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The How.

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When working on our biography of a book midterm projects, the biggest inquiry at hand is how. How are these books made, and how does that lead us to the bigger picture? For instance, “Bibliography examines the artifactual value of texts – including books, manuscripts, and digital texts – and how they reflect the people and cultures that created, acquired, and exchanged them.” This quote helps make the idea of a bibliography clearer, especially since the term isn’t as well-known as one might think. The biggest point that stands out to me is the “how”. That is the biggest question that lies before us when examining these artifacts. How are these books crafted? How were the pages bound? How were the pictures printed? How does the font reflect the culture of the time? These are how questions then lead to the bigger ideas, the so what, which is really what is important. We are close reading these books in a new way, which most of us have never done before. We are used to opening up a book and reading its contents, then reading closely from there. But here we are reading the spine, the cover, what the pages are made out of, how the pictures were printed, the marginalia, the signatures, the bookplate, and ext. This analysis then helps us see how people read the book during its heyday. Does it have a hook on it? What is the size? If it’s small, we can assume it’s a personal book, but if it’s large, then we can picture it being used in a public space such as a church.

There are so many questions at hand, especially so many how questions. I am very much looking forward to jumping into this project and close reading a book for myself to see into its past and glimpse into the culture that it reflects.

You Are What You Read

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Within the grasp of our fingertips, an entire civilization unfolds, a lineage is traced back hundreds of years, and the power exists to alter our physical perception of anyone, including ourselves. This is the digital age, and to understand why this is feasible, or specifically why we’d desire such content so close, we may look at the Middle Ages and the concept of Girdle Books. Through that moment in history, among many others sharing the need for information at hand, it is revealed that codices and electronic devices are extensions of the human.

Our knowledge both expands and limits our freedom of expression. This concept seems simple enough, as a student undergoing med school may read a plethora of medical textbooks, allowing them to go on and on about whatever subject they wish, so long as it is medically related. Though in this performance, the student may be limited in their articulation of sheetrock repair or any other area they disregarded in place of studying medicine. In our day and age, with the excess of information, this isn’t as common an issue, though applying it to the Middle Ages is drastically different. 

With no internet and the time being before the Gutenberg press, Girdle Books largely determined one’s area of interest or expertise. An important choice of diction from Chapter 2 of The Book furthers this claim when looking at this sentence describing Girdle Books as “an oversized soft leather cover whose flaps could be looped under one’s belt for easy consultation on the go.” Notice how Borsuk chose the word consultation, rather than enjoyment, reading, or any other word for examining a book. This is because the owners were largely monks, professionals, and individuals who possessed relevant knowledge they could then apply to whatever circumstance. Of course, there were the select wealthy individuals who held knowledge with no “real” reason for it, but even then, the reason may be to gloat about their expanse of knowledge, useful or not.

With our accessible knowledge continuously expanding, there may be a point of collective knowing. This is speculative, of course, but I think all fun things are. As cellphones are the new girdle books, already multiplying our information at hand by an absurd amount, I am curious what technology will take the place of cellphones. Is imagining a society that collectively is tapped into an all-knowing AI that far off? Value could lie in the undigitized creations of mankind or the critical thought aspect. But honestly, is it unreasonable to imagine a doctor who’s programmed with all the knowledge necessary to achieve excellence in his division? Or is a human being just in the way at that point in the future? And lastly, off my main point, could all-knowing humans even be unique at that point? I pose this to the aether, and to any future person able to answer this question one day, until it’s finally true.

Week 5: Books Are Not Just For Reading

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When I read Borsuk’s second chapter, it left me thinking about how drastically the world’s relationship with books has shifted over just a few centuries. The transition the author describes from medieval manuscripts as precious objects to Gutenberg’s mass produced volumes represents felt more than just technological advancement, it’s rather a fundamental reimagining of what knowledge can be and who gets to access it.

What struck out to me the most is how the printing press didn’t just change how books were made, but completely transformed their social function. In the days when monastic scribes copied texts by hand, books were essentially exclusive, even magical items. Not only were the illuminated manuscripts Borsuk depicts literature, but they were also artistic creations, status symbols, and sources of both worldly power. It showed that reading was a ceremonial activity that was frequently done in groups.

However, Gutenberg’s invention revolutionized writing in ways that at the time likely looked revolutionary (and dangerous). All of a sudden, books could be swiftly and affordably copied. The author became the primary creative authority rather than just one voice among numerous writers. In the digital era, this relates to the current discussions around authorship, who owns ideas when they may be duplicated indefinitely?

I’m particularly intrigued by Borsuk’s discussion of typography and design. The fact that early printers had to literally design and cast their own fonts really goes to show how technical and artistic considerations were inseparable. Every typeface was a deliberate choice that shaped how us readers experienced the text. This made me really think, in this day in age, do we take typography for granted today when we can change fonts with a click?

Additionally, the chapter poses pressing problems regarding physicality. The touch of parchment, the weight of the codex, and the striking visuals of illuminated letters were the first things that medieval readers recognized as books. This material motif survived even in the earliest printed books. However, we are reading more and more on screens, completely replacing the printed book. It seems to me that we are kind of moving on to the next phase that Borsuk mentions and that we might be losing something important. 

This chapter gave me even more questions from when I last read it. What new forms could occur that we are unable to envision yet if books have always been developing technology rather than static objects?

Reflections on Blue Humanities: Thoughts After Dr. Mentz’s Talk

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Last Thursday, I had the chance to attend a talk with Dr. Steve Mentz about Blue Humanities, and it really made me think differently about water and how we experience it. What stood out to me the most was how personal and global this field is at the same time. Dr. Mentz talked about swimming in La Jolla Cove, and how each body of water has its own local culture like rules, rhythms, and even wildlife interactions. I found that fascinating because I had never thought about water as something so socially and culturally alive. Even if someone can’t swim or lives far from the ocean, he emphasized that water is still part of our daily lives. It flows in our bodies, it rains, it’s in clouds. Water connects us in ways I hadn’t realized before.

Another part that struck me was the connection between movement and thinking. Dr. Mentz described how swimming, or even walking and running, helps him work on writing, rhythm, and language. The idea that bodily movement can shape how you think or write was new to me. It made me think about my own study habits and how maybe I could find ways to learn that go beyond sitting at a desk.

I was also interested in the stories about how humans shape oceans and vice versa. From historical shipwrecks to oyster farming, the ocean isn’t just a backdrop but it’s an active participant in history and culture. He even connected these ideas to modern issues, like offshore wind and deep-sea life, showing that the way we interact with water has ethical, political, and ecological dimensions.

Finally, I loved how the discussion included clouds, ice, and rain as part of the Blue Humanities. Water isn’t just liquid; it’s solid, gaseous, and everywhere. Thinking about these different forms reminded me that water shapes so much of life in ways we often overlook.

Overall, the talk left me inspired. I realized that learning about water isn’t just about studying the ocean, it’s about seeing the world differently, noticing the rhythms and flows that connect humans, animals, and environments. It made me want to pay more attention to the water around me, wherever I am.

Week 5: Chapter 2

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In Chapter 2, she talks about the book as content rather than just an object. One sentence that immediately stood out to me was the first one: “The Renaissance inaugurated the age of books, at least among the aristocracy, and many of the features we now associate with the codex arose in response to the boom in silent readership.”

I find this so interesting because it shows that silent, private reading is not something obvious or natural. Before, many people read texts out loud, often in groups. When people started reading quietly to themselves, the book had to change too. Things like page numbers, indexes, and even margins became more important, because readers needed ways to navigate on their own. It reminds me of how we now expect search functions and hyperlinks in digital texts. The way we read always influences the way books are made.

Borsuk also explains how books became status symbols in the Renaissance. Rich families had small, decorated prayer books or even books in unusual shapes like hearts. That made me realize that books were never only about information. They also showed something about identity and culture. Today it’s similar. Some of my friends love to buy fancy hardcovers, even though they read mostly online. But I get it, because it always feels different to hold a real book from holding a Kindle or a phone.

What I also found fascinating is how silent reading changed people’s relationship with texts. Reading alone makes the experience more private, almost like a personal conversation with the author. I notice this in my own life too. Reading out loud in class feels very different from reading quietly at home. Silent reading makes me think more, but group reading makes me feel more connected but also nervous.

For me, the main point of Chapter 2 is that content and form cannot be separated. Books adapt to how people read, and at the same time, they change the way people think and learn.

How can a book be a machine? 

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While reading Borsuk’s second chapter, the following quote particularly stuck with me: “A book is a machine to think with.” This quote and its underlying interpretation greatly change the way we view books. A book is not a container for content, but rather a device that structures our thinking.

The chapter shows that our understanding of books changed with the invention of printing. Borsuk describes how early printed works introduced aids such as page numbers, indexes, etc. These elements have a clearer purpose than one might think. They are precisely the “mechanics” that make the book a thinking machine, because they allow us to organize, look up, and link knowledge. Borsuk also emphasizes that the codex is a body, with a “spine, head, and flyleaf.” Just like a machine, it has parts that interact to perform a function. Thinking is therefore always bound to a physical structure. 

The book as a machine becomes clear above all through the reader. Even in the Renaissance, readers marked passages, wrote comments, and copied individual passages. They actively operated the machine, thereby releasing knowledge. The book therefore does not work alone, but in interaction with the reader. But what does it mean for us if books are machines? Operating machines is complex, and so is reading books. We first have to learn how to use a book properly. 

For me, this also raises the question of how books from special collections make us think differently than ordinary books. No two machines are the same, and the same is true of books, scrolls, e-books, and other forms. For me, this means that thinking is a collaborative process that depends on the author, reader, and medium. And perhaps that is precisely the strength of the book: it encourages us to actively operate the machine instead of just letting it wash over us. 

Is that true?

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When I read Borsuk’s line that printing “reframed the book as content rather than object its form a mere vessel for the information it contained,” (p.57) I felt both curious and uneasy. The word mere makes it sound like the physical book is almost worthless, just a container for words. But is that true? When I think about my own reading, I don’t see books as “mere vessels.” I always notice their form. A book’s cover, the texture of its pages, even its size makes a difference. A small paperback I can carry in my pocket feels different from a large hardcover I need two hands to hold. Doesn’t the way a book looks and feels affect how you read it?

On screens, though, every book looks the same. Kindle, Wattpad or any reading app makes text uniform, black words on a glowing background. In some ways, that’s convenient the story is all that matters. But sometimes I wonder, does this sameness flatten the reading experience? Do we lose something when every book feels identical?

Interestingly, digital reading has made me appreciate physical books more. I love seeing a shelf of colorful spines or picking up a book with unusual design choices. Publishers know this too they release special editions with decorative covers or unique layouts to remind us of what makes print special. Isn’t it funny that screens, which were supposed to replace books, have instead made us value their physical form even more?

So I come back to Borsuk’s phrase. Maybe in the early days of printing, the book was treated as a vessel. But today, I think it’s both vessel and object. Books carry words, yes, but they also shape our experience of those words through their form. They are not “mere” anything they are living companions that travel with us, change us, and remind us that reading is always more than just content.

New Immitates the Old

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One of the biggest themes we have discussed in class is that the “new” will always imitate the “old” aesthetically and stylistically to make the consumer more comfortable and familiar with the product. A great example of this occurs on page 92 of “The Book” by Amaranth Borsuk: “The first Italian printers based their types on this humanist hand, producing ‘roman’ letterforms named for their purported connection to ancient Rome. (Borsuk, 92)” It is fascinating that the “Roman” font comes from the Roman humanist hand. It’s endearing that the Italians decided to base their font on the human hand, thus giving it a human quality, and making it more familiar to its readers. This is just one of the many examples of this occurring. Another example of this is the fact that Kindles perfectly replicate a book’s form by having a cover and the exact pages inside. A Kindle could have taken any shape and had more exciting features, but it decided to exactly replicate a book. This is because the inventors of the Kindle wanted it to be recognizable and relatable to book lovers. Im excited to learn more about this phenomenon and dive deeper into this book.

Week 4: So Many Books

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When reading the first chapter of Amaranth Borsuk’s The Book, I was struck by how she forces us to reconsidered a thing that we often interact on a daily basis but rarely examine critically. The way her exploration of the book’s physical evolution really shows how our reading experiences have fundamentally shaped by material constraints and innovations throughout history.

What really fascinated me is Borsuk’s argument that a books form is not just a neutral case that has content, but is a object that actively contributes to the creation of meaning. The transition from scroll to codex is something I saw that wasn’t just a technological progress, but it also transformed how we engage with text. With the codex, it allowed for cross-referencing, access at random, and the evolution of modern techniques such as indexing and annotating. It made me really think, that what reading habits are we losing or gaining as we move toward digital formats?

Furthermore, the discussion of manuscript culture reminds me of current debates about textual authority. Borsuk mentions in the book how scribes were involved in the transmission of texts and occasionally changed them while doing so. In our digital age, where texts are becoming easier to modify, repurposed and collaboratively created through tools like wikis and shared documents, this cooperative concept of authorship appears unexpectedly applicable.

Additionally, I was really intrigued by her emphasis on the book as a movable source of human knowledge. Because of its portability, knowledge could transcend institutional borders and democratize education. However, I think about whether or not we are gaining or losing anything crucial about the accessibility of knowledge as we shift toward online storage and digital libraries?

I had a lot of questions about the text that I have never really thought about. Such as, how do we perceive a book’s intellectual weight in relation to its physical weight? Does the inability to pick up digital pages alter the way we highlight and recall key passages?

Through this text, I found that Borsuk’s method helps me recognize that reading books as objects is important for intelligently navigating our modern media ecosystem and is not just a academic exercise. When creating new digital reading experiences, we must think about not only the information we are keeping but also the embodied reading practices we may being losing and whether or not it has an impact on our learning and thought processes.

Week 4: The Book, Chapter 1

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When I read Amaranth Borsuk’s The Book, Chapter 1, one sentence really caught my attention: “Content does not simply necessitate its form, but rather writing develops alongside, influences, and is influenced by the technological supports that facilitate its distribution.” (p. 17, ll. 17-18)

At first I had to read it twice because the English is a bit heavy, but what it means is actually simple. Books and texts don’t just find a form because of their content. Instead, the medium itself, like clay tablets, papyrus scrolls, codices, or today’s e-books, shapes how we write and what we write. And at the same time, writing pushes those technologies to change too.

I think this is super interesting because we often believe that content is the main thing and the medium doesn’t matter. But if I think about my own reading habits, it’s clearly not true. For example, when I read on my phone, I definitely skim more and jump around. When I read a paper book, I am more focused, I even underline or make notes. So the form totally changes my behavior and also the way the author can reach me.

Borsuk also points out that throughout history, different forms didn’t just replace each other. Scrolls and codices coexisted for a long time, just like today I read both on my phone and in paperback. It’s funny, because when I came here for exchange, I couldn’t bring many books in my suitcase, so I rely more on my e-books on my iPhone. But when I go to the library, I really enjoy holding a physical book again. I wouldn’t say one is better, but they feel completely different and change my relationship with the text.

This makes me think about how new platforms influence writing styles today. Twitter/X with its character limits made people write in short, sharp bursts. TikTok captions and comment sections encourage different rhythms, more visual, more fragmented. Even academic reading changes when you can search PDFs instantly instead of flipping through pages. None of this is neutral.

So maybe the big lesson is that the book or text is not just about content, but always about the interaction between content and form. Borsuk helps us see that the “death of the book” is not really happening, it’s just transforming again. And maybe in 100 years, students will look back at our e-books the same way we look back at scrolls. As just one stage in the long, messy coexistence of forms.