Bibliophemera

  Poor William M. Stuart. He must have had high hopes for his book manuscript when he sent it to Bobbs-Merrill for publishing consideration in 1927. He had four questions in his accompanying letter for which he sought constructive feedback: 1. Does the sex interest hurt it? 2. Is the history stressed too much? 3. Does the "double" motif hurt it? 4. Is it well written? The letter and manuscript found their way to Anne Johnston, likely an editor at some level in the publishing firm. She began with a polite response that seemed headed for a graceful exit without having to critique Mr. Stuart’s writing. She even indicated there was no problem with the first three questions. But her response to the fourth question did not pull any punches: “I’m afraid I must confess—as it seems to me--the most striking defect in your work is the style, which is simply not that of the craftsman. This won’t give you any help, I know, and I’m sorry. I haven’t anything to suggest, either, except study...

Conrad Witter was a prominent St. Louis publisher of German language educational books in the late 19th to early 20th century. Some of his books found their way to a German community in Texas in 1912, as indicated on this billhead, less than a decade before their use for instruction in public schools was outlawed. Actually, in 1909, three years before this order was placed, the Texas legislature passed a law mandating English as the primary language of instruction in public schools. Rural schools whose teachers taught a bilingual curriculum with the primary language being German, carried on as usual despite the law. Enforcement was problematic in the rural farming communities and the schools themselves may have been funded by their communities, creating a loophole in the law meant for public schools.  Germans began immigrating to Paige, Texas and the surrounding communities in Bastrop County and Central Texas before the Civil War. After the Civil War, German immigration experienced...

On the surface of this document, you see nothing about books and important literature. It’s a letter from a Mexican diplomat in Mexico City in 1910 to another Mexican diplomat serving in La Paz, Bolivia. But scratch beneath the surface and you will discover an important figure in Mexican letters—Federico Gamboa (1864–1939), the father of literary naturalism in Mexico.   While this letter to the Consul General of Mexico in La Paz, Bolivia provides a window into Gamboa’s diplomatic service to Mexico as Undersecretary of Foreign Affairs during the Porfiriato era (1876-1911), it also provides window into Mexican literary history, complete with an autograph from the author of the classic 1903 Mexican novel Santa . Santa is the tragic tale of a country girl trying to survive in Mexico City against the backdrop of harsh social conditions in pre-revolutionary Mexico during the administration Gamboa served as a diplomat. Cast out by her conservative family in a rural village after ...

Well, this is never a good look for a book shop. Or any business. What looks like a corpse being wheeled out of Mary's Book Shop in Milwaukee in this 1966 press photo, is a book salesman who survived a gunshot wound inside the store. I suppose his face is covered for privacy. So what happened? Mary's Book Shop, a benign name that belied a second-hand book shop known for its inventory of left-wing political texts, and rare publications, was a gathering space for radicals, activists, and intellectuals in Milwaukee. It's owners, Fred and Mary Blair, were prominent members of the Communist Party in Wisconsin. That earned them the label of major communist bookstore by FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover. In November 1966, a troubled 17-year-old walked into Mary's Book Shop at 318 W. Juneau Avenue in Milwaukee, carrying a gun and hell-bent on killing a communist (as he would later tell police). Fred Blair was in his sights, but a traveling book salesman, Ralph Sacks, happened to ...

Here is an elaborately illustrated Victorian trade card for bookseller Samuel J.W. Reynolds (or S.J.W. Reynolds) of Cooperstown, New York. I stumbled across it in my collection today and remembered blogging about it years ago—15 as it turns out. I thought I’d lost it! It’s one of my favorite items and deserves an upgrade in both the writing and imaging departments. I don’t recall having a scanner at the time and did the best I could with a cheap digital camera for the images. The die-cut card conveys an image, rich in colorful, busy detail, appropriately in the shape of a book. The binding of that book provides the business vitals, while the cover invokes an imaginative scene of mischievous elves at play while the owner's away. Actually, he's just returned and caught them in the act. See him in the upper-right corner of the card peering in from the doorway behind a slightly opened door. There is actually a method to the madness of the chaotic scene as it provides additional a...

This billhead from 1951 is from the Carnegie Book Shop, one of Midtown Manhattan's premier antiquarian booksellers during the 20th century. During the shop’s lifetime, it specialized in first editions, fine bindings, standard sets, rare autographs, historical documents, and manuscripts. The customer’s purchase reflects an example of the shop’s inventory with the notation  Burns , likely referring to the works of the famous Scottish poet Robert Burns. The volumes were priced at $3.75 and $3.00, bringing the total order to $6.75, or $80 in today’s dollars. The shop's address on the bill, 140 East 59th Street, was across the street from Bloomingdale’s in a Midtown hub for high-end dealers for much of the 1900s. David Kirschenbaum, the book shop's proprietor, was a legendary figure in the New York rare book trade. He operated the Carnegie Book Shop for the majority of the 20th century. Kirschenbaum opened for business in 1928 on West 57th Street next door to Car...