Traces

I think there are traces of everyone we meet and have a relationship with etched deeply into ourselves. I think about my past friend Arwen who liked to dip her sourdough bread into her tomato soup—a behavior I still do today, even if our friendship has long since ended. This is also true of physical items such as books, scrolls, etc as mentioned in our reading, “What is Bibliography?” From marks left on the pages indicating wire lines that ran across the wooden mould to a watermark, there are physical traces are present on the object itself showing the relationship between the maker(s) and the object. There are other marks that could lead to who once held the book, and their ideas on it written with in the margins. Just like Dr. Culbertson said, it’s a mystery and we are the detectives who are tasked with unearthing the objects history. I’m finding out this class is as much archeology as it is history and english. We could also think of ourselves as Indiana Jones, without the dangerous adventures (maybe), looking for something in unfamiliar territory.

These traces also lead us to ask why and what. Why was this method used? Why was this specific material used? What can we gleam from this information? What is the significance of using this method and material? What is the meaning of the universe and why are we here? (Okay maybe not that one.) (No I wasn’t trying to reach the word count.) (Why are you still reading within the parentheses?) These are questions that might not always have answers because they are lost in the void or to time, but it is important to hypothesize because it is important for us to try and understand, so we can figure out where we as a society want to go. In the short excerpts we read, a couple of them. (Derrick Spires, Lisa Maruca and Kate Ozment) mention using Bibliography as a way to identify as wells as resist oppression and also mend structures of oppression. All through sometimes microscopic traces left on books, scrolls, etc. I only wish we had more time, and resources (such as carbon dating, microscopes, etc.) available to us to aid in our journey this semester.

Ruminations on the Study of Books

A bibliography. We’ve all done one, most of us, even more than a few times. What I have realized is how this word has been used loosely and collectively to describe the study of books; Terry Belanger says, “To the book collector, the word bibliography properly means the study of books; a bibliographer is one who studies them. But the word is shopworn. Bibliography has many common definitions, and because collectors, scholars, and librarians too often use the word indiscriminately, it lacks precision.” This precision is exactly what I think will help me create not only a critically competent bibliography but a strong thesis and creative project. The analytical bibliography looks intriguing as it encapsulates all the core practices of what the whole study of books should be, specifically for the bibliography.

I have learned, both in our discussions and in our labs, that the book is more than a readable piece of content; it is both a container of specific history and an ever-changing medium that reflects the time in which it was produced. And things, from errors to marginalia, are just as important to a book’s story. This medium, especially during the Incunabula, was a process that not only required more intimate attention but also necessitated expertise and experience. Many people during this time had jobs due to this extremely laborious process. From bookplates to illuminated pages with intricate designs, the skill needed, the errors made, and the crucial marginalia found within these texts, these books became priceless artifacts that even reflected the families that owned them.

This is something I have never thought about incorporating into a bibliography before: the history of the book and its contents, both printed and handwritten. Usually, I don’t, but the only time I make one is at the end of an essay, and it’s a subset of a bibliography, a works cited page. With all that being said, I really think this class has helped me not only change my academic way of thinking about what a book is and what goes into an investigation of a specific book, but also what it is in general. The book is a medium and an everlasting and ever-changing form of communication integral to not only humanity’s progress but its preservation as well.

Curiosities about Digital Bibliography

When considering what a bibliography was, I assumed it would be a sort of contextual listing that could give context into the written contents of a book, similar to the bibliography seen at the end of essays. But, as The Bibliographical Society of America states on the About Page, “Bibliography is much more than your ‘works cited’ page.” A bibliography examines and assesses the physical aspects of a text and how those aspects relate and reflect the time the text was made. 

The art of bibliography is composed of numerous practices like enumerative, systematic, analytical, critical, descriptive, historical, and textual, as Terry Belanger mentions. All of which aim to decipher a book’s physicality and history. When reading how bibliography is approached and interacting with the examples on the website, I began to understand what sort of questions one must ask in order to really understand a book. Things like: What are the physical aspects of the paper used? Are there any splotches of ink from messy printing or etchings in the paper from whatever machine was used on the paper? What’s written on the page other than the story?

I thought it was interesting when interacting with the second sample of The Bibliographical Society of America’s About Page, which points out that “anonymous print production is a common occurrence, especially when the content is political.” When considering how political content was published anonymously, I thought about how today it’s almost virtually impossible to make any statement without a digital footprint being left behind. Though many posts may go under the radar as millions of people make daily posts, simultaneously, with enough care from one netizen, whoever made a certain post or appeared in some video can be traced, along with a good chunk of their personal history. This makes me wonder how modern bibliography is being approached today, especially because G. Thomas Tanselle, in Bibliography Defined,” mentions that “traditional bibliographical approaches are also now being applied to objects carrying electronic texts.” Reading how books can be explored outside of just their written content, though it’s most certainly considered, has gotten me excited to attempt creating my own bibliography with something from Special Collections. 

Books as Organisms

Never in my life have I considered books to be similar to a living creature. Yes, I know they are made of organic materials and that they each have a story (just like humans, dogs, or even fungi). Yet, books have evolved just like any other species, they have lived through millennia, and they have started in very different circumstances from where they are today. Books were made for humans, but the reason why and how they are still made has changed throughout history.

That is why bibliography is a thing. Yes, humans have invented a study of human inventions, but specifically for books. It isn’t simply about reading the contents of a book, but “the study of the lives of material books, widely defined, including their production, circulation, and reception” (“What is Critical Bibliography?”). Books signify great shifts in human history from political, social, and ideological means. By reading the physicality of a book (and not the exact contents), we can see how different societies functioned and how knowledge was disseminated to the public. We can see where the books come from based on the materials used as well as how the materials are used. We can see who bound the book and when based on the intricate binding patterns. All of these details matter to book history and understanding books as a functional part of human society.

While we might observe the physical aspects of books and determine where and when they were made, we can also observe intellectual and artifactual evidence of authors, readers, and scholars from a specific era. For example, an original copy of a book might’ve been handwritten, with a copy manuscripts produced. Take for example, The Canterbury Tales, one of the most handwritten English texts, that had 84 manuscripts and 4 incunabula (prior to 1500). This book received heavy criticism from scholars who’d write on copies, leaving marginalia, another aspect of bibliography to be studied. Bibliographers can use marginalia to see how books were received by audiences and learn of various social factors during that time.

What we have been learning in our lab is also incredibly valuable. It is difficult for me to even imagine a handwritten book. All I have ever read has been typescript books, all mass-produced and hardly made for longevity. The Book by Amaranth Borsuk that I own is already falling apart and I bought it at the beginning of September. We are living in an age where we aren’t taught to value the physical nature of the book but to consume the knowledge the text offers. Today, most books are made of cheap materials for cost-effectiveness and mass-dissemination, lacking the quality they used to have. While I whole-heartedly agree with the idea to make books accessible to the public and not just scholars, I also believe that, by understanding the nature of bibliography, is to also bring in perspectives that pertain to the environment and how we can adapt rather than it having to change for us.

The Life of a Book

When being taught to write and research in schools today, students are often only introduced to the enumerative bibliography which systematically lists books, however, physical aspects of the book are ignored. While this approach is vital for organization and giving credit in Works Cited pages, it overlooks the important historical and cultural insights that can be gained from considering the story told from a book’s physical form and materiality. As book scholars, creating analytical bibliographies, which study books as physical artifacts, allows the book to be understood as a living object that has its own history shaped by geography and culture and its own story that exists separate from its contents. 

W.W. Greg, a 20th century leader in establishing the bibliography as the study of a book’s physical evidence, advocates for the significance of a book’s material existence. He highlights the significance of the analytical bibliography by describing, “the object of bibliographical study is, I believe, 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. As an extension of this follows the investigation of the methods of production in general and of the conditions of survival,” (27). By making specific note of the book having a “history of its life” within its materiality, Greg acknowledges the book as a living object that is not static throughout its existence. As the book evolves from “its birth and adventures,” it can be understood how the book’s existence amasses its own stories separate from the author and its contents. Through observing the physical composition of books like its paper, spine, binding, ink cover, the book reveals how it is an agent of active change rather than a container for information.

Recognizing these conditions is especially important in telling lost histories. While book production and circulation has been historically dominated by white wealthy men, liberation bibliographies can help combat systematic suppression of minority groups by recognizing oppressive structures. Similarly, critical bibliographies explore how book history can be reshaped for the bibliography to be used to resist oppression. Through the utilization of bibliographies as a restorative tool, those historically erased have the opportunity for their histories to be restored and written. For the humanities, this is an important political act in forming a more complete understanding of human history and as a political act recognizing the errors in how we’ve viewed dominant historical narratives.

From Last Week to This – A Book’s Body and Its Life

While exploring the further reading section of What is Bibliography, I stumbled on one excerpt in particular, the one from W. W. Greg’s Bibliography – A Retrospect (1945). What he writes instantly reminded me of the thought process I had last week when I was reading Chapter 2 of Borsuk’s The Book. There Borsuk compares the codex to a human body, with a spine, a head, and even a tail (The Book, 77). I think while Greg technically makes a different comparison, they still connect very well.

Greg describes bibliography as “the study of books as material objects irrespective of their contents.” For him, the goal 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.” I find it interesting that he talks about a book as if it had a biography. The words “birth” and “adventures” make it sound very much alive. They turn the book into something with its own story, separate from the words printed inside. Suddenly, the bent spine, the faded paper, or the scribbled notes in the margins all become traces of the book’s life.

Borsuk makes a similar point in a different way. Her comparison of the codex to a body also takes the book out of its role as a container. With a spine, a head, and a tail, the book looks like something with presence, something we hold and interact with like a living form. What makes this especially interesting to me is that it connects so directly to what I thought about last week. In my last blog, I reflected on how Borsuk’s metaphor made me realize that a book is not just information but something we meet, almost like a companion. The hinge of the cover, for example, pulling open the first page like an invitation, felt to me like the book was active, as if it greeted us. Reading Greg’s description, that thought immediately comes back to me. He gives the book not just a body but a life story. Putting the two together, the book becomes a being that has both a form and a past. It has a presence we can feel and a biography we can trace. This is why Greg’s passage stood out to me so much, as it reminded me of my own realization from last week.

In the end, both writers remind me that reading is more than just taking in words. Each book has its own presence, shaped by the people who produced it and the readers who left their marks on it. To open a book is not only to read its text. It is also to meet a life that has already been lived.

Understanding the Society Around the Book

They’re always talking about “what you know you know,” “what you don’t know you don’t know,” and “what you know you don’t know.” Right now, I am staring down the barrel of a football-length cannon loaded with what I know I don’t know. It is vast. More and more, I am coming to the central idea in all of the texts and objects we are looking at in this course, that the history of the book is the history of nearly everything.

And if “the ultimate resort the object of bibliographical study is, I believe, 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,” as WW Greg said in “Bibliography, A Retrospect,” then it is clear that I must be more intimately familiar with the many ways books came into the world, and to be more familiar with that I must better understand rudimentary production processes, how to make board, paper, ink, when and where and how all these ingredients were created, in what corners of the world were different types more common, what were the socioeconomic factors of the society in which a book was produced, what were the ongoing political struggles, what type of government did that society have?

To address the biography of a book without understanding much of that would be like trying to see your own house from space using a magnifying glass. Nothing but a generalized guess. To solve Greg’s “central problem of bibliography,” or to “ascertain the exact circumstances and conditions in which [a] particular book was produced,” I am going to have to choose a book produced in a society whose history I know well, or else I would be starting all of that research from scratch, and to track its adventures, as Greg said earlier, it seems like I would need some history of its provenance or of the hands that held it, so an English or Spanish reader would likely create marginalia that I could understand or come close to understanding.

So in some ways, conducting a bibliography of a book, is to do a deep dive on all the facets of the society that surrounds the book, because without that understanding, there is nothing to latch on to. A page is just a page, a material is just a material, and there is no story to be told from either.

Week 6: Thinking on Critical Bibliography

I was out sick and missed Tuesday’s practice in descriptive bibliography, as described by Terry Belanger (1977 qtd. in “Bibliography Defined: Further Reading” 2025). (Thanks to Vide for keeping me in the loop.) Now I’m typing this week’s post informally because my mind is slow-simmering with sick. I note this because it’s offering me insight into how sickness influences energy and modes of functioning in a way that, like the language and probable typos in this post, can be read in comparison with other posts to signify my material circumstances as a creator. Considering the scope of bibliographic methods described in the Bibliographical Society of America’s “Bibliography Defined: Further Reading” (2025), I’m thinking about how a disabled or sick bibliography would operate.

Following Lisa Maruca and Kate Ozment’s “critical bibliography”, I want to approach bibliography as culturally situated and potentially radical work. I’m thinking of a disabled or crip bibliography, which is a familiar practice in disability studies. There’s a quandary of identification in disability studies: How can we determine that a creator is disabled when there’s no hard evidence of this? Using bibliography, I think that we can elide this unnecessary (and at times medicalist) question and instead center how the materiality of a created object holds traces of disabled ways of being and production.

While it’s common to encounter a work and “just know” that you’re encountering crip kin, what you’re really experiencing is the recognition of familiar material behaviors in their media. The manically-typed scroll of Jack Kerouacthe multiple hands of blind Jorge Luis Borges and his assisting mother, the smudged and slanting correspondences of Frank’s Kafka during his late institutionalization, and the frenetic journal infodumps of Ada Lovelace can all be read for traces of disabled production practices. We might not know the affective experiences with which actors approached a book object, but we can read what G. Thomas Tanselle calls “physical clues [that] reveal details of the underlying production process” (2020 qtd. in “Bibliography Defined: Further Reading” 2025). There is some uphill work, I think, in defining and asserting ways of reading disabled production to a broader audience, but understanding the book as a technology means that we can understand how actors adapt it for disabled use.

This approach to bibliography is not limited to the processes of writing or printing a book object. The ways that people use books, as we’ve seen, are shaped by material circumstances; reading is, and has always been, transformed through disabled adaptations. Physical production processes are shaped by bodily limits on energy, time, and access. Charting these processes through crip bibliography can recenter the prevalence and importance of disabled life across history, resisting the dehistoricization and erasure of disabled life in dominant histories. This is critical when the erasure of our histories is used to justify the eradication of our futures.

I follow the bodily attunement of disability and affect theories in centering this way of experiencing the world as I practice bibliography from home. I’m looking over my journals and (in comparative readings with the aforementioned letters) observing how (re-)inking, formatting, and medium reflect how I was evidently using sketchbooks, notebooks, Post-It’s, and other ephemera both as existing books (mostly store-bought) and as creative adaptions. I will not be doing this project before a more foundations-based attempt at bibliography, but I do want to give it a try: I’ll write a bibliography of my written journals across my changes in health. Here I am trying out a disabled bibliography that can only be done in a disabled way. I’m thinking on this as my fever has exacerbated my memory issues, and approaching my journals does not come with memories of their creation. I would here undertake bibliography of objects that I know the context of (I modified them at some point) but not the actual processes of creating (those memories are gone). This would invite critical insight into doing disabled (auto?)bibliography, using immemory to investigate the fractured but continuous relationship between bibliographer, book object, and trace actors.

Bibliographical Book Study

I had never known that an area of study surrounded bibliographical records. Bibliographical study analyzes all of the features of a book and text, including its watermarks and how it was printed to view a book as it’s own source of record to how it was made. The study prioritizes the book as an object, an object that has record, history, and material other than the main body of text. Bibliographical study considers how a book was manufactured and transmitted and uses the features of a book, not just it’s word, as a tool to learn about “cultural change, whether in mass civilization or minority culture.” (D. F. McKenzie, Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts, 1999).

Using the structure and construction of a book as a tool for learning about the exact culture and era that produced it, rather than just referring to it’s main text, is a sort of anthropological study, investigating changes in culture through the work it produces and what they add or take away from each new iteration of work. This is an intersection between multiple areas of study, requiring understanding of historical, anthropological, and literary perspectives. Bibliographical study reveals when and why certain aspects of the book began to matter to publishers and teaches how readers would read, share, keep, and interact with their books. Those two analyzed subjects, the publisher and the reader, are signifiers of how their society at large treated and thought of literature, reading, records, and books.

This has opened up a new perspective to me, the concept of Bibliographical study has made me realize that I have never close read the entirety of a book, doing so would have required considering each detail of it’s construction, covers, spine and pages. Knowing that body of a book should be studied and taken into consideration has made me reconsider one of the first ever notions I was taught as a reader, the idea to “not judge a book by it’s cover.” I will not only judge what may be the content of the book by it’s cover, but I will most certainly begging to question what that cover means about the book’s creation, about the readers it is trying to entice, and about what aspects of our culture has influenced how that cover, and the rest of the book is made.

What is Bibliography?

When doing this weeks reading, I was interesting in how they defined a Bibliography as a study rather than a book. To me, bibliography meant a list of sources you site at the end of a paper- I had never thought about it in the context of being a study. “For in the ultimate resort the object of bibliographical study is, I believe, 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. As an extension of this follows the investigation of the methods of production in general and of the conditions of survival.” (27) This struck my interest, and even this quote I had to re-read in order to fully understand its context. According to this source, a bibliography is a study of books as objects, rather than just the content. This changed my perspective in how I see bibliographies, and the importance of them. There are different types, which I did not know, and they all serve a distinct purpose in the context of work. Bibliographies bring more value to work- making it more reliable, historical, and accurate. This reading has made me see them more than just a hassle now, I understand the importance of them and the importance of studying them.

Analytical, Descriptive, Textual, Historical, Enumerative, are all types of Bibliography practices- I quite literally thought they were all the same. Not only do I now have a new understanding of this study, but also how the different practices bring different value to the work. They all have a specific purpose when looking at a creative piece, working to make it stronger. Bibliographies are so important when giving credit to an authors work, prevent plagiarism or stolen work, and verification: are all key to having a strong piece of work. Bibliographies established authors to get credit and creates credibility. “Offers liberation bibliography as a conscious and intentional practice of identifying and repairing the harms of systemic racism, settler colonialism, heteropatriarchy, and other oppressive structures in and through bibliography and bibliographical study” (Bibliography defined). I had never thought of Bibliography as a form of liberation, but this new context makes it clear to me that Bibliographies played an important role in history, social justice, and the history of information and books overall.