographical Citations

Don't blithely accept other seller's listings for bibliographical data. Do  your own research.

I have a certain book. It is the First American edition of a title by a well-known English author. The World Catalog entries for this edition all cite the bibliography of said author. [You know how that looks: George Muffington-Davies, Jack Straw, an Uncivil Adventure. Boston. Sheffield, Shuffled, Surefire &Co. 1853 …. etc etc (Wright, A2) ]

At issue here is the presence of the publisher's advertisements in the back of the book. I have a copy with ads to 8 pages. Every listing I see describes the ads in the First Edition as being 16 pages, which follows what is found in World Cat; in fact, there is a copy catalogued in a university collection that is viewable on-line page by page, which shows 16 pages of ads.

I, for some reason, had a question in my mind about these ads and precedence, etc.  One of the differences within the ads is that the 16 page ads  include several more titles by said author, who died the year after this title was published.

Every one of the on-line listings for the First American Edition of this title (which was issued under a different title than the English edition) follow through with the same inaccurate information (or at least they have accepted incomplete data as well-enough) . It is obvious they have all referenced OCLC. And the OCLC entries cite the bibliography of this author, but wrongly.

Yesterday I went up to the college library, which just happens to have the bibliography in question (a very complete physical bibliography of this author's works), and read the entry.

There it is:  the bibliographer describes the First Edition  with publisher's advertisements of 8 pages.

No mention of 16 page advertisements at all.

One assumes that if a cataloguer cites a bibliography, that they have, in fact, actually read the bibliography and compared the book in hand against the bib.

Though we all necessarily from time to time look to World Cat as a reference, one must keep in mind that it is not infallible - for often World Cat is incorrect, or, at least frequently incomplete - this is to be expected as one of the unfortunate things that happen with such a huge undertaking, which is serviced by so many countless individuals.

But the dealers who have blithely accepted the Word Catalog entries, thinking that they have thus done the required research, and who are not so anonymously a cog in the machine … do we give them such a pass?

Do book dealers actually examine a book against a bibliography any more?

Likely many do , but - harrumph - obviously all too many do not.

And … what must those-who-do-not do when the collector checks his newly purchased treasure against the bibliography? Short of throwing themselves down upon their  pen, there is really only one correct course of action in the face of customer disappointment.

Mumbling Over the Mummies of the Past

I was perusing an old periodical the other day when my eye was captured by a brief editorial piece, meant for amusement, but with all too obvious implications, considered from more than one hundred years in the future. It was from The Dial and  titled, simply, "Casual Comment".

THE DIAL Jan 1, 1907
Vol. XLII , No. 493

CASUAL COMMENT. (p.5)

"The serious study of fiction, so warmly advocated by Professor Phelps of Yale, is finding favor with many novelists of the day — or, one might safely affirm, with them all. Mr. Booth Tarkington enlarges on the benefits of such study, if devoted to novels of a certain type, in familiarizing the student with Indiana life and manners. Mr. Upton Sinclair is reported as declaring that novel-study will be required for a degree from the Jungle University, soon to be established at Helicon. Mr. George Ade says a good word for the movement as one (we will suppose) likely to result in a more serious study of college widowhood and other weighty sociological problems. Expectation is cherished that a student would gladly devote three or four times the number of hours to a course in modern novels that he would give to one in ancient language and literature, with a correspondingly greater intellectual quickening.

"Says Professor Phelps: "The two most beneficial ways to study a novel are to regard it, first, as an art form, and, secondly, as a manifestation of intellectual life." To this Mr. Ade adds : " But there are other ways. It is desirable to ascertain the identity of best sellers, and to study the reasons why they sell. The mechanism of publication should be studied also; as, for example, the methods of publishers in negotiating royalties, the best methods of street-car and bill-board advertising, the art of printing on rotten paper," etc. Manifestly the great novel-manufacturing industry must be recognized.

"Mumbling over the mummies of antiquity will no longer answer."



What hath Professor Phelps spawned? In his day (did he have tongue playfully planted in cheek? - certainly Mr. Ade did.) This brief note in the January 1st 1907 issue of The Dial hinted of a new university being being established by Mr. Upton Sinclair … The Jungle University. I suppose it would confer degrees earned from a course of study similar to that of the School of Hard Knocks. Possibly the hard knocks would be conferred upon graduation with a giant hammer blow to the heads of the plucky future alumni. Whether it was to be set up in the jungles of the inner city (Chicago, meat-packer to the world? New York, the world's market center? - a jungle, even then - Detroit - hardly yet advanced from a gleam in Ford's eye?), or solely within the jungley confines of Sinclair's mind, we are not told.

But Mr. George Ade, tongue or no, nailed the future squarely. These gentlemen of the book - academic and published wit alike -  even prescient George Ade - could hardly have foreseen exactly how pulpy the future would become - could have little imagined the giant industry that would shortly sprout up like a gargantuan pulpy jungle vine strangling its host tree. 

The host tree is the Romance Genre, a sturdy enough and virtuous tree of lovely leafy foliage. This jungle vine, sprouting from a seed dropped by some passing bird of plunder or cavorting monkey, has itself dropped down thousands of twisting tendrils that have taken root, growing up into leafy periodical genres of their  own - adventure pulps, romance pulps, movie pulps, western pulps, fantasy pulps … contents exciting, nutritional value for the mind: nil. Most of the old pulpy vines have died off - wilted and dropped to the ground or remain hanging, slowly drying out and shedding their tenuously attached outer coverings - to be browsed by collecting ruminants (you see how Mother Nature provides, nothing goes to waste!).

But a singular central vine continues to thrive and grow. It has evolved from a pulp industry to a paperback romance industry, with bright, garish blooms announcing their contents - super-saturated nectar with no mentally nutritional content.  Entire stores are given over to this industry. Walk in to any one of the paperback emporiums that specialize in romance (and its sister genre, the romantic fantasy novel with its numberless sequels stretching into a mind-scrambling eternity), and look over the sea of low shelves on which a riot of K-Mart colors throb in siren like enticement, luring the avid reader to swallow their mind-fattening contents. 

I used the word 'reader' with hesitation, for it seems these industrial products, in reality,  offer an escape from actual reading. No thought process is necessary for the intake of their contents. No stimulation of memory will be necessary, for the contents are one and the same for all. For sure it has its defenders - and there are even now college courses giving serious study to these romantic plot boilers - each to their own, I say; but let us still identify what is surely a voracious vine - a vine that strangles any ability to appreciate a finer, more considered literature.

Romance as a genre has always been with us - and always will be, hopefully. Consider the novels of Jane Austen, the wonderful literary outpourings of the Brontes, and the great melodramatic adventures of Dickens, Collins and Trollope - even Conrad -  all wrote romances or stories that had elements of romance, and readers read and are moved and relish the stories and take them to heart; in other words, both the heart and the mind are nourished. Even some modern genre romances - I am thinking of that charming by-lane of staid but hopeful adventure, the Regency Romance, inspired by Austen - feeds the mind and heart.
 
I fear the paperback industry, in its factory-like output, has even defeated Mother Nature, for who could imagine collectors of the future collecting, and cleaning the public environment of the choking deposits of what is essentially the same empty object repeated again and again - like fast food toys. But all one must do to envision this is to look at the habits of collectors today. 

Even myself, though I am cut loose in time's flow, may be  along with Mr. Ade, may be blind to the future, and collectors will avidly attach yellowing romance paperbacks to their collection. Like today's collector of penny-red stamps, which also look the same stamp to stamp, unless one takes a loupe and examines their differentiating details. I imagine a paperback collector of the future lovingly stroking colorful covers, and explaining to her friend who may not understand, saying in defense of their passion, "… But they are not all the same -  look, the hero on this cover may be wearing the same doublet as the hero on that cover, but he is sporting a mullet, don't you see! - and the heroine's bodice is cut lower!"

Some head-shaking arbiter of taste to come, aghast at such a collecting trend of the future, may then quip, echoing the editor of The Dial, 

"Mumbling over the mummies of antiquity will no longer answer."

The Book that Oscar Wilde Detested

A little item I had previously for sale:

I've tried to be a bit entertaining in my write-up. Never know how these things are taken at that end,  don't you know ...

The Critical Biography of Dante Gabriel Rossetti by Joseph Knight, issued as Part of Eric S. Robertson's Great Writers Series,  and Published by Walter Scott in London in 1887. Oscar Wilde hated
this book and wrote a scathing review of it   …  except for its Bibliography, which he praised.

“Life of Dante Gabriel Rossetti” by Joseph Knight, was the sixth volume of the “Great Writers Series” published by Walter Scott under the general editorship of Professor Eric S. Robertson. The series was issued in two formats: The Monthly Shilling Volumes, of which the book here offered is a part; and the Library Edition , a Large-Paper edition, printed on paper of ‘extra quality’, in ‘handsome binding, Demy 8vo’. (that was the 2s, 6d edition)

Being solidly thankful for whatever prizes from the past come down to me through the years, I am happy to offer the Monthly Shilling Volume. Of course that shilling is history, and such a low value is also history. The author of this book, Mr. Joseph Knight, tips his hat to two biographers and memoir writers that beat him to the press with books on the then recently-deceased Dante Gabriel Rossetti : William Sharp and Hall Caine. He also thanks Mr. Ford Maddox Brown and Mr. William Rossetti for their generosity in giving access to the correspondence of Rossetti.

What a great and fascinating subject is Rossetti, one of the greatest of Pre-Raphaelite Painters and Poets! To master a single calling - as an artist - hoorah! But to master, not only the brush, but the quill also - one must bow to genius. Which is exactly what Oscar Wilde did, worshipping at his mental altar to the great artist. Wilde detested this book’s popularization of a great artists life, and said such a consummate life could not be contained in such a small affair as a Great Writers Series. He didn't like the criticism either, and found much wrong with transcriptions of some of the lines from Rossetti's poems. (I think it more likely those were printer's errors - typos - but who am I to posit?) Anyway, Wilde absolutely detested this book, and his review of it was an absolute marvel of aesthetic disgust ... one of the most delicious examples of a critical slam ever written. (He did think highly of the Rossetti Bibliography appended at the end of the book; small beer that, though.)

Maybe you'll think differently about this book than poor offended Oscar, who couldn't sigh in exasperation loudly enough, (and let's face it, if ever there was a man with a highly educated and refined literary taste, it was Oscar Wilde), or ... maybe you'll agree; the test will be in the reading. And it is, indeed, a fascinating read. Knight's book was one of the earliest posthumous studies of Rossetti that purported to be more than a recollection or memoir. For persons amassing Rossetti materials it remains a integral part of any collection.

The Rossetti Bibliography is indeed worth the price of admission; and there is a very nice series of pages at the back with the publisher's list, always of interest for those who care about such things.

SERIES : Great Writers
SERIES EDITOR : Eric S. Robertson (Professor of English Literature and Philosophy in the University of the Punjab, Lahore)
TITLE :  Life of Dante Gabriel Rossetti
AUTHOR : Joseph Knight (1829 - 1907)
IMPRINT : Walter Scott
PLACE : 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Lane, London
DATE : 1887
EDITION : First Edition
STATUS : OP

 Contains an Index, the author's introductory Note and a Bibliography; 186 pages + xix pages of Bibliography, plus 6 pages of publisher's list; (including the list delineating the other books in the series); approx. 4 1/2”  x 6 1/2” (16mo); olive green smooth cloth with
title, etc. and decorative embellishments, printed in black and gold on spine and title, etc. lettered in black on front board (a palm leaf is printed in black on the spine and a simple double-line border stamped in black on front board)