![]() In the absence of truly authoritative, “authorized” copies, Shakespeare’s exact authorial intentions at times must be negotiated between competing texts.Ĭertainly, there is also much more to early printing than just text. The fact is that it seems all printings of these plays were subject to certain difficulties: Heminge and Condell themselves had to cobble together their “true” versions from a combination of memory and the piecemeal collation of scattered surviving scripts. Consider, for example, cases where the earlier quarto version simply makes more sense than the later folio. But the question of “legitimacy” remains difficult. Those who brought out the first folio editions insisted that these earlier quartos were illegitimate, and of dubious provenance, whereas their 1623 editions were truer to what Shakespeare actually wrote.Ī comparison of a few of the different versions – which was possible for me at RBS – does indeed show serious differences between the different formats, even in the titles of individual plays in some cases. Many of us are familiar with the 1623 and subsequent printings (in large folio), published, as Jaggard (publisher) and Heminge and Condell (actors and posthumous editors) would have it, “according to the true originall copies.” Fewer think much about the earlier printed versions of the plays, which were printed in the smaller quarto format. In either case, one wonders what was happening in the print shop.Īn even better example of this “hidden” life of printed books is evident in the early editions of Shakespeare’s plays. For example, what does it mean if the pages of a book are partially out of order? Since books were printed in standard page arrangements depending on size (2), pages in the wrong order could mean either sloppy arrangement of plates or sloppy folding of sheets. However, actually examining these materials has prompted me to realize how important and how fascinating these “slight” differences can be.ĭifferences between printings – mistakes, for example – can actually provide a rare point of entry into appreciating the in-situ life of a book as it was printed, which offers us insight into the living human component of early book production. I have always had a dim awareness that, like hand-copied texts, early printed books must have certain slight differences between them even when they are printings of the same book. One truth that has really seized me is the irreality of the notion of “copy” when it comes to books printed by hand. Vital as content is, I realize that I have spent relatively little time giving serious consideration to the material aspects of the books with which I come into contact. ![]() Traditionally – and perhaps this is a fault in someone who is supposed to be a librarian and a devotee of archaic texts – I have been a narrowly content-focused reader. I find that what this week seems to have sparked in me most generally is a rather different way of thinking about how I interact with books. ![]() Though courses only run for five days, RBS offers them throughout the summer both at the UVA headquarters and at Yale (which, of course, is home to its own extensive special collections). It was a packed five days: stimulating lectures demonstrations of type founding, composing, and printing – including my own use of a hand-press to print my own small octavo (8 leaf) booklet and hours of time spent in the world-class special collections of UVA (which boast, among many other rare incunables, two printings of the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili, a dazzlingly bizarre, 15th-century rendition of a shady monk’s (1) lovesick dream written in a turgid mix of coined Latin, Greek, and Italian, and filled with unusual (and frequently suggestive) woodcut illustrations).Ĭlass sizes are kept intentionally small – about 12 students are admitted to each – and each course focuses on its own set of themes, which range from preservation to bibliography to typography to history. Last week, I had the chance to attend RBS, where I took a course on the early history of printed books in Europe. (It is also not restricted to librarians.) It is, simply put, a unique opportunity to delve into what might be called book archaeology. RBS, a well-known program which operates out of the Alderman Library at the University of Virginia, is much more than that. ![]() Some people call it “summer camp for librarians.” I would never use this phrase to describe Rare Book School, and not only because I have way too much style to do so. ![]()
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