Cataloguing our Children’s Literature Collection

Most of us can trace our love of books to childhood, those formative years in which our imaginations were rampant and our curiosity unquenchable.

Over the course of the last year, I’ve catalogued our Children’s Literature Collection, amounting to 267 books and pamphlets, now readily available to view on our catalogue and consult in our reading room.

The collection is eclectic in terms of language, genre and aesthetics, including titles in English, German and French, and encapsulating a variety of print technology and literary innovation. The first item I catalogued in the collection dates to 1841, and is notable both for its female authorship and for featuring a disenfranchised heroine: Susan Carter, the orphan girl by Mrs Matthew Plummer. The book must have been popular, for our copy is a fifth edition, and the subject had been increasingly in the public consciousness since the founding of the Foundling Hospital a hundred years earlier. Stories of character overcoming circumstance reoccur throughout the collection, and give canonical context to more famous orphan narratives like those of Oliver Twist and Peter Pan.

Image of the title page and frontispiece for Susan Carter, the orphan girl.

Mrs Matthew Plummer, Susan Carter, the orphan girl (1841). Children’s Literature Collection.

Other earlier women writers are also represented in the collection, notably Hannah More (1745-1833) and Maria Edgeworth (1768-1849). Moralists and educationalists, More and Edgeworth wrote conduct literature, that is stories that revolve around virtue rewarded, deeply grounded in Christian ethics. For them, the purpose of children’s literature was to educate more than entertain, and above all, establish moral literacy. The ultimate example of this must be our hieroglyphic Bibles, in which words are replaced with illustrations that prompt children to fill in the gaps in the text from memory and visual understanding. These abridged versions are strikingly similar despite being published across an eighty year gap, and feature a scripture quiz at the end.

Image of the scripture quiz at the end of the Hieroglyphick Bible of 1786.

Hieroglyphick Bible (1786). Children’s Literature Collection.

Image of the scripture quiz at the end of the Hieroglyphic Bible of 1866.

Hieroglyphic Bible (1866). Children’s Literature Collection

Illustration and novelty of form are frequent features of the collection, for children’s books have ever endeavoured to be visually striking and tactile. Indeed, some of the books are backed onto linen, a practice developed by Routledge in the 1860s, in order to be more durable in the less dextrous hands of small children. Other notable features include paper engineering in the form of pop-up books and books with volvelle frontispieces. Take this macabre and uncanny book, Les Grotesques, which evidences the growing popularity of freak shows in the late Victorian period. And this Grammar of general geography which contains a number of folded maps besides its rotating geographic clock.

Image of a pop-up page titled Le Petit Bob from Les grotesques, depicting a baby having a tantrum..

Les grotesques : en quatre tableaux (1881). Children’s Literature Collection.

Image of the title page and volvelle frontispiece from a grammar of general geography.

Richard Phillips, A grammar of general geography for the use of schools and young persons, with maps and engravings (1842). Children’s Literature Collection.

Whilst the collection consists primarily of fairly obscure works, there are some notable classics that are worth mentioning. The most bizarre of these is undoubtedly Struwwelpeter, a selection of cautionary tales derived from the German in which bad behaviour is met with gruesome consequences. It depicts the most shockingly obtuse attitudes to mental illness, including an anorexic that wastes away and a thumb-sucker whose thumbs are chopped by a gargantuan pair of tailor’s scissors. Hoffman’s story of the Scissor-man in particular finds frequent reference in popular culture, including this cartoon by Nicholas Garland.

Image of page from Struwwelpeter, which illustrates the scissor-man cutting off a boy's thumbs.

Heinrich Hoffmann, The English Struwwelpeter : or, pretty stories and funny pictures (1925). Children’s Literature Collection.

Image of a cartoon by Nicholas Garland, derived from the illustration in Struwwelpeter where a boy's thumbs are cut off by the scissor-man.

Nicholas Garland, “The door flew open, in he ran, The great, long, red-legg’d scissor-man …” (Struwwelpeter) (1987). British Cartoon Archive.

Another significant work in the collection is Edward Lear’s Book of nonsense, for it marks the departure in children’s literature of overt moralising, instead prioritising fancy, fun and foolery. Lear’s Nonsense books popularised the limerick poem and his wordsmithery is an obvious precursor to such playful writers as Lewis Carroll and Roald Dahl. I’ve picked a festive favourite for this blog post, where holly and folly result in melancholy.

Image of Edward Lear's limerick: There was an old lady whose folly induced her to sit in a holly; Whereupon, by a thorn her dress being torn, She quickly became melancholy.

Edward Lear, The book of nonsense. Children’s Literature Collection.

My ultimate favourites in the collection, however, are undoubtedly these coloured fairy books edited by Andrew Lang – or, more accurately, by his wife, Nora. They are significant for their international scope and their Art Nouveau illustrations that strongly associate the fairy tale with Medievalism.

Image of the front cover of the violet fairy book.

Andrew Lang, The violet fairy book (1901). Children’s Literature Collection.

Image of the front cover of the orange fairy book.

Andrew Lang, The orange fairy book (1906). Children’s Literature Collection.

If you are interested in seeing these or other books from the collection, simply place a reservation through Library Search or drop us an email: specialcollections@kent.ac.uk

Outreach with Special Collections and Archives – combatting loneliness and isolation

On Saturday 25th November we had the fantastic opportunity to participate in another book-making workshop led by Dr Stella Bolaki at Discovery Planet, Ramsgate, and share our collections with the local community and reach audiences we wouldn’t usually reach, notably children. The day became a creative celebration of individuality as well as bringing people together, and we were able to showcase collections which spoke to these themes – read on for more details!

With the arrival of pantomime season, this was prime time to explore the story of Cinderella, the classic rags to riches fairytale, in which the heroine moves from a state of loneliness to a sphere of belonging, by virtue of her individuality. Poor Cinders, she is maligned and mistreated by her family, and is made to work like a servant. However, her isolation is also what sets her apart, for she is the only one whom the glass slipper fits, and she consequently becomes the one and only girl with whom the Prince falls in love. Perrault’s classic 17th-century tale has notable predecessors and has itself been adapted over and over across forms as diverse as ballet and animation. We are lucky in our David Drummond Pantomime Collection to hold a variety of story-book versions as well as programmes and theatre paraphernalia relating to Cinderella. I find it fascinating to trace the aesthetic development of theatre programmes through history, from the single folded sheet war-time programmes that insist the show will go on even during air raids to the activity-filled bumper programmes of the 1990s aimed to keep children entertained with wordsearches, quizzes and spot-the-difference puzzles. The undisputed star however, was Roland Pym’s illustrated peepshow book of Cinderella, a beautiful feat of paper engineering that relates the story theatrically via a series of popup scenes that the reader peeps into.

Picture of the front cover of Roland Pym's Cinderella, depicting the heroine in rags holding a broom.

Roland Pym, Cinderella. David Drummond Pantomime Collection.

Picture of Roland Pym's Cinderella, a peepshow book open to display the finale scene where Cinderella reclaims her glass slipper.

Roland Pym, Cinderella. David Drummond Pantomime Collection

Another inspirational figure in our collections is undoubtedly Josie Long, who started performing stand up comedy at the age of sixteen and owned her own comedy club in Camden called ‘The Lost Treasures of the Black Heart’. Josie incorporated a lot of audience participation in her stand-up, which has resulted in an eclectic collection including t-shirts, teddy bears, and even a shrivelled orange! On one occasion she asked her audience to envisage themselves as super heroes, draw an accompanying portrait and list their special traits and catch phrases, rather in the manner of a Top Trumps card. This was a great way to celebrate individuality within a collective environment. Another way Josie did this was by gathering audience submissions on the theme ‘favourite small thing’ and subsequently binding these unique – sometimes peculiar – thoughts into a zine of multiple voices.

Picture of an audience character drawing named mosquito-to, featuring a drawing and listing characteristics of strength, intelligence, charisma, speed, special move, and catchphrase.

Anon, Audience character drawing. British Stand-Up Comedy Archive – Josie Long Collection.

Image of the front cover of Josie Long's zine called favourite small things, featuring a photograph of a cat.

Josie Long, Favourite Small Things zine. British Stand-Up Comedy Archive – Josie Long Collection.

Similarly to Josie Long, Special Collections and Archives ran a collective project in 2018 with artist Dawn Cole, inviting individual submissions to participate in an act of national remembrance, on the occasion of the centenary celebrations of the Armistice. The submissions consisted of personal diaries about the individual’s day on 11 November 2018, many incorporating photographs, illustrations, collage and poetry. What I consider particularly special about the collection that ensued, is the capturing of children’s voices.

Picture of the front cover of Kaya Clark's diary, featuring her drawing of a cross with poppies, and titled we will remember them.

Kaya Clark, We will remember them. Diaries of the Here and Now.

Picture of Ben Thurston's untitled diary, open at a page which features a drawing of a clock showing the time of 11am, with a descriptive sentence stating 'we did the two minute silence. It made me feel sad.'

Ben Thurston, Untitled. Diaries of the Here and Now.

Having catalogued our Children’s Literature Collection this year, I have been fascinated by the way in which they differ from other books in terms of their intended audience. Whilst reading is usually an isolated activity, children’s books in particular seem intended to be read together. This is often how children first encounter stories (by having them read aloud) and how they learn to read (by reciting from the page to an adult). Illustrated books help children to follow a story before they can read and some books insert images or symbols into the text to act as prompts, for instance, our hieroglyphic Bibles. These examples date to 1786 and 1866 respectively, but remain almost identical in format, with an abridged text at the bottom of each page in order to supplement the hieroglyphic versions intended to support literacy and, obviously, spiritual development in the committing of key Biblical verses to memory.

Image of a hieroglyphic Bible, open at the start of Genesis, featuring symbols inserted into the text.

Hieroglyphic Bible, 1786. Children’s Literature Collection.

 

Image of a hieroglyphic Bible, open at the start of Genesis, featuring symbols inserted into the text.

Hieroglyphic Bible, 1866. Children’s Literature Collection.

Alphabet books also connect letters and sounds with pictures, and we are lucky to hold a variety of facsimile versions in Special Collections and Archives that also show the innovative forms books can take, from teeny-tiny treasures that fit in your palm to concertina books that fold out dramatically. These examples show the vastly different aesthetic styles that bookend the nineteenth century, from satirical caricaturist George Cruikshank to sentimental children’s book illustrator Kate Greenaway.

Image of the front cover of Kate Greenaway's alphabet, showing an illustration of a mother and child engaged in reading together. The book sits in the palm of a hand and measures 7cm.

Kate Greenaway’s Alphabet. Children’s Literature Collection.

Image of A comic alphabet, which is a concertina book, extended.

George Cruikshank, A comic alphabet. British Cartoon Archive Library.

Of course the most innovative books that we hold are from our Prescriptions Artist Books Collection, which toy with the nature of what a book can be and how it can be read. From texts composed of textiles to scrolls wrapped around syringes, from manipulated books to feats of origametry, this collection forms artistic responses to physical and mental illness, and many deal with the emotion of loneliness and experience of isolation. Two particularly moving examples are Sally Chinea’s What do I do now you’r gone and Karen Apps’ Losing Touch, that speak respectively of grief and abandonment. Sally Chinea’s work of delicate voile cubes that piece together a portrait tells the story of a very personal friendship and constitutes a tribute to Cindy March who died of breast cancer in 2015. Karen Apps’ work is inspired by the Foundling Museum and documents the separation of mother and child, using a carved piece of soap as a metaphor for the erosion of that maternal bond. It also, like the story of Cinderella, celebrates the story of the orphan, and inspires us to consider how our individuality can become our strength.

Image of voile cubes within a cylindrical box, which forms Sally Chinea's artist book, and shows a partial portrait of Cindy March

Sally Chinea, What do I do now you’r gone. Prescriptions Artist Books Collection

picture of Karen Apps' Losing Touch, which takes the form of a concertina book inserted into a box alongside a pair of white gloves and a partially eroded sculpted soap bar.

Karen Apps, Losing Touch. Prescriptions Artist Books Collection

Participants of the workshop were inspired by the collections to create their own books using a variety of techniques, from folding to stitching, and were brought together by crafting. They had the opportunity to create stories envisioning themselves as heroes, and many used the workshop to create a book as a gift for someone else. It is through these acts of self-empowerment and generosity that the workshop thus fulfilled its objective, and combatted isolation and loneliness in a genuine and hands on way.

Principal Players of the Long Eighteenth Century

In keeping with our Theatrical Thursdays theme on principal players, this post is dedicated to three eighteenth-century celebrities: Mary Robinson (1757-1800), Dorothea Jordan (1761-1816), and Sarah Siddons (1755-1831). All three make an appearance in our 1798 volume of The Lady’s Magazine which I’ve previously written about here as well as other theatrical works and women’s periodicals held in Special Collections and Archives. Women’s periodicals of this time are particularly fascinating for how they contributed to, and participated in, a growing consumer and celebrity culture. They were as much interested in what women did as what they wore – and we’re going to follow suit and explore both too.

By the time our copy of The Lady’s Magazine was published in 1798, Mary Robinson was destitute – financially and physically – having suffered a mysterious injury during a carriage ride that left her crippled. In her early twenties, she was an eighteenth-century Icarus, shooting to public attention as the Drury-Lane actress that captured the young Prince of Wales (later George IV), becoming his acknowledged mistress and taking her Shakespearean role of Perdita off-stage and off-script. She became a target for all sorts of media attention, from gossip columns to satirical prints. Also acknowledged, however, was her astonishing sense of style, which rivalled that of the Duchess of towering-plumes Devonshire – who was, incidentally, also her literary patron. Despite her tragically short life, her literary achievements number several novels, plays, poems and political tracts. In April 1798, The Lady’s Magazine printed ‘Farewell to Glenowen’ from the risqué novel Walsingham (1797), a story which charts the adventures of the cross-dressed heroine ‘Sir’ Sidney Aubrey. This deceit of dress was a popular plot device in the eighteenth century; irl, it was reserved principally for the stage, though aspersions were cast that Robinson assumed breeches during her dalliance with the Prince. She penned her own version of events in her Memoirs (1801), and Special Collections and Archives holds a late nineteenth-century copy filled with delicious details of her dresses, and illustrated with black and white plates (copies of portraits made during her lifetime). Fig. 1 gives a glimpse of early 1780s fashion, and Robinson is deliberately cultivating a domesticated look here with her pigeon-breasted fichu and mob-cap.

Image of Mary Robinson, the frontispiece to her Memoirs.

Fig. 1 Mary Robinson, Memoirs of Mary Robinson, “Perdita” (1894) – Reading-Rayner Theatre Collection (SPEC COLL SCRP 6.33)

Whilst Robinson is represented in The Lady’s Magazine principally as a poet, Dora Jordan and Sarah Siddons ranked amongst the most famous actresses of their day, and were respectively famed as the muses (aka queens) of Comedy and Tragedy. These lofty titles reflect the neo-classical flavour that came to characterise Regency culture, from the ionic columns in architecture to the elongated silhouettes of high-waisted muslins. Thalia (Comedy) and Melpomene (Tragedy) were, moreover,  positioned above the proscenium arch and thus part of the iconography of Drury Lane Theatre where Jordan and Siddons were seen to perform. What is interesting, however, is how these actresses’ titles became cemented through the press, and through women’s magazines in particular.

The Lady’s Magazine reported eagerly on London’s theatre scene throughout its run, giving regular accounts of new plays and comments on performers. The February issue for 1798 mentions Jordan in relation to Thomas Holcroft’s Knave or not, newly penned and produced at Drury Lane on 25th January that year. Unlike Mary Robinson, Dora Jordan survived the scandal of becoming a royal mistress – rather than a fling, she and the Duke of Clarence (later William IV) had a proper relationship; he became her protector, and by 1798 they’d had four children and were enjoying domestic harmony together at Bushy House. This stability perhaps enabled Jordan to keep up her industrious stagecraft and professional identity, and she never needed to pen memoirs to resuscitate a fallen reputation (despite the castigation she endured from the satirical press). Jordan was especially renowned for her singing voice and shapely legs, the latter discerned through her portfolio of breeches and travesty roles: Rosalind, Viola, Fidelia, Sir Harry Wildair, etc. The report of her performance in The Lady’s Magazine is complimentary in general, and emphasises the ‘commensurate applause’ she received. Jordan portrayed the character Susan Monrose, described as ‘an awkward but honest and sincere country girl.’ This part is designed to contrast with the ‘chaste, elegant, and pathetic’ part of sentimental heroine – Aurelia Rowland – played by Marie Thérèse Du Camp (who would, incidentally, become Sarah Siddons’ sister-in-law on marrying her actor-brother Charles Kemble in 1806).

The ‘country girl’ was a stock character of eighteenth-century comedy; she had a licence to flirt but stayed safely on the side of virtue – she was, in short, an incarnation of the comic muse. In the context of The Lady’s Magazine, ‘country girl’ is used as a shorthand that truncates Jordan’s theatrical repertoire into a single denomination – it ensures that this becomes the primary part-type for which she is known. Jordan made her London debut in 1785 playing the part of Miss Peggy, the titular heroine of David Garrick’s The Country Girl (1766) – an adaptation of William Wycherley’s The Country Wife, to whom copies are sometimes falsely ascribed (as is the case of the copy in Special Collections, see Fig. 2).

Frontispiece and title page of Wycherley's The country girl, featuring Dorothy Jordan as the country girl.

Fig. 2 William Wycherley, The country girl : a comedy (1791) – Classified Sequence (PR 3774.C6 WYC)

The image that graces this frontispiece is nearly identical to one that was published by The Lady’s Magazine which reported eagerly on Jordan’s first charismatic performance – omitting, in its imagery, the fact that this role, too, featured the adoption of breeches. Thirteen years later, the magazine uses the same terminology to describe the part Jordan plays as Susan Monrose. In doing so, The Lady’s Magazine self-consciously type-casts Jordan as a comedy actress and strengthens its own reputation for consistent and reliable journalism. When La Belle Assemblée published its own series of theatrical biographies in the early nineteenth century, it adapts a famous portrait by John Hoppner of Jordan in 1785 to accompany her memoir. (Fig. 3) The original painting depicted Jordan as the Comic Muse in company of Euphrosyne and a menacing satyr. La Belle Assemblée removes the accompanying characters and conflates Jordan with Euphrosyne in order to function as an illustration of her playing a theatrical part from John Milton’s Comus (1634). As the classical goddess of merriment, this is arguably another incarnation of the comic muse, simply the high-brow equivalent of the country girl. The magazine’s choice is therefore an act of editorial one-upmanship, supporting its own pretensions as much as securing Jordan’s status.

Plate from La belle assemblée, featuring Dora Jordan as Euphrosyne, and accompanying her biography..

Fig. 3 La Belle assemblée : being Bell’s court and fashionable magazine, addressed particularly to the ladies vol. 10 (Nov 1814) – Classified Sequence (PER AP 4.B31)

Plate from La belle assemblée featuring Sarah Siddons as the tragic muse, and accompanying her biography.

Fig. 4 La Belle assemblée : being Bell’s court and fashionable magazine, addressed particularly to the ladies vol. 5 (Feb 1812) – Classified Sequence (PER AP 4.B31)

In a neat fait accompli, La Belle Assemblée paired Siddons’ memoir with an engraving of Reynolds’ 1784 portrait of the actress as the tragic muse. (Fig. 4) It is an image designed entirely to evoke homage, and paeans to Siddons are common throughout the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century world of print. Siddons started her career on the provincial circuit before rising to fame in London in 1782 and cultivated a professional profile as maternal tragedienne. She was known to bring her children on stage with her, embodiments of her marital fidelity and mascots of virtue to stave off the satirical press. The Lady’s Magazine for 1798 offers an example of her extensive fandom, printing ‘Lines written on seeing Mrs. Siddons, as Mrs. Haller in “The Stranger,” Friday, 25th of May; and as Isabella, in “The Fatal Marriage,” Monday, 18th, 1798. By Capel Lofft, Esq.’ Mrs. Haller and Isabella were, indeed, two of Siddons’ most famous stage roles, both naturally tragic characters, and Special Collections holds theatrical works that give insight to Siddons’ performance of these parts and to Regency costuming as well. I want to finish this post with my favourite finds: Elizabeth Inchbald’s British Theatre (1806-8) and William Oxberry’s New English Drama (c. 1818-26). These series printed popular plays alongside illustrations and forewords that reflected contemporary productions, including those of The Stranger and Isabella; or, the fatal marriage. In comparing the two (Figs. 5-7) we can see an interesting contrast in theatrical wardrobes, from the white muslin of an unabashed Mrs. Haller to the Van-Dykd velvet of the swooning Isabella. The stage, of course, was (and always will be) a place where contemporary fashions and fanciful costumes vie with each other.

Plate of Sarah Siddons in the role of Mrs Haller, accompanying the play The Stranger, in Oxberry's edition of New English Drama.

Fig. 5 William Oxberry, ed. New English Drama (1806-1808) – Pettingell Collection (PETT BND.86(5))

Page detailing costume designs for The stranger to accompany the play in Oxberry's edition of New English Drama.

Fig. 6 William Oxberry, ed. New English Drama (1806-1808) – Pettingell Collection (PETT BND.86(5))

Frontispiece illustration to Isabella in Elizabeth Inchbald's The British theatre, volume 7.

Fig. 7 Elizabeth Inchbald, ed. The British theatre : or, A collection of plays, which are acted at the Theatres Royal, Drury Lane, Covent Garden, and Haymarket vol. 7 (1808) – Classified Sequence (PD 1269.B7)

The art of books continued…

When I was little, the favourite present I ever received, was a pretty pink diary, complete with lock and miniature key. Since this key doubled as a pendant one can easily see how such a gift appealed to my vanity. Nowadays, all my secret thoughts are worn on my sleeve; my diary just a scrapbook of places I’ve been. But the point of my rhyme is the lesson this taught me: that books are revered, treasured, and possessed materially.

It is undoubtedly a privilege to conduct outreach with Special Collections, and of course this requires transportation of items and their weight alone makes one appreciate the physicality of the book anew. Thus, when we showcase our Pre-1700 folios, we draw attention to the scale of the book as a status symbol as well as an indicator of early modern print technologies. Of course, the miniature book can be as fascinating as the grandest of tomes, as – for instance – our much-loved tiny rhyming bible, Verbum sempiternum, abridged in couplets by the Water Poet, John Taylor. Whilst we can’t possibly know for certain, I like to conjecture how this well-thumbed book could have been intended for daily meditative use, to be carried on one’s person at all times. Certainly, the biblical text is followed by prayers for morning and evening as if to suggest the applicability of reading it over the course of one day.

Image of Verbum sempiternum, open at page from Exodus, reading 'Grasshoppers, darkness, death of first-born men: these were th'Egyptian plagues, in number ten.'

John Taylor, Verbum sempiternum [1693]

Religious texts dominate the landscape of early modern print, but our collections also reveal how these texts have been subjects for decorative book-making and manipulation well into the present day. As I mentioned in my previous post, we took Sophie Adams’ Book of common prayer (2016) with us to the Art of Books workshops in Ramsgate, into which she has folded the word ‘Prozac’. What I missed saying was that we also took two further examples of religious texts that epitomise the idea that a book is also a treasury. This edition of Wesley’s hymns still has its original early-nineteenth-century clasped binding, which (however) is so tight it’s warped the book’s covers. And this Victorian book, Parables of our Lord, is a replica of medieval manuscript with a beautiful papier-maché cover that resembles Italian church doors as if to invite the reader to open the book as a means of unlocking sacred knowledge.

image of Wesley's hymns, showing clasped binding.

John Wesley. A collection of hymns, for the use of the people called Methodists (1809)

image of Parables of our Lord, showing pages that imitate medieval manuscript and the parable of the sower.

Parables of our Lord (1847)

Other artist books we showcased deliberately conflate text and textile, notably Alison Stewart’s Fabricback novel (2010) in which each page has been uniquely crafted out of textiles to both reveal and remove the communication barrier text presents to the dyslexic individual. And if textiles can be read as texts, so too can texts feature textiles in their composition. The earliest paper in books was made of linen rag. And consider this example from our Osborne facsimiles collection: The dog’s dinner party, the cover of which truthfully announces how versions ‘mounted on cloth’ were available at a steeper price so as to resist tearing in the uncoordinated clumsy hands of small children. Such untearable editions were widely available from the 1850s, and stemmed from a growing market for picture and toy books at the time.

Image of Fabricback novel, each page uniquely made using different textile techniques.

Alison Stewart, Fabricback novel (2010)

Image of the front cover of The dog's dinner party.

Harrison Weir, The dog’s dinner party (1981, facsimile)

Since the objective of our workshop was to encourage children (and adults) to have a go at making books for themselves, we also showcased a variety of Special Collections items featuring multi-media or otherwise diverting forms. Ryanairpithiplanium, for instance, is a small press poem that has been deliberately, subversively, produced in the form of a paper aeroplane. And Welcome to heck is an anonymously, multi-authored scrapbook diarising events on Remembrance Day, 2018, to celebrate the Armistice Centenary. Both examples, one professional and the other amateur, play with notions of what a book is and – I hope – encourage you to play at making books too! Check out these ideas by artist Tina Lyon for some simple instructions on paper-folding and book-binding and show us what you create!

Image of Ryanairpithiplanium, single sheet poem folded into a paper aeroplane.

Jeff Hilson and Tim Atkins, Ryanairpithiplanium (2014)

Image of example pages from Welcome to heck, with leaf and other sensory pieces pasted in.

Anon. Welcome to heck (2018)

The art of books

Display of artist books and other materials from Special Collections and Archives.

The art of the book (diverse examples from Special Collections and Archives).

For the book lover, the book is often comfort, adventure, escape, and home-coming all at once. There can be nothing as delicious as settling into a cosy armchair with a steaming mug of tea and lifting the book into one’s lap, opening the cover and absorbing oneself and one’s senses in turning, gazing, reading the pages and the words thereon. We would all likely recognise a book, we have grown up browsing the shelves in libraries and book shops, judging covers, considering blurbs, selecting the next read to suit our interests. Typically, we recognise a book as being a text-block of multiple pages, bound together, and protected by covers and sometimes dust-jackets. We know books can come in a variety of different shapes and sizes, and have different features such as illustrations, pull-outs, glossaries, or perhaps ribbons to serve as bookmarks. But it’s not often we realise the art of the book, the book as a work of art. Last week we visited Discovery Planet, Ramsgate, with Stella Bolaki from the School of English and Tina Lyons, a book artist, to explore this with our Prescriptions: Artist Books Collection and complementary items from the rest of Special Collections & Archives.

Image of The book of common prayer, the text-block folded to reveal the word 'Prozac'.

Sophia Adams, The book of common prayer (2016)

Image of Home, showing loose leaves of book in a random arrangement, revealing words 'me', 'go', home', 'you'.

Gemma Lacey, Home (2012)

Over the course of two workshops with a local Home Education Group and year 9s from The Royal Harbour Academy, as well as a free drop-in day for the public, we both engaged children and young people with questions of what makes a book, and helped them make one for themselves. It is always gratifying to find collections come to life in new conversations, and I was astounded by the intelligence and creativity with which these groups approached book forms never seen before. Sophie Adams’ Book of common prayer prompted conversations about the origins of print and the prevalence of religious literature during those early years when the technology was in its infancy, from the Gutenberg to the King James’ Bible. Besides that, it also showed how texts could be repurposed to have alternative meanings and highlighted how simple folds could change a book into something more sculptural and three-dimensional. Gemma Lacey’s Home fascinated people with its loose leaf format, for what happens to narrative linearity when a book is unbound?

Page from Arabesque 3, showing abstract shapes on fine tissue paper.

Randi Annie Strand, Arabesque 3 (2014)

One highlight for me was simply having time to sit with and interpret two of my favourites from the collection for myself: Randi Annie Strand’s Arabesque 3 and Martha Hall’s Tattoo. Having recently visited an exhibition of Arabic and Islamic art in the Re-Orientations exhibition at the Kunsthaus Zürich, Switzerland, I was immediately drawn to Strand’s geometric patterns that alternate as one turns the fine tissue pages of Arabesque 3, and the encounter offers a tangible metaphor of how one would treat a patient: with care, patience, delicacy. Martha Hall’s concertina Tattoo features inserted stitched booklets that narrate the artist’s own revised perceptions of tattoos, from something signally naval occupation or corroborating stereotypes of hyper-masculinity to something that is necessitated by certain medical treatments, such as radiation for cancer, and even evocative of inner female strength, as sported by women over mastectomies.

Image showing the concertina length of Tattoo, with needle inserted into front cover.

Martha Hall, Tattoo (2001)

Having introduced Special Collections & Archives, and welcomed groups to encounter these artist books for themselves, the workshops turned to making books: encouraging our young people to reflect both on the collections and their own stories and emotions as they folded, cut out, manipulated paper to craft books for themselves. On the Friday we were lucky to have book artist, Tina Lyons, with us, and she took us step-by-step through making a T-fold booklet as well as extended concertinas. (Check out her videos to have a go yourself!) On Saturday, Stella Bolaki led the groups and it was astonishing to see the diversity of approaches and creations that stemmed from her instructions. I have to give a special commendation to Leo and Libby for their mutual dedication and inspiration. Leo’s Art is an expression for his dad (just in time for Father’s Day) featured multiple sensory pages to signify, for instance, the satisfaction and confusion art can evoke. Libby was inspired by the form of Allison Cooke Brown’s Core sample, and – prompted by conversations regarding the status of the book as something special, even a gift – made a beautiful slip-case for her concertina book. We also had a variety of big books, little books, pop-up books, stitched books, handbag books, every book you could imagine. To close, I can only showcase a sample of what was made – enjoy!

A hand-made book with be-ribboned slip-case decorated with roses.

A hand-made book with slip-case.

A hand-made pop-up book, showing a character in a landscape, with a decorative frame.

A hand-made pop-up book.

A hand-made concertina book, with varied sensory pages.

A hand-made concertina sensory book.

A hand-made concertina book revealing a story of a surprise birthday party and the arrival of different guests.

A hand-made concertina picture-book.

A hand-made T-cut book, with lots of different images pasted inside in scrapbook fashion.

A hand-made T-cut book, titled ‘Art is an expression’.