Biography of a Book: De Magorum Daemonomania

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Kiersten Brown 

Professor Pressman 

ECL 596 

10/26/25

Biography of a Book

De magorum daemonomania was printed in 1594 by Bernhart Jobin in Strassburg, and translated from French into German by Johann Fischart. Both of these people were notable figures of the time, Jobin a notable printer and Fischart a notable translator of texts. The original author was Jean Bodin, who was a French jurist and philosopher as well as a member of the Parlement of Paris. This book has the Roman numerals D. M. LXXXI where the preface is, translating to 1581 and perhaps when the translation was first written or being worked on- so this copy was published in 1594. 

This copy features a delicate book cover absent of any markings or title, on the inside of the book there are markings in pencil, perhaps indicating the previous owner before SDSU but is illegible. It is seemingly bound in wood pulp because of its state of decay. Its edges are fraying and the cover looks like it was layered in pieces of wood pulp or perhaps paper of the sort. I deduced the cover was wood pulp also because of the significant amounts of mold on the back cover of the book. The pages seem to be made of paper, significant amounts of foxing on the pages probably from the humidity that the book was stored in. This copy features Roman Type and Blackletter text, with Quarto (4to) format. The edges of the text block are plain and there is a frontispiece on the title page and also some decorations throughout the book. They seem to be printer ornaments, and throughout the book there are figures of devils, angel’s, and other interesting figures. This is a characteristic of the Renaissance era of the 1500s, and this is how the pages were decorated during the time. Besides the few printer ornaments and the front page, the book is bare of illustrations and color, mainly made up of typeface. The copy seems to have held up decently well considering it’s from the 1500s. Although its binding is quite delicate and the cover of the book is fraying, most pages are still intact minus a few missing ones. The print is still good, the pages just have some mold and foxing. The book itself overall is pretty plain and not very ornamental or decorative like a lot of books are from this time. 

Scholarly Analysis 

 The original author of this text was Jean Bodin who was a French jurist and philosopher, member of the Parlement of Paris. He was a very influential author of demonology during the late 1500s, which is reflected in the text of De magorum daemonomania, citing many other jurists and philosophers during this time. Jean Bodin was an important political thinker during the 1500s. Although, witchcraft and demonology was an afterthought for him, his main focus being on political economy and sovereignty. This book was still prominent enough to have a translation. The book itself does not seem to have been modified in any way, everything in its original format. There are light green pen marks that are faded that outline certain parts of the book, showing ownership, as well as a written note in pencil from 1913. I believe it says something along the lines of meeting someone by chance at Christmas time, which seems to be something romantic by google translate. The handwriting was in intricate cursive, and it could have been a dedication to someone, but as I could not get a comprehensive translation I do not know. I found it interesting that there were different types of markings, hinting at the fact this book had multiple owners since it was published. 

While fear of witchcraft and demons was seen with all levels of society during the time, De Magorum daemonomania seems to be aimed at the upper class or the highly educated. The book’s dense layout, citational marginalia, and references to laws is aimed to be for judges, theologists, doctors, or professions that might have been dealing with the persecution of demons. Because of its formal presentation I doubt that the lower class was consuming this book during the time, or that they would have even fully understood all of its references. I believe the text functioned as a reference guide for those responsible with dealing and prosecuting the supernatural or demons, within religious or legal fields. Although, I am sure that De Magorum daemonomania shaped cultural fear in one way or the other surrounding demons and witchcraft. The work’s authoritative textual style with blackletter type, systematic and lawful reasoning, and visual style projected the image of credibility: providing justification for prosecuting or fear of demons. So most likely, this text was aimed to be for the scholars of the time, people like Jean Bodin himself. 

This text is incomprehensible to me, hence the language being in German, but with translations and analysis of the format of the book I gathered that this text is about demons, witches, sorcerers, and other cursed or “unholy spirits” – and how to prosecute them. Thousands of innocent people were prosecuted and wrongly killed during this time in the 1500s (and after) as there was a lot of fear and superstition surrounding these witches and devils. This book was used as a guideline for lawmakers on how to prosecute these “devil-mongers” and how they were to be investigated and prosecuted. Most of the book seemed to contain prosecution laws, hunting tactics, doctors studies on these creatures, and other cited texts and studies that involved demons of the time.  Although the De Magorum daemonomania was not a formal legal code, its juristical format made it function as one. It seems like it was a guideline for jurists and prosecutors, its reasoning and citation of real laws blurs the line between law and superstition. This made the theology of De Magorum daemonomania feel like a real legal framework for the prosecution of innocent people. Its format makes it look less as a theology and more of a law manual, its methodical chapters and marginalia citing legal precedents giving it credibility. It seems to be imitating not only law and credibility, but also justifying the persecution of innocent people who are believed to be devil-mongers. It justifies people being cross-examined as devils, witches, and demons within judicial law. De Magorum daemonomania judicial format matters because it created rationale for conviction, this book circulated reasoning for law makers and others to actually convict people for these “crimes.” The format is problematic for this reason, as it mimics the format of actual legal decisions and laws in order to mimic credibility. 

Furthermore, another interesting aspect of De Magorum daemonomania is its use of Blackletter typeface. In Germany, the traditional Blackletter typeface was outlawed under Nazi regime in 1941. Although this occurred long after De Magorum daemonomania was published, I felt this was an interesting parallel with how the typography of a text can be weaponized by those in power. The publisher of this book (or the author) chose this text for a reason, to show power and authority of its content. The book was used as a tool to justify the persecution of supposed witches and demons, reflecting the same kind of political manipulation of knowledge and authority that the Nazi’s mimicked. The dark and heavy Blackletter type gave a commanding tone of credibility and power. In this sense, the design of the typeface reinforces the book’s ideological intent of seeming credible and knowledgeable. Both its visual and textual elements worked together to create fear, while at the same time still presenting themselves in an authoritative tone. I felt it was quite ironic that the Nazis outlawed Blackletter, as I feel its manipulative tone matches the political state of the time. 

When thinking about the book in terms of its physical form, I see how much design connected to the way it was read and interpreted. The overall format seems commanding and organized. As I mentioned before the Blackletter type gave it a powerful tone, but also the heavily detailed printed marginalia gave it credibility. The marginalia is printed all throughout the book, with the author giving more content to parts of the text and also giving it “credibility” even though I’m not sure how credible it was. Although, this does hint to the fact that readers were most likely scholars or people in power, who were dealing with the persecution of these demons. They probably referenced arguments made in this book to support their claims about these people that were so heavily feared. The heavily detailed and somewhat cited content of this book gave it the credibility it needed in order to hold that authoritative tone. With this commanding text, the book also had a very simple format. It was not decorative, flashy, or colorful- adding another layer to its assertive tone. This is a book meant to be handled, cited, and consulted– not used as a decorative piece. During the 1500s this book helped give superstition institutional stability and credibility among political figures. Being a printed demonological work, by writing these thoughts down it created a legitimate notion that demons existed, and that legal action needed to be taken against these creatures. Presenting these ideas in a legal format or manual style, it taught and guided readers what to think about when punishing or persecuting innocent people. 

Ultimately, De Magorum Daemonomania is more than an old book- it’s a reminder of how design, format, language, can all intersect to justify persecution. Jean Bodin’s text blurred the line between theological beliefs and actual fact and/or law. His work was one of the many during this time that created credible superstition. His judicial and scholarly tone, Blackletter typeface, methodical marginalia all came together to create credibility. With these designs and presentation, De Magorum Daemonomania transformed the fear of the time into institutional authority. I found this book so interesting because of the way it weaponized theological beliefs about witches and demons, and gave it an authoritative tone. The way that it was designed to create a scholarly tone, when really it was nothing more than theological ideas and superstition. I think it’s important to think about this, even though this was written in the 1500s, does not mean this sort of manipulation is not present today. The physical form of the book gave the content credibility, and gave powerful people the authority to prosecute the innocent. 

Bibliography

Bodin, Jean. De Magorum Daemonomania. Translated by Johann Fischart, Bernhart Jobin, 1594. 

Lindfors , Tommi. “Jean Bodin.” Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, iep.utm.edu/jean-bodin/  Accessed 26 Oct. 2025. 

Guimon, Katy. “Johann Fischart: Research Starters: EBSCO Research.” EBSCO, 2023, www.ebsco.com/research-starters/biography/johann-fischart. 

Behringer, Wolfgang. “Demonology, 1500–1660 (Chapter 22) – the Cambridge History of Christianity.” Cambridge Core, Cambridge University Press, 2008, www.cambridge.org/core/books/abs/cambridge-history-of-christianity/demonology-15001660/1C9CAEA1E975FA528959F3A88D500438.  

Midterm– Reproduction of knowledge and power

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Museum Regalis Societatis (1681) is bounded by a loose spine– one that is separating from the text. The hard cover layers are peeling from the corners, revealing that the book has not undergone any type of restoration; the edges of the book are uneven and the trim of the paper is not symmetrical; the paper is tinted in various shades of yellow and brown due to oxidation. Throughout the text, there are multiple fonts– Times New Roman being the most prominent one. The margins are wide and the foldouts appear to be of a fibrous material– making it seem as if it were a copperplate engraving.

Let me not start at the origin of the codex nor at the content of it, but at the materialistic characterization of the media. Printed in 1681, Museum Regalis Societatis: or, A Catalogue and Description of the Natural and Artificial Rarities belonging to the Royal Society is a book whose physicality is an amalgamation of cultural apparatuses. It is an object conformed by a loose binding, where the spine is separating from the text and does not demonstrate any signs of restoration—leaving the text in its original form. The roughed-out edges reveal several layers of boards that create the front and back covers. The pages are tinted in shades of yellow, white, and brown, more than likely due to oxidation—a natural process in the life cycle of paper. The material of the paper is texturized—almost with a fibrous feel to it. The sides of the pages appear uneven, though it is unclear if this is a manufacturing irregularity, an alteration through the centuries, or simply wear and tear. The pages demonstrate further irregularities: some corners are cut off, and some pages are not fully symmetrical, demonstrating both the imperfections of handcrafting and the limits of technology at the time. The typography used on the cover page is a combination of five fonts—all conveying different messages to the reader, or at the very least creating the illusion of hierarchy between text, reader, and font. The margins are ample—about two and a half inches throughout. Initially, margins could have been intended for annotations, but the text demonstrates no sign of marginalia; all visible sides are unmarked. This suggests that this copy most likely belonged to an academic institution rather than serving as a personal copy for study. The book is structured: there is a preface, a table of contents written in cursive, and divisions of content into parts, sections, and chapters—each with distinct typography. There is a clear distinction between subject matter; in this instance, the contents are divided into plants, minerals, animals, and human anatomy. Every subject is differentiated by distinct typographical choices, creating a visual hierarchy and emphasizing what was deemed of greater importance at the time of assembly. At the end of the book, there are several foldout pages composed of a different material. They are printed on thicker, smoother paper, creating a deliberate distinction between image and text. The images have a certain texture to them—an engraved feeling—and are printed in black and white. The lines are sensitive to the touch, suggesting copperplate engraving, a method prominent at the time this book was assembled. Beyond the illustrations, there is a section titled “Some Notes Upon the Tables,” providing explanations regarding the material being presented. In the final pages, there is an extended list of authors, collaborators, and patrons, demonstrating how the text functions as a social amalgamation of shared knowledge and experience, particularly among the higher orders of society.

Althusser states that ideology is rooted in ritualistic behaviors rather than in a set of ideas—behaviors that have been interpellated through Ideological and Repressive State Apparatuses. This framework echoes the social and cultural conditions that shaped the creation and use of Museum Regalis Societatis, where the book itself becomes a material artifact representing the institutional value of intellectual curiosity. Furthermore, the assembly and the reproduction of this text acts itself as a ritual– it reproduces ideology on a continuum for the higher orders of society– placing knowledge in a place of exclusivity. It reflects the socio-cultural context of the period in which this artifact was produced, examining how knowledge, power, and hierarchy are constructed—often problematic, often laudable. It is manifested in the nature of its taxonomy; it creates power through its authorship and institutional control– it creates a separation of power between the individual accessing the text and converges the reader, author and text. Knowledge is demonstrated through the nature of the text– The variety of fonts creates a hierarchy, one that places emphasis and value on the subjects being presented in the book—fonts that hail the reader differently depending on what is deemed valuable and what is not; subtly becoming a tool of ideology– it organizes ideas visually and interpellates to the reader how information should be categorized and prioritized. Paradoxically, it mirrors social hierarchies.  The unmarked pages, meanwhile, provide readers with a sense of academic moral authority, suggesting that such texts were intended for institutional use rather than personal study. The meticulous division and structure of the different subjects demonstrate that the Royal Society valued order and organization—particularly within the realm of science. This order is further displayed in the foldout anatomical pages, where text and visuals converge, making the reader an active participant with the book. The physical act of unfolding and examining these pages transforms the book into a shared experience rather than a static object. And, it reminds the reader that knowledge is presented as a physical act rather than one meditated through ideas– it blurs the boundaries between voyeurism and objects.  Ultimately, Museum Regalis Societatis serves as a microcosm of seventeenth-century ideology, exhibiting the social structures and power dynamics that shaped class, access, and knowledge. It materializes the cultural hierarchy of the time and encodes different power structures– allowing the status quo to define the authority and value of this media. Under Althusser’s framework, this book is a product and the embodiment of ideology. The physical characteristics of this book are rituals of knowledge and authority.

Week 10: Is All Media Three-Dimensional?

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Electronic literature scholar N. Katherine Hayles writes in 2007 that contemporary e-lit authors “explor[ed] . . .the Z-axis as an additional dimension for text display, behavior, and manipulation” (“Electronic Literature: What Is It?”). Hayles describes the work of Ted Warnell, whose TLT vs. LL (2006, strobe/flashing warning) “shifts to a dynamic surface in which rising and sinking motions give the effect of three dimensions as the layered letter forms shift, move, and reposition themselves relative to other letters” (Hayles). I am considering this spatial depth alongside our discussions of screen interfaces and my own work with Rufus Butler Seder’s Gallop! (2007), a book which combines leaf layers to produce an animated effect.

In a comment on Micaela’s post last week, Sierra mentioned otome games – a subgenre of visual novels, which themselves emerge from interactive fiction games. It’s made me think about the conventional display interface of visual novels, which generally overlay narrative text and selectable options over illustrations. While considering how Gallop! produces animation and sequence through interactions between bound layers, I’m realizing that I haven’t attended to the “Z-axis” in screen media like 2D visual novels, animation, or even the computer screen interface itself. The backlit LCD display of my computer also produces animation via interactions between layers of light and crystal. This is a 3D process. Because the computer interface produces media through X, Y, and Z axes, even what appears to be 2D screen media is materially 3D.

We therefore don’t look at a screen, but through its layers. Interactions between layers produce optical effects, much like the Scanimation barrier-grid effect produced in Seder’s Gallop!. N. Katherine Hayles has already explored computer backlighting’s “media-specific” influence on e-lit through texts like “Flickering Connectivities in Shelley Jackson’s Patchwork Girl: The Importance of Media-Specific Analysis” (2000), but I’m only now realizing the implications of the Z-axis to electronic literature. How does an e-lit work engage with the 3D spatiality of its medium?

Amaranth Borsuk’s Between Page and Screen (2005) mediates the 3D spatiality of print books by inviting co-reading between human and computer readers. As the human user physically moves the book’s QR-coded pages in view of a computer reader’s camera, the computer retrieves and displays 3D visuals that are mapped onto the visual feedback. As Dr. Pressman argues in “Reorienting Ourselves toward the Material: Between Page and Screen as Case Study” (2018), Borsuk’s augmented reality book shows that “technology is not only part of the work but also part of the text to be read and compared” (323). Borsuk’s “3D concrete poem[s]” (323) reflect the 3D spatiality of “page and screen” interfaces. Following Dr. Pressman’s example of “the piggy poem” in Borsuk’s project as an allusion to the animal skins used in medieval manuscripts (326), we might consider how animal skins themselves form outer layers over complex interior systems, and how the reduction of these systems to a single, ‘2D’ exterior layer reduces the complexity of their multidimensional, mediated bodies.

From now on, I’ll view media objects as assemblages of layers. This is kind of blowing me out of the water in terms of reframing my approach to e-lit and animation studies. Engaging with the materiality of Gallop! in concordance with Hayles, Borsuk, and Dr. Pressman’s e-lit studies reveals the multidimensionality of media and media activation. The medium cannot be flattened. How might e-lit engage with this spatiality, and with the illusion of flatness, as narrative and material conflicts?

Biography of a Book: “Gallop!” by Rufus Butler Seder

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Bibliographic Description

Gallop! By Seder, Rufus Butler. New York: Workman Publishing Company, Inc., 2007. First edition. First book by Seder.

Gallop! demonstrates Seder’s “Scanimation” technology. The upper cover instructs the user to “Open this book to see the animals move!” When the verso is flipped, movement between bound leaf layers produces an animated effect in each accompanying recto’s acetate display. In each of eight interlaced acetate panels, illustrations of a different animal appear to move via this barrier-grid animation technique. A tenth panel animates a cutout star shape. Large text in primary-color lowercase font asks the reader if they can move “like” each animal (“can you gallop like a horse?”).

Duodecimo with 12 leaves, nine being composed of multiple folded or adhered layers. Conjugate leaves adhere atop of six-layered gatherings in a variation on the duodecimo folding style. Interior hinges are overlain with a perforated crease on the conjugate leaves, allowing the movement of the verso to also move the recto back and forth between card and acetate layers. Nine acetate sheet panels are each layered between a recto and verso of opposite leaves. The Scanimation effect is produced when the book’s verso is moved along its hinge, creating a Moiré illusion as the recto’s illustrated underlayer and interlaced overlayer interact. One acetate panel simulating Eadward Muybridge’s The Horse in Motion (1878) forms the frontispiece; a die-cut on upper cover reveals this frontispiece panel when Gallop! is closed.

The book’s unusual folding technique creates six pages in a 5×1 formation. These leaves fold multi-directionally and adhere to tightly stabilize the interior acetate panels. Leaves are unattached to hinges, with endpages instead adhered to the board binding. Interior paper strips bind all gatherings together by their outer folds, resembling a simpler accordion fold when viewed from the edge.

The copyright page notes that Scanimation holds “U.S. Patent #7,151,541” under Seder’s EyeThink, Inc. toy company, with “Additional patents pending.” The copyright acknowledges that “some illustrations in this book are based on the motion photography pioneered by Eadward Muybridge.” Book is “Printed in China”.

Stamped as library copy of San Diego State University Special Collections, Toy Book collection. Pencil handwriting on the copyright page records the book’s Library metadata.

Scholarly Analysis

As indicated by the book’s place in SDSU Library’s “Toy Books” collection, Gallop! is a technology of bookish play. Gallop! hypermediates reader activation through its bindings, which produce unconventional animated effects through the normalized reading process of ‘flipping’ versos. Only through physically interacting with Gallop! could I activate – and be activated by – its mechanical functions. Following the book’s lower cover instructions “to flip and flip and flip [each page] again”, I observed in my time with Gallop! that contact between its perforated edges produced a creaking sound with each of my flips. I consider these creaks to suggest little use before I interacted with Gallop!, as greater use (even that of my own gentle turnings) wears the creases into silence. As my examined copy contains no marginalia apart from the SDSU Library Special Collections’ identifying metadata, I infer that this Special Collections copy of Gallop! has not been frequently used for its instructed use in “flipping.” This is perhaps not a played-with copy, but a show piece donated to SDSU Library’s “Toy Books Collection” as a relevant object in toy book history. Considering this possible provenance, I analyze the materiality of Gallop! to theorize why the book is maintained as a significant object to SDSU Special archive.

Gallop! hypermediates the book as a display interface that is activated by its reader. Though book scholar Amaranth Borsuk refers to text when she notes that book “[a]nimation is not . . . limited to images” (The Book 160), we might also conceptualize the material bindings of Gallop! as animated in that their interactions produce the movement of both Scanimation and reader. The volume’s illustrations of animal locomotion are animated through the reader’s own bodily movements, with the motion of the reader producing animation by creating interactions between the book’s bound features. For Gallop!, this means that the reader “flip[s]” the book’s pages to produce movement between Scanimation layers. Gallop! is not only watched, but produced; there is no simulation of movement without reader movement. Gallop! thus hypermediates the function of the reader in producing meaning from books.

The perforated crease of Gallop!’s bindings facilitates the repeat movement of “flip[ping] and flip[ping] each page again.” The patent identifier provided in the book’s copyright page corresponds with Seder’s United States Patent petition, which details the mechanics of this “Moveable Animated Display Device” technology (2006). Seder’s petition refers to these perforated folds as “crease biasing formations” which hold together the “pressure plate and the animation layer” of the Scanimation apparatus (13, 12). If, as Seder stresses in his petition, his Display Device technology can be implemented across a variety of print media for “widespread market success” (11), then its manifestation as a toy book in Gallop! invites closer consideration of Scanimation’s specific relationship with book media.

Fig. 4 of Rufus Butler Seder’s “Moveable Animated Display Device” patent illustration, depicting the folding process for his Scanimation mechanism. 2006.

As pictured in Seder’s patent petition, each page of Gallop! is composed of a leaf folded into six layers, which together hold an adhered acetate panel. These multidirectional bindings are necessary to hold these elements in alignment and with pressure, producing clear images as the leaves are activated by reader movement. To follow Seder’s patent petition, it is the “relative movement” of book features and reader bodies which together produce Scanimation’s effect (13). When the text questions if the reader “can” move “like” the pictured animals, the reader is invited to movement through the mechanics of reading.

The back-and-forth sliding of Gallop! layers retools the mechanics of the pull tab as demonstrated by the Robert C. Williams Museum of Papermaking (“Movable Mechanisms”). As with a pull tab mechanism, Scanimation animates printed illustrations when the reader physically moves an activatable feature of the book. In Scanimation, however, the sliding of layers occurs covertly beneath each page’s upper card layers. The production of animation becomes an unconventional effect of operating what is designed to appear as a single-layered board book. The normalized process of flipping book pages is hypermediated as a mechanical interaction between user and book.

Gallop!’s bindings perform conformity with the mass-market convention of single-layer pages, normalizing the book’s appearance to hypermediate reading as a transformative activation. While hypermediation makes conscious the normalized processes of engagement with a medium, Gallop!’s design is a performance: it simulates conventional board book bindings (single-layer pages, accordion folds) to hypermediate ways of reading books that do not share its interior mechanics.

Visual emulation of accordion binding in Gallop!.

Borsuk identifies the book, and particularly “the accordion book”, as “a recombinant structure [that allows] readers to create new juxtapositions within it” (168). The binding of Gallop!, in disguising multilayer assemblages as individual accordion folds, visually normalizes the exterior design of Gallop! as a board book. Gallop! does not offer readers the easy “ability to completely open this [accordion binding] structure” (Borsuk 168), a blockage necessary not only to maintain the “pressure” of Scanimation layers but to protect Seder’s patented construction process. Rather than unfolding the complex leaves, the reader flips these as one to produce animation within the limits of the page and panel. The “recombinant structure” of Gallop! occurs across book and reader bodies, with its binding mechanism producing juxtapositions between the animated Gallop! and the other media technologies that it references.

This containment of animation within its bindings frames Gallop! as a screen interface. Unlike lenticular animation, which Seder would later copyright for use in toys, Scanimation technology does not ‘activate’ legibly upon changing one’s perspective of the book object. The Scanimation effect is produced only through the physical activation of the book’s pages in relation to each other and to the reader, as the acetate overlay blocks and reveals portions of the underlying animation layer. The reader produces meaning from this optical effect as they interpret continuity between the revealed image fragments. Following this juxtaposition-based reading, Seder’s choice of Muybridge’s iconic Horse as the cutout display for Gallop! constructs the book’s bindings as a pane into an interface. Gallop! continues a tradition of books as animated “proto-movies”, as in flip-books (Borsuk 157). Borsuk identifies Eadward Muybridge’s own “sequential photography” prints as a parallel technology to books, suggesting the way that collected images like Muybridge’s The Horse in Motion might be read or operated as book technologies. The choice of Muybridge’s iconic Horse as the cutout display for Gallop! connects Scanimation with film technology and history. This media association expresses the capacity of the book for literally and figuratively mediating “the persistence of vision” effect. This effect enables viewers to simulate sequence by inferring associations between keyframes.

In his patent petition, Seder describes his aim for Scanimation to “be hand held and manually operable” (11). By situating the book as a “moveable animated display device” (12), Gallop! frames bodily movement as an always-on analog alternative to electronic animation. The aspect ratio of Gallop!‘s Muybridge panels resembles not only the landscape ratios of conventional film and television screens, but also the screen size of “hand held” “animated display devices” like the Nintendo DS (released 2005). Seder notes that Scanimation’s animation layer can be constructed from “any suitable material” of any opacity (13), but Gallop! uses black-and-white cardstock for its animation layers. Combined with its semiopaque acetate overlay, each black-and-grey Scanimation panel then visually and tactilely resembles the plastic surface of an inactive CRT television or LCD screen. Compare the landscape acetate panels of Gallop! to the inactive Nintendo DS screen pictured here.

The visual association between Gallop!‘s animated display and that of the Nintendo DS occurs in the context of 2007’s anxieties surrounding childhood inactivity and screen use. Unlike the CRT and LCD screens referenced in its design, Gallop! only moves if the reader moves: it cannot be passively watched, but must be actively produced in accord with its user’s movement. The normalized process of reading – flipping the page – becomes a solution to inactivity and disengagement, united with calls to physical movement that suggest playful exercise. Reading a normalized book — flipping the single-layer pages of a bound duodecimo — is hypermediated as an exercise of both body and mind.

Gallop! is read physically, and is thus hypermediated: readers are made conscious of their role as activator of and by the book as we “flip” its pages and activate its Scanimation mechanism. The user produces animation by animating their own body, and is by extension animated by the book. By engaging readers in physical play with the boundaries of movement and sequence, Gallop! models the book and reading as technologies of activation. The examined copy’s position in the SDSU Library Special Collection’s Toy Book archive reflects Gallop!‘s function as a technology of book play.

Citations below the cut.

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Kleines Destillierbuch in Use

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(Google doc version with photos.)

Liber de arte distulandi [sic] simplicia et composita: Das nüv Bůch der rechten Kunst zů distillieren is a collection of scientific work in German by Hieronymus Brunschwig. This book also contains contributions from Marsilio Ficino’s Das Buch des Lebens, translated by translator and physician Johannes Adelphus, and a treatise from Konrad of Strasbourg. There are multiple copies of this book, held in multiple archives with different covers. The copy in the San Diego State Special Collections and University Archives has a hard white cover made from pig skin and blindstamped with an ornate design patterned with florals and small profiles of human figures: presumably kings and knights based on the crown and helmet on top of their heads, respectively. The spine is dotted with small deep wormholes, on both sides of the cover. There is more insect damage at both ends of the spine, which are cracked and peeling. The cover has cracks along the surface, most notably around the spine, revealing a whiter, brighter color beneath the top layer of the pig skin. The cover is modern compared to the text of Liber de arte distulandi [sic] simplicia et composita, which was published in 1509 by publisher Johann Grüninger. 

On the inside of the cover, there is cursive handwriting indicating the title and author, and two rectangles of glued in printer paper. The glued in pieces of paper, seemingly written on a typewriter, summarize the content and physical state of the book. There are three names listed in the type and the handwritten text: Südhoff, Kristeller, and Schmidt. These names might indicate previous owners, but most likely, as their names are included with the publisher, it is likely that these are the names of people who have added additional elements to the text since print, such as the cover or restorations. For example, “Kristeller19” might be a reference to page 19 in the text, where a torn page has been repaired. The pages of Liber de arte distulandi [sic] simplicia et composita are printed on rag cotton paper in blackletter type, with multiple woodcut illustrations of plants and distillery practices. There is minimal water damage across the pages. 

Liber de arte distulandi [sic] simplicia et composita: Das nüv Bůch der rechten Kunst zů distillieren was first published in 1505 under the title Medicinarius. Das Buch der Gesuntheit. Liber de arte distulandi [sic] simplicia et composita is a collection including Brunschwig’s Liber de arte ditillandi de simplicibus book 1 and 2, also called Kleines Destillierbuch. Published in 1500, Liber de arte ditillandi de simplicibus was the first book published in the German language on the topic of distillation. This edition was widely read in Germany and beyond, as distilled waters were used for medicinal purposes (Taape 2). Liber de arte distillandi de simplicibus explains the process of distillation, plants that can be distilled, and the diseases they can treat. The book was published by Johann Grüninger, a prolific German printer in Strassburg during the Holy Roman Empire (Chrisman 34). Gruninger’s career included texts in Latin and German, liturgical texts, classics, woodcut maps, and exploration accounts. Many of the woodcuts used throughout Liber de arte distulandi [sic] simplicia et composita had been used in previous Gruninger works, including but not limited to Brunschwig’s Chirurgia, or Gruninger’s reprinting of the Hortus Sanitatis, a Latin natural encyclopedia, both printed in 1497 (Attenborough). 

According to Tillmann Taape, a researcher at the Institute for the History of Medicine and Ethics in Medicine at the Charité – Universitätsmedizin Berlin, Liber de arte distillandi de simplicia, was a widely read commercial success, going through sixteen editions between 1500 and 1568. This widespread use, circulation, and revision suggests a text that is invested in practical use. This is also reflected in Brunschwig’s detailing of practical techniques for distillation: “Brunschwig makes it clear that his approach to medicinal knowledge is firmly grounded in craft practice…His instructions show that he was familiar with the necessary manual tasks such as making bricks and building furnaces. But he also refers to other artisans who employ similar equipment or materials, and tells his readers to use the heat of a baker’s oven for certain types of distillation, or to have pots made from the same ‘white clay from which goldsmiths’ and assayers’ crucibles are made’” (Taape 9). Here Brunschwig emphasizes the importance of hands-on learning and using the tools available to the layman. He acknowledges the reader who will have to make the stove and who has access to one through artisanal means. Brunschwig himself had little to no university education. There’s further indication that this book is for beginners: “Rather than haphazardly running through the ‘many ways of distilling known to the alchemists,’ Brunschwig selects a useful subset and ranks them in a logical order, according to complexity and cost. He describes ten key processes, five ‘without a cost’ as they do not require a special furnace, and five which can only be performed ‘at a cost and with a fire’ (Taape 12). Brunchswig’s work is explicitly accessible to those who can not afford special equipment but who still want the medicinal benefits of distillery. Even though Brunschwig’s work within Liber de arte distulandi (both simplicia and composita) delves into complex alchemic theory, which had a major influence on the development of medical chemistry, his work is still grounded in his experience with his own practice. 

The water stains on the pages of San Diego State’s copy of  Liber de arte distulandi [sic] simplicia et composita seem darker in some areas, as if the liquid spilled on them was darker than just water. There are also several pages with greasy spots on them and at least one annotation in the margins of the book. All of these express use, not just in an academic context separated from the physical practice at hand, but use while engaging in the practice of distillation. It is slightly ironic that the contemporary cover that surrounds this book has metal clasps and embossed depictions of kings, which imply exclusivity and prestige, when the ethics in this book are so grounded in accessibility and self teaching. Liber de arte distulandi [sic] simplicia et composita is an early representation of widespread access to a kind of healthcare grounded in self education and plant medicine, which attempts to separate itself from institutional barriers. 

Works Cited

Attenborough, David. “Treasures of the Library : Ortus Sanitatis.” Cambridge Digital Library, cudl.lib.cam.ac.uk/view/PR-INC-00003-A-00001-00008-00037/1. Accessed 25 Oct. 25.

“Brunschwig, Hieronymus. [Kleines Destillierbuch (German)]. Liber de Arte Distillandi, De Simplicibus. Das Buch Der Rechten Kunst Zu Distilieren Die Eintzigen Ding. Strassburg: Johann (Reinhard) Grüninger, 8 May 1500.: Christie’s.” BRUNSCHWIG, HIERONYMUS. [Kleines Destillierbuch (German)]. Liber de Arte Distillandi, de Simplicibus. Das Buch Der Rechten Kunst Zu Distilieren Die Eintzigen Ding. Strassburg: Johann (Reinhard) Grüninger, 8 May 1500. | Christie’s, Christie’s , www.christies.com/en/lot/lot-2534322. Accessed 25 Oct. 2025. 

Brunschwig, Hieronymus, u. a. Liber de arte distulandi [sic] simplicia et composita : Das nüv Bůch der rechten Kunst zů distillieren. [Johan Grüniger], 1509.

Chrisman, Miriam Usher. “Lay Culture, Learned Culture : Books and Social Change in Strasbourg, 1480-1599 .” Internet Archive, New Haven : Yale University Press, 1 Jan. 1982, archive.org/details/layculturelearne00chri/page/34/mode/2up. 

“GRUNINGER, Johann.” Daniel Crouch Rare Books, crouchrarebooks.com/mapmakers/gruninger-johann/. Accessed 24 Oct. 2025. 

“Liber de Arte Distulandi [Sic] Simplicia et Composita : Das Nüv Bůch Der Rechten Kunst Zů Distillieren.” San Diego State University Library , csu-sdsu.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/discovery/fulldisplay?context=L&vid=01CALS_SDL%3A01CALS_SDL&search_scope=MyInst_and_CI&tab=Everything&docid=alma991011148489702917. Accessed 16 Oct. 2025. 

Taape, Tillmann. “Distilling reliable remedies: Hieronymus Brunschwig’s Liber de arte distillandi (1500) between alchemical learning and craft practice.” Ambix vol. 61,3 (2014): 236-56. doi:10.1179/0002698014Z.00000000060

Digital Literature – A Quiet Collaboration

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Reading Scott Rettberg’s text on electronic literature, one line in particular really stuck with me. “What is really meant by ‘electronic literature’ is that the computer (or the network context) is in some way essential to the performance or carrying out of the literary activity in question” (p. 169). At first, it sounds very technical, like something you would read in a definition. But the more I thought about it, the more it started to make sense and give me a new perspective on how I see writing. Usually, the computer feels like background noise. A tool that quietly does what we tell it to. We type, it records. Simple. But Rettberg’s line flips that. It suggests that the computer is not simply the surface where writing appears. It is part of how writing happens.

That shift feels small, but it is huge. It means the computer is not just a container for words. It is a participant in them. The text depends on it. Its speed, its memory, even its glitches. The poem or story does not just sit there waiting to be read. It moves, reacts, performs. In a sense, it breathes through code. I like how this idea makes the act of writing feel less lonely. The computer becomes a quiet collaborator. Every click, every pause, every bit of code is part of the exchange. It makes me think that writing on a computer has always been a kind of dialogue, we just didn’t notice it. Maybe we never really wrote on machines, but have been writing with them all along.

Rettberg says that electronic literature “takes advantage of the capabilities and contexts provided by the stand-alone or networked computer”. (169) That line makes me think about how the machine brings its own possibilities like light, sound, movement, randomness. It adds time to text. Suddenly, literature isn’t something still, but something that happens. You don’t just read it, you watch it unfold. And that brings a strange kind of intimacy. When the computer becomes part of the writing, it also becomes part of us. The screen holds not just our words, but our gestures, our rhythms, the small hesitations between thoughts. It feels less like using a tool and more like sharing a process.

Maybe that’s what Rettberg’s essay leaves behind. The sense that writing and technology aren’t opposites. They have always been connected and electronic literature just makes that visible. It reminds us that meaning isn’t only made by what we write, but by what responds. The page, the screen, the machine that starts to write back.

Digital Literature

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In our analysis of what earns a given work the classification of “book,” I am unsure if I would consider digital literature the next evolution of the book or its own entity of scholarship entirely. A large part as to why I consider electronic literature separate from the book is due to its inability to fit print publication and the traditional book format, especially because it requires technology for the literature executed by user request. As Ted Nelson describes, hypertext is “a body of written or pictorial material interconnected in such a complex way that it could not conveniently be presented or represented on paper” (Ryan, Emerson, & Robertson 170). This observation by Nelson establishes a critical separation between traditional print and born-digital literature on the basis of material fixity and the necessity of user interaction. With hypertexts, users must engage with navigation and do not always receive the same stories based on their choices which defies the constraints of the page. When Nelson outlines the “inconvenience” of formatting hypertexts onto the page, this is not just a logistical issue but a conceptual one. 

From studying Patchwork Girl in Digital Humanities last semester and seeing how different table groups interpreted the work in the DH Center, it is clear that with hypertext reader interaction radically changes narrative structure. Without a linear structure or page numbers like the traditional book, Patchwork is meant to be lost in and disorienting as a part of the user experience. I would not consider this a goal of the traditional book, however, which emphasized a separation between print and literary work made explicitly by and for the digital. In this way, the purposes of the medium present themselves as books more typically transmit information while digital literature is a heavier experimental and creative pursuit. 

As a Books class, I still consider it important to study electronic literature to understand what a book is and what it is not. The purpose of this is not to solidify the category of “book” as an elite title with prerequisites, but to interrogate our understanding of what a book does and doesn’t. With our world moving into and already in an increasingly digital age, we must ask ourselves what counts as a book when we move away from the physical page? This is also vital to consider as we prepare for what our future of reading and writing behaviors will look like.

Digital Literature’s Short Shelf Life

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Digital literature, hypertext, hyperlinks, and electronic literature are all extreamly new terms in my vocabulary. I have never thought about literature made on the computer made for reading on the computer. This is partly because I am incredibly digitally illiterate and try to focus more on physical books that I can feel and touch. However, stepping into this digital world of literature is more fascinating than I ever thought it could be. It is experimental and fresh, taking from the past and making it into the new. As seen in the text, Electronic Literature, “We encounter electronic literature as both a reading experience and an application, an artifact that may also encompass the tool used to produce it. (page, 173)” This short quote articulates that form and media directly affect the form and content. This then affects how a person will read it and how long it stays relevant in our ever-changing world. There are also connections to be made about how media forms from the past affect the media forms we practice and consume today. The past and present are constantly in communication; in the same way, there is always a feedback loop between the arts. I am learning that it is very important to understand this when studying literature and its history. Especially, if you are doing research in media archeology, looking at artifacts and archives. This quote directly speaks to this, touching on the fact that an artifact will encompass the tool used to produce it. Therefore, writing something on a typewriter will create a different product than writing on the computer or by hand. Also, the affordability of paper will influence how long something may be or if it is lengthy or condensed. The main idea here is that it is impossible to ignore the form used to produce media. We live in a purposeful, obsolete culture where media dies. This is why digital literature will have a very short shelf life. This literature is hard to archive; software is always adapting and changing. In contrast to a book, which takes a physical form and can be preserved and kept safe from damage. Anything digital is not safe and is susceptible to deletion. This is all so fascinating, and I am so excited to be learning this, especially since we live in such a digital age, and im trying to be less digitally illiterate.

Physical Bodies

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Borsuk’s 4th chapter had a quote that was an impetus for a revelation I had in regards to the way I think about books and us as humans. On top of that, it also makes me appreciate the book as a physical object so much more than before taking this class, and reading this specific chapter. The quote I read that prompted this revelation was in relation to the popularity of the codex, “…it has proven useful as a portable, source-efficient physical support suited to the average human body” (Borsuk 197-198). This idea that the book is suited to the physical human body—not necessarily the mind but our hands, arms, etc.—therefore the book, then, is a reflection of our own physical body. There is an inherent, often unrealized, point of connection when holding a book or even a smartphone.

It brings me back to the practice of mindfullness, where you consciously bring yourself into the present and actively bring yourself back into your own body. This usually leads to a clearer mind and can help you focus. It’s a concept I learned about when I attended a behavioral program to help with my anxiety/OCD and depression. I used to heavily disassociate, but in learning mindfullness techniques I could bring myself back from that 2D-like game-scape into the real world. The mindfullness exercise I came up with was putting my hands on some part of my skin, closing my eyes, and just focusing of the feeling of my own skin (I also focused on my breathing too). Now I think of touching/holding the physical book as a mindfullness exercise, and when I think back to my visits to special collections for the midterm project, I realize I was already doing this; I would be in the present with the physical book, feeling the pages and the ink which connected me to the moment, my body, and the book itself. I think from now on, every time I touch a book, and physically feel it in my hands the same process will occur. In this way the book is a physical extension of my physical body and a mirror of it.

For a moment my body and that book (or laptop or phone or etc.) are interacting and participating in an exchange. For a moment there is an undeniable physical connection only broken when I am no longer holding or touching the book.

The Hidden Power of the Interface

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After reading the final chapter in Borsuk’s “The Book”, I was captivated by the idea that Borsuk talks about in how we need to start viewing the interface of the page and how we as a society interact with it. Never in my life would I have imagined the interface of a page as a “crystal goblet” in which the desired information can be shown to you easily due to the accessibility and utility that the interface has. “A good interface, according to human-centered design principles, is like Warde’s crystal goblet: a transparent vessel which we access information we want”(198). Borsuk highlights the importance of how we can use the tool and view it because it is something that we never really had interest, nor have we ever thought about it on that level. We are always concerned with the content, but never with the interface and how that may alter how we the readers view the text.

Physical book’s interface not only allows us to interact with the text and content itself, but with the concept of the interface itself in which we can also add information. Essentially, we are learning how to read the system of the interface at a closer level than usual. Considering how we interact with physical books, I found it intriguing on how we use e-books and try to replicate that same interface interaction from the physical books.

Another quote that stuck out to about how we interact with physical books and e-books is, ”To change the physical form of the artifact is not merely to change the act of reading . . . but to profoundly transform the metaphorical relation of word to world”(203). Going from physical to digital changes everything about how we as the reader interact with the artifact itself. Yes, it may be showing the same letters, words and content, but it is no longer using paper and that in itself already alters how the text should be viewed. See as how Borsuk mentions how it changes the metaphorical relation, this sentence reminded me of last week’s class discussion on how digital text is essentially code which is HTML and it is just a bunch of flashing lights. At its core, that’s what the artifact is and how do we the reader interact with that?