Fighting words

The Spectator, 6 November 1852:

Five publishers were yesterday summoned by Mr. Panizzi for the non-delivery of books at the British Museum. They were all convicted and fined. Mr. H. G. Bohn was one of them. He had not sent in a copy of Andrew Fuller's Works. There was a rather warm scene in court between the librarian and the publisher. Mr. Bohn contended, that a courteous intimation that the book had not been sent would have insured its being sent with an apology for the oversight: that was the course followed by Mr. Panizzi's predecessor. Mr. Bohn further said, it was well known that he sent his books to the Museum, yet it constantly happened that his friends could not find them. Mr. Panizzi (very warmly)— "That's untrue, and you know it." Mr. Bohn— "I know that I have applied for one of my books myself, without being able to get it." Mr. Panizzi— "What book? Name any book." Mr. Bohn— "Why, Schiller's Works, for one, I remember." Mr. Panizzi— "It is false. You shall not make such a charge in public."

The Pleasures of Drabness

As a rule I'm a sucker for loud, garish colors, the more the merrier, but the images below celebrate the lost, enforced virtues of tight publishing budgets, matte stock, and limited color palettes. (And also of age, dirty fingerprints, and exposure to sunlight.)


The best American literary magazine of the 1920s, the Dial was home to Pound, Eliot, Yeats, Amy Lowell, E. E. Cummings, D. H. Lawrence and just about every other major American and English modernist. The design is a bit formal, in keeping with its highbrow tone.


Twice a Year, a hefty hardbound journal, had a run of several years in the 1940s.


A postwar Schocken edition of Kafka. Beneath the jacket the book itself was green, with a nice title stamp on the spine. I think Schocken's other Kafka titles from the same period probably shared the same design.



The Pantheon edition of one of Flann O'Brien's best books, erroneously dated 1940 but actually published several years later. I'm not sure whether the typographic arrangement on the front cover was supposed to suggest bird's feet.


A slender Irish periodical, with a nice woodcut. Here's the advertising on the back:


Below is another Irish pamphlet, front and back. The Dolmen Press was a highly regarded printer active for more than thirty-five years.



Finally, I imagine the name of this periodical, which had a brief run in the 1970s, was meant to allude to the better-known Poetry. The editor or editors responsible for its creation are uncredited within.

Ancient Tales & Folk-Lore of Japan

This is way out of my price range, but what a gorgeous book this must be. "A great thick book of folk tales, illustrated with 62 full page color plates. Bound in grey cloth boards, illustrated in gold and black of a moon light and flower scene." Written by R. Gordon Smith and published by A. & C. Black in 1908, it's being offered for sale through ABE by Alcuin Books, as part of their promotion, 30 More Old Books Worth Buying For the Cover Alone. The spine lettering appears to be embossed, and the lettering on the cover may be raised.

There's an inexpensive reprint edition available as well, so I guess I'll settle for that.

The Goblin Snob

I don't really know what to make of this rather odd book, which was published in 1855 or thereabouts and which is, like its creator Henry Louis Stephens, now solidly obscure. I have reproduced below the opening pages plus a handful of engravings from the early part of the book. Click through the images for a clearer view.








The text of the poem alternates with the artwork, and the whole thing runs to 96 pages. The poem's hero is a boy who seems to be made of rubber, which is why he is called "Coo-chook" (from "caoutchouc," a now disused term that must be one of the very few Tupi-derived words in English).






The Mephistophelian fellow springing up from the coal-hole is the Goblin Snob himself, who turns up to provoke mayhem at various points in the boy's career.










In the end poor Coo-chook is given up for dead but revives, while the Goblin Snob becomes a Peer of the Realm. The whole thing is probably satirical, though satirical of exactly what no longer seems clear. I'm afraid these scans leave a bit to be desired but I hope they give a least a sense of Stephens's curious comic artistry.

Bud Bloom Poetry and 50 Watts have illustrations and text of another Stephens work, Death and Burial of Poor Cock Robin.

Update (August 2020): A tattered copy of the book has turned up on eBay including the pictorial cover below, which my copy lacks and which I've not seen before.