Philobiblon

From Printing and Parenting in Early Modern England, DA Brooks (ed) Ashgate, 2005.

For writers and critics who bemoan the commercialisation of the literary world: “Andrea Alciati is usually given credit for ‘inventing’ the emblem in his Emblemata (1531), but in fact, as Rosalie Colie astutely notes, Alciati ‘began simply by combining two short forms, adage with epigram: it was his publisher [Heinrich Steyner] who conceived the idea of adding figures, or woodcut pictures’ in order to make the text more accessible, and thus more marketable.” p. 198
(The “first English emblem book” is credited to Geoffrey Whitney, sister of Isabella.)

Print as a corrective to manuscript:
“Abraham Fraunce prefaces one of his books with a dedicatory epistle, explaining that he was forced to publish the work himself because it had been so terribly distorted by manuscript circulation … the heroine of his story is figured as the reader of the book, who would prefer an accurate text of her lover.” p. 202

This blog and others have previously had interesting discussions about “monstrous births”. This collection has an article about them, including an interesting predecessor in Martin Luther’s writings which “included two woodcuts depicting a ‘monk-calf’ and a ‘pope-ass’ in a 1523 pamphlet whose features were meant to suggest, by analogy, the monstrosity of the papacy.” p. 228

The origin of the “red letter days”
In almanacs that used red ink “to announce feast days, commemorated the anniversary of the monarch’s birth or accession to the throne, noted the shift from first quarter to full moon, marked the start of the four legal terms and ‘dogdayes ende'” p. 239

There’s also a article on the annotations on Anne Clifford’s copy of A Mirror for Magistrates, which gives a fascinating insight into the persona of a scribe of the time …
“There are at least three hands discernible in the marginalia. The principal one … that of Clifford’s secretary William Watkinson, whom she refers to as her ‘chief writer’ during the last years of her life … She dictated the diary to him, as she dictated most of the marginalia. And like a true Renaissance secretary, Watkinson wrote in whatever persona was required. For some narratives, the heading he provides takes the form ‘This was read to your ladyship on such a date at such a place’; some are headed, ‘This your ladyship read over yourself on such a date,’; but in some, Watkinson disappears, and the heading reads ‘This I read myself on such a date’ and even ‘This was read over to me on such a date’ – Watkinson’s mistress at these moments speaks through him, just as she does when he writes her correspondence in the first person.

But there is a second hand which also writes ‘This I read on such a date’, a rather shaky italic hand. This hand also makes more personal comments, noting particular passages for emphasis or praise: ‘A good verse’; ‘Marke this’. This is Clifford’s own hand; she was taught the italic that ladies used, and in her youth it was a careful, very controlled hand … By the age of 80 she had less control over it, and in a few places seems to require help in completing her marginalia .. which she gets not from Watkinson, but from someone with a less professional scribal hand. The personae throughout the book shade into each other as Clifford’s sense of herself incorporates her servants, and as they ventriloquize her voice.” p. 275-77

There is in that passage, I think, something very deeply significant about the different nature of identity then – at least perhaps of aristocratic identity.

My latest blood donor magazine has some doozies:

* Claret-coloured blood suggests haemoglobin may be leaking from the red cells, a natural process of aging. (So you get less blue-blooded with age?)

* If you had a fatty meal the night before your blood might be pinkish – probably not good if you’re trying to impress the nurse!

* Some oral contraceptives turn your plasma bright green (no they don’t say which ones), while self-tanning pills can make it flourescent orange.

So does this mean you glow in the dark?

* Downward social mobility in China: a Ming dynasty mansion sees probably the last generation of its builders’ family. I think of travelling around Xian 10 years ago. The roads were all blocked with building materials for new houses. In the countryside at least, it is probably still another generation before the Chinese start treasuring and restoring such treasures.

* The media is still hounding Joanne Lees. She was the victim of a terrifying attack, showed great courage to escape and save herself, knowing her partner had been killed. And yet you still get ridiculous headlines like this, “jury still out”. NO IT ISN’T. A Northern Territory jury, who knows its own very well, has found that Bradley Murdoch killed her boyfriend and subjected her to the ordeal she described. A judge made it VERY clear he believed her. Yet on Monday coming out is a book questioning the verdict. Pure sensationalism – but then you learn it is from a Daily Mail journalist – so a good dose of misogyny mixed in too.

* Turkey is teetering on the brink of what could be an enormous step: Could it really become part of the EU? (What a wonderful thing that would be if that happened – a great blow to the “clash of civilisations” thesis.) But as the trial of Orhan Pamuk shows it still has a long way to go.

* American tactics in Iraq: “A 30-year-old Oxford graduate with no public relations experience has been handed a $100m contract by the Pentagon – to plant false stories in Iraqi papers.” So, that’s what you call encouraging democracy?

* Finally, the death of a brave man. This was the only story I found identifying a teacher killed in Afghanistan for daring to ignore Taliban threats to stop him educating girls. He is recorded by the single name Laghmani. You can only hope, perhaps against hope, that another teacher will step up to take his place.

The deadline for guaranteed consideration for the 5th Carnival of Feminists, which will be on Scribbling Woman is tomorrow night (the 17th). Nominate early, nominate often ….!

And if you could help to spread the word that would be most appreciated.

Nominations should be sent to jones at unbsj dot ca

“I loved his willy. I really loved his willy.” This is not the sort of audience reaction you expect to hear outside a staging of an ancient Greek play, but the new show at the Arcola Theatre is Aristophanes, and Lysistrata, and a Lysistrata far closer in intent to the original than the po-faced American translation (Douglass Parker’s) sitting on my shelf in which the introduction proclaims the play is about “Love Achieved”.

Of course it is not about love, but sex, and women exercising the power of their bodies to achieve the highest of goals, peace. So the four-foot-long flourescent tubes rising, and rising, and rising, from the groins of the magistrate, the Spartan amassador and Kinesias are entirely explicit in their meaning, and the actors, and the text, have no problems with that.

To an ancient Greek audience this was ludicrous fooling, but today it has a more serious meaning. The young women in the audience were cheering on Lysistrata (a powerful performance by Tanya Moodie) all of the way, as she dominated the play, and the men – this is girl power for the Naughties, and a far more admirable model than that offered by the Spice Girls in the 1990s. READ MORE

There’s a curious conundrum at the heart of Britain’s National Portrait Gallery. The institution collects people, as recorded by art. So as you walk around the rooms, are you looking at historic individuals, or at paintings?

These are certainly not “the best” paintings in British history; they can (by definition at least) be found next door in the National Gallery. (The strong presence of Sir Peter Lely here, and his total absence in the rooms overlooking Leicester Square demonstrate that.) Yet these are not (mostly) a photographic record, rather an image that is a blend of what the artist saw and (usually) what the sitter wanted him to see.

Yet somehow, these two sides of the galleries do come together. When I pick out my “favourite women of the NPG” I am looking at the paintings – these are the faces that through which I can find something of the woman behind them, and I like what I find. A little research reveals, however, that they were also great characters, with real achievements to their credit. Somehow you can identify, even from a flattering, fashionable portrait, those who were more than a vapid aristocrat or a lucky courtesan.

This listing is by date, which also conveniently makes a trail through the gallery, starting at the top floor and working down. It is entirely personal – by all means add your own favourites in the comments.

Mary Neville, Lady Dacre (1524-c.1576), painted by Hans Eworth, probably early in the reign of Elizabeth I, after she had succeeded in having the family title restored to her son, after her husband had been executed. Statuesque might be the polite adjective for Lady Dacre; she’s painted with one double chin, which probably meant she had several. Her lush auburn hair is tightly combed behind a lavishly pearled, black velvet head-dress. She looks stern and formidable, but satisfied, like a woman who has achieved her life’s work. A short biography. (Gallery 2) READ MORE