The Old Bodleian is very full, so they have been working on the New Bodleian for some time. He smiles, and explains what I already knew, but it’s a cool, potentially devastating, story. This expert comes in and we shake hands and I explain that I have engaged in a very embarrassing academic breech of etiquette but I am traveling from Canada and would like to view C.S. Lewis expert, whose name I have forgotten but who I recognized. I explain that I have engaged in a very embarrassing academic breech of etiquette but I am traveling from Canada and would like to view C.S. I take a breath and walk into the Rare Books and Manuscripts Reading Room. She smiles wanly at me and suggests I speak to a gentleman in the Rare Books and Manuscripts Reading Room. “They aren’t supposed to say that.”įinally I enter the Reading Room, where I explain to a young librarian who looks as nervous as I do that I have engaged in a very embarrassing academic breech of etiquette but I am traveling from Canada and would like to view C.S. “Just press whatever you like,” a man with a rolling chair said. I enter the lift, and all the buttons say “staff only.” I stare at the buttons then look at the strangers in the elevator. Me: Oh, just that 18 th century neoclassical tower in the Bodleian that houses one of the greatest science libraries in the world? Porter: But I did work at the Radcliffe Camera all my life. Porter: Oh no, just a volunteer pulled out of retirement. Me: You’re not really the master of the library or something? We are chatting away, and then I speak awkwardly, as I often do: I am given a welcome packet, three different people check my ID, and one porter finally directs me to the lift (British for “elevator”). A kind porter sees my pale face and directs me to a locker room where I leave my bag-after getting change, believe it or not, from Blackwell’s historic bookstore!-check my bag, put my laptop and journal in a large Ziploc bag, and move forward. If the sheer confusion of my arrival, and scholars in robes darting between ancient buildings with spires to the sky were not enough, I open the glass doors and am met by twenty people in suits and hardhats, clearly celebrating. With great fear I walk up the dusty ramp to the New Bodleian. I have held my breath now for twenty minutes, so I breathe in the early Oxford air. Then she directs me to the New Bodleian Library, a medieval building being updated to house the rare books and manuscripts. I swear an oath not to write in books, or burn the library down, or smoke in the library-C.S. I have all the paperwork properly in hand, though I put “Brenton” for surname and “Dickieson” for given name like a dufus (Canadian for “idiot”). I convince her to give me the reader’s card, which at least my son will think is interesting. We are moving buildings this week and I have not heard if the Reading Room is even open. Registrar: Otherwise I’m not sure I can help you. Registrar: And you have ordered your material a few days ahead of time? I’m sure then that you have reserved a place in the Reading Room? I’m here to register for a reader’s card. Me (trying not to throw up, which is always unimpressive): Good morning. I finally gain entrance to the registrar. I find my way to admissions and stand in queue (British for “line”) in front of four scholars dressed far more professionally than I am. I have to go to the Clarendon Building-think the press-but it is not named. The attached quadrant has named each of its doorways in Latin: Schola Grammaticae et Historiae and Schola Naturalis Philosophiae. There were bindings with covers made with tortoise shell, ornate beading and embroidery, among other unique bindings.I arrive early to the Bodleian library in Oxford, very nervous and quite intimidated. I’ll post some of these beautiful bindings here. This gentleman had been making digital photographs of unique bindings in their collection and making those available online. Quaritch, the famed antiquarian bookshop we had visited earlier in our trip to London, sponsors a research assistant at the Bodleian. The tooling and leather work on this binding was exquisite. She signed each binding with her initials. We also saw bindings by Sybil Pye, a woman who was a self-taught binder. Imagine what it would have been like to be a woman publisher and printer in the 16th century! A few years later when she came into her own, she switched to her own mark. One copy of a book produced by her shows her husband’s printer’s mark (unicorns). She was a widow who took over her husband’s printing business. There was a book by French 16th century woman publisher and printer, Yolande Bonhomme.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Details
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |