Tag Archives: week 5

New understanding of „Bibliography“

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When I first heard the word “bibliography,” I honestly thought only about the list at the end of an essay you know, where you dump all the sources in MLA or Chicago style. That’s what I did in high school in Germany and it felt like the most boring part of writing. But after reading the Bibliographical Society of America’s page “What Is Bibliography?”, I realized that I had completely misunderstood the term.

The line that stuck with me was: “Bibliography examines the artifactual value of texts … and how they reflect the people and cultures that created, acquired, and exchanged them.” I had to pause on the word “artifactual.” It means that a book is not just words on paper, but also an artifact, like a piece of history you can hold. Thinking about it this way, even the small scratches, the kind of paper, or notes in the margins become part of the story.

The site gives the example of watermarks in old paper. I never thought about this before, but these tiny patterns can tell scholars where and when the paper was made. It’s like a hidden code inside the book. I find this so cool because it shows that books are physical witnesses of history. You don’t just read them you also “read” their material.

I also liked how the page made a difference between “bibliographic” and “bibliographical.” At first, I thought this was just English being confusing again. But now I see that “bibliographic” means data like author, date, publisher while “bibliographical” means the actual study of the object itself. It’s a small detail, but it helped me understand the field better.

For me, the big takeaway is that bibliography is not only about organizing sources. It’s about looking at books as objects that carry the marks of people, cultures, and histories. As a student who mostly reads PDFs on a laptop, I think it’s important to remember that the material side of texts matters too even if the “page” is just a screen.

The Biography of Texts: Production, Context, Reception

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Our class began by looking at books as objects with various characteristics. Books have both material elements, such as paper, glue, and ink, and content elements, such as the content itself, the table of contents, and, not to be forgotten, the bibliography.

D.F. McKenzie takes up this idea in “Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts.” For him, bibliography is “the discipline that studies texts as recorded forms, and the processes of their transmission, including their production and reception.” His following statement is crucial: “forms effect meaning.” A text is therefore dependent on its form; its materiality influences how it is perceived and understood.

At the same time, we know that we need context to understand texts and their messages. McKenzie makes it clear that bibliography examines not only the technical aspects, such as paper, typography, and binding, but also the social processes. Who produces a text? Who distributes it? Who reads it? A newspaper in the 19th century, a novel, or a post on Instagram—all are texts, but the medium and their context change what they mean. McKenzie also expands the term further by writing that bibliography should encompass “all forms of texts.” This includes flyers, digital media, and other forms of recording. The core idea that bibliography can be understood as the life story of texts is very interesting. From production to distribution to reception. It shows that texts have a history.

In conclusion, McKenzie summarizes: “[Bibliography] can, in short, show the human presence in any recorded text.” I find this quote essential to understanding that books are not neutral objects. They carry a history that arises from the traces of human beings. The producer, the readers, and the publishers unconsciously create a story. Every text is therefore also a document of its time. Once again, I think back to our discussion in class: What is a book? I notice how every insight comes back to this question. And again and again, elements are added that I hadn’t thought about before.

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.

Bring Back Handcrafting Letter Stamps

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In the second chapter of The Book, Borsuk investigates the evolution of book content from the font to the binding and how that changed the way in which people approach books today. Borsuk begins with the origins of the modern codex, which lies with Gutenberg’s printing press in the 1440’s. But as Borsuk notes, “as much as we laud Gutenberg, he was not actually the first person to print with movable type,” instead,  it was “Chinese engineer, Bi Shen who developed a technique for printing from clay type he carved by hand” (73). I appreciated this acknowledgement because, not only does it highlight the reality of the movable type’s history, but it also shows how book practices developed relatively independently, as explored in the previous chapter.

Today, when typing, plenty of people don’t even have to consider their font choices so seriously. Though we might change it from Arial to Times New Roman, or if we’re feeling silly, Papyrus or Comic Sans, the labor, artistry, and history of creating fonts isn’t taken into account. In this chapter of The Book Borsuk, when discussing the printing press, goes into how Gutenberg and others had to literally create their own font. This task was more than just designing how letters would appear, but also how. The metal cast had to be strong enough to withstand the force of a printing press but not so hard that it destroyed the paper it was going on. In Gutenberg’s case, he “formulate[ed] his own alloy of tin and lead” (66) that was strong and had a low melting point. Borsuk then explains the complicated process of creating the stamps for the movable type, which was a lot to take in. With this page-long explanation, I realized the convenience of modern screens, keyboards, and printers. Gone are the days of arduous labor that required people to handcraft a single letter and put their full weight into pressing those handcrafted stamps onto handcrafted paper with an ink that was also made by hand. I think because of our disconnect with the labor that goes into the crafting of a book, in addition to its more automated route of creation, the path to fetishization of the book becomes easier.

Week 5: Books Becoming Content Based

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After reading Chapter 2 of Amaranth Borsuk’s The Book, the curation of the book itself went from an intricate handmade artform to a mass production to fit the newfound purpose of the book, which is to use it for its content. Last Tuesday’s class in the Special Collections, we took the time to observe a variety of texts and the craftsmanship of the book itself. The covers, bindings, and format of the text revealed a history of the book without the reader even having to open it. For example, the intricate handmade cover of the Dominican Catholic Hymns book portrayed its importance with its ornate embellishments and high-quality leather. Being able to see the different handcrafted books in person highlighted the dramatic shift from books as art objects to books as content-based mediums.

I took a glance at my own personal book collection, and couldn’t help but notice that the majority of the books on my shelves are paperbacks with creased spines and flimsy covers that lacked any artistry. I flipped through the pages and noticed that most of the paper itself was so thin that I could see the words faintly through the other side. These observations display how “the printing press changed the book by facilitating its proliferation and separating the idea of the book from the object” (Borsuk, 76). Prior to the printing press, the book reflected more than the content inside. It was a portrayal of status and wealth not just a container of knowledge. The printing press made books more accessible and created the shift from sacred, one-of-a-kind artifacts to everyday commodities, valued primarily for the content they carried rather than the material form they took.

In my SOC730 course: Advanced Social Theory Class, we are discussing Marx theories that explain that with the increase in automation and capitalism we will see a decrease in work hours and more time for individuals to pursue arts and , to my understanding, more time to appreciate art. Will automation continue to decrease the artistry of books leaving them as disposable vessels of information? Or, perhaps, will it create space for a resurgence of book crafting as people search for meaning and beauty in tangible, handmade forms?

“The Medium is the Massage” and Other Forms of Cultural Change

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I thoroughly enjoyed Borsuk’s second chapter of Book. What really stuck out to me was the discussion about how the physicality of a book can impact the information inside it. For example, Borsuk mentions how “the publication of scientific treatises allowed scholars to engage in dialogue and debate with thinkers far removed, directly facilitating the spread of ideas that would flourish with the Renaissance” (84). In other words, the fact that science was being written down as opposed to being passed down orally allowed it to be spread much further and faster, thus leading to the Renaissance. New technology plays a strong role in creating and molding a certain type of society–whether that be through the accessibility of information or the way in which it is transmitted.

Another example of this phenomenon is “the passivity of watching television” which is juxtaposed with the “romance of disembodiment” that comes with reading (86). This can be connected to Marshall McLuhan’s argument in “The Medium is the Massage” that the medium is an integral part in how the message is interpreted by the audience. Here, Borsuk makes the argument that watching TV is a passive form of entertainment as opposed to the “romantic disembodiment” of reading. On top of the fact that media technology can radically change accessibility (thus the breadth and depth of that knowledge), a culture whose mass media is all books will differ from a culture whose mass media is all TV because there is an inherent difference in how these mediums are interpreted by most people.

Worshiping the Book Through Annotation- Week Five

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Borsuk in the second chapter discusses the intimacy of the book, of reading it, of having something uniquely made. Printshops designed “printer devices” to make their shops stand out, with a book uniquely theirs, tied to them. My question is do we have that same intimacy and relationship with books as readers to the makers and writers?

I covet it, sometimes I think I might worship them. Even as a kid, I hated writing in books. I still don’t unless I am deliberately instructed to do so with annotations and highlighting. I internally cringe when someone dog tags a book page. On my bookshelf, you will rarely find a book of mine to be fully annotated. While I don’t usually annotate as I’m reading as it brings out of my state of focus on what I’m reading, if I do, I use sticky notes and page markers to make point of things. I can’t will myself to write on pages because I feel I am ruining the art of the delicate paper and letters that the printer compiled. I think have this intimacy for books, but I am really just coveting it and not allowing myself to have an actual relationship with the words and pages?

I had this question when I went to bible study last week and everyone had written and highlighted in their bibles. They had a chorus of words in all the margins or wherever they could fit to describe their thoughts on the passage. They have bibles now that have space for notes on the each page to write down your thoughts. By writing down everything, they have a personal relationship with their bible book which gives them a stronger understanding of the text and of God. And that is the point, to get something out of the book, to create an understanding with the book. By annotating it, it increases their importance to them and everyone that made that book.

Annotating and writing in the book creates a personal connection to the authors and the makers of the book. If we sanctify a text so much where we can’t touch it, do we lose part of the connection we have with it or making it stronger by giving it this mystical and powerful presence?

The Commercialization of Books

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While reading chapter 2 of Amaranth Borsuk’s The Book, I learned many things about the printing press that I did not know before, particularly because I didn’t know much about it. I knew the name of Johannes Gutenberg, but I knew nothing about him or the machine itself. Reading about how the machine worked was really interesting! I also appreciated the addition of Gutenberg being important for European book printing, but there already had been some version of book printing in China and other areas. Lots of cultures, and people within those cultures were inventing their own ways to speed up book production.

What I found the most interesting was the section on copyrights and intellectual property. I never thought about it, but with older books being used as religious texts, and especially since they were written by scribes, the author wasn’t as important. It’s hard to imagine from the modern perspective. The shift occurred because of the printing press, which is when books became more about the content than the object (pg 100). The artistry began to matter less and less, and even I grew up being told not to judge a book by its cover. People could purchase, own, and read their books, and because of how fast the publishing industry grew it became necessary to create copyright and public domain laws. I don’t think this shift was very important to the masses. After all, books were bought for their content. And the modern book publishing methods would be considered miraculous to those even 100 years ago. I just think that mass production can sometimes make something lose what made it special.

Week 5: Book as Content and Commodity

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In Chapter 1, “The Book as Content”, in Amaranth Borsuk’s, The Book, Borsuk walks us through our changing perception of books as content rather than object. Borsuk explains that, “we might generalize the historic moment at which the printed text arises as one of increasing intimacy between individuals and texts, which accounts, in part, for the form of the book as we know it today” (Borsuk, 83). The book, in the form we know it today, reflects the shift of books becoming not only a more intimate experience between book and reader, but also evolving around the needs of the reader. Instead of simply consuming information, actively engaging with the text, a “dialectical relationship” between reader and author became valued. 

This shift in perception allowed for books to become commodities. Borsuk explains that, “these reader-focused elements were just as important to marketing as to book use. They mark the codex as a commodity” (Borsuk, 88). “Authors and publishers activity courted this kind of dialectical relationship”, and began to consider not just the information books contained, but also how the physical design appealed to buyers. Features that we see today like open margins left space for and encouraged “active annotation–a visible and tactile engagement of mind with page”, making books more interactive and personal, and in turn increased desirability and market value (Borsuk, 89). As the needs of the reader changed, the form of the book did as well. The printing press allowed for books to be standardized, mass produced, and more accessible for a widening audience of readers. However, this also made books products to be designed and sold, rather than rare, sacred objects only found in monasteries and universities. The new commercialized market for books, shaped by consumer demand “played a key role in the commodification of the book and in our changing perception of it as content rather than object” (Borsuk, 109). 

The Changing Methods of Creating the Book

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Somehow, I feel that our obsession with the ideas within books restricts us from our understanding of them as commodity. As Borsuk illustrates in chapter 2 of The Book, the actual item of a book gradually morphed from something hand-done by scribes to production on an industrialized scale. Sandcasting has been done since ancient times, and in the renaissance it was utilized to form fonts, you had pressmen organizing and creating spreads of pages. This was a sector of the economies of the times that must have employed a large percentage of the working populace as literacy rates increased and the demand for books became something ravenous.

What really captured me was the realization that these early books were often created without covers. Borsuk writes that prior to “the nineteenth century, the cover [was] certainly part of the codex, but it [was] not, in fact, part of the book,” and the cover was only affixed to the pages as customers ordered books and publishers bound them once the purchase was made (74-76). I think many bibliophiles can conjure up the dream image of their own library, each book on the shelves bound in matching leather covers, as the aristocracy of prior centuries once did. As the book became a more widespread commodity, this fell largely by the wayside, though there are some contemporary bookbinders that will create wonderfully decorated bindings for the pages of your favorite book, like McCall. However, this practice has become a boutique niche well off the beaten path for most readers.

It’s hard to look at any of this and not think of the fears that must have arose from the workers in these sectors, as type became easier to create and set, as the pressing of pages became automated, as covers and bindings became cheaper to produce or changed in some way, these workers must have been terribly worried about the security of their jobs and the livelihoods of their families. I think in no small way that this mirrors many of the same fears we have today with the rise of digitization and the exponential expanse of AI in our world. What will become of us? What are we to do?

If we look to the book and its manufacture, I think there should be some answers that lay to rest the fears many in society now have in regard to this. As the creation of books changed with the values of consumers, so too did the industry. While at one time, bookbinders might have been employed in the thousands, it is now largely automated and a few have continued the practice. I think that the book, and knowledge, or humanity in general, will follow much the same path. The way we arrive to its end might be ever shifting, but there will always be a need for the human hand to mark the world in some way. It might be tempting to agonize over the looming iRobot or Wall-E end of civilization, but given the tenacity of mankind, this is terribly unlikely. As bookbinders faded from the forefront, artists took up the mantle, creating the wonderfully decorated covers we see today. As readers once relied on a few authors to create the vast majority of content, now there are an uncountable number of those laying words to paper. There is an ebb and a flow to all things. I think that no matter how our perceptions or stereotypes of it might shift, the book will always be.