The Scrapbooking Mentalist Here in the Rare Book and Special Collections Division we’re not ready to say goodbye to Halloween just yet. In keeping with our blog’s seasonally spooky focus for the month of October, let’s take a look at the curious collecting habits of one of magic’s earliest mental masters, Christian Andrew George Naeseth – more commonly known as C. A. George Newmann. Born in Minnesota in 1882, he began performing around the age of thirteen under the moniker Newmann the Boy Wonder. Newmann specialized in variations of blindfolded mental magic and quickly gained a devoted following. As his career advanced, he expanded his repertoire to include hypnotism and more elaborate mind reading tricks, leading to his adoption of the title Newmann the Great. However, his preferred title was Newmann the Pioneer Mentalist. Photograph of a young Newmann included in Newmann’s Magic Library. Minneapolis, Minnesota: C. A. George Newmann, 1945. Rare Book and Special Collections Division, Library of Congress. While there is much to be said about Newmann’s trailblazing career as a mentalist and hypnotist, today we’re focusing on George Newmann the collector. Or more specifically, the scrapbooker. Newmann’s career spanned more than forty years, and for much of that time he was an avid collector of texts on magic, conjuring, mentalism, and hypnotism. In 1945, Newmann proudly self-published a pamphlet titled Newmann’s Magic Library: America’s Most Comprehensive Collection on the Magic Arts. Plus Some Interesting Sidelights on the Collector By Many Noted Personalities of the Theatre, the Press, and in Magical Circles. Say that three times fast. There is much speculation, confusion, and lore surrounding Newmann’s library. But to make a long story short, Newmann seems to have inflated his library’s numbers with documented claims ranging from “5,145 volumes” to “over 7,500 publications” and even a boastful declaration that his library was “the largest collection in the Western hemisphere.” While no one disputed that he had a real collection (you can see for yourself thanks to a series of photographs included in Newmann’s Magic Library, shared below), the issue was that Newmann claimed to hold the most comprehensive magic library, and in particular, stated that he held some of the rarest and scarcest titles with little proof or ability to produce them when asked to do so. Photograph of Newmann’s collection, held in a rented storefront. Newmann’s Magic Library. Minneapolis, Minnesota: C. A. George Newmann, 1945. Rare Book and Special Collections Division, Library of Congress. Though no one is quite sure why he fibbed, author and magic historian James B. Alfredson seems to have landed on the best possible explanation: “Were he to have confined what he terms his magic library to the narrower definitions of some of his colleagues, he would have had a collection that nobody would be ashamed of, but he’d laid claim to something bigger and better, and once committed, he was too proud to back down.” And so, much like his performances, the complete truth has been obscured by Newmann. Nevertheless, he did have a keen eye for collecting, often taking a broad strokes approach by allowing for the inclusion of more ephemeral material. Here at the Library of Congress in the Rare Book and Special Collection Division’s McManus-Young Collection, we are lucky enough to hold what many believe to be Newmann’s true collecting legacy: a nearly complete run of his meticulously complied scrapbooks filled to the brim with this gathered magic ephemera. Another view of Newmann’s personal collection. Newmann’s Magic Library. Minneapolis, Minnesota: C. A. George Newmann, 1945. Rare Book and Special Collections Division, Library of Congress. In 1955, John J. and Hanna M. McManus and Morris N. and Chesley V. Young presented their magic collection to the Library of Congress. The McManus-Young Collection in the Rare Book and Special Collection Division primarily comprises published and printed material like rare volumes, pamphlets, and a vast selection of ephemera with a focus on topics like conjuring, spiritualism, witchcraft, gambling, fortune-telling, hypnotism, and mind reading. Newmann’s scrapbooks are some of the most visually compelling material among this 20,000 item collection. Title page layout in Newmann Scrapbook No. 86. McManus-Young Collection, Rare Book and Special Collections Division, Library of Congress. Newmann’s scrapbooking output was prolific and truly impressive considering his fulltime tour schedule — something he often comments on within the scrapbooks, as shown in the note in the image above which reads, “The compiler offers no apologies for lack of uniformity and slight typographical errors due to hasty typing while on a busy tour as an Entertainer.” The total and complete number of scrapbook volumes is unknown. The McManus-Young Collection holds No. 1 – 199, 201, 202, and 205 – 209. There are also 6 unnumbered Newmann scrapbooks. At the time of acquisition, several volumes were missing so in all, there are 197 numbered scrapbooks in the collection. Additional numbered scrapbooks are held in other institutional collections including scrapbooks No. 267 – 269 which are held in the Carl W. Jones Magic Collection at Princeton University’s Firestone Library. Assuming that Newmann didn’t skip around in his numbering of the scrapbooks, that leaves over 70 volumes potentially unaccounted for or perhaps held in private collections. The scrapbooks range in size from 4.5 x 7.5 inches to 10.5 x 15 inches, and are bound in a variety of materials including brown and red buckram, black leather, and cardstock boards printed with a faux wood grain. Topics include card tricks, gambling, hypnotism, mind reading, the occult, spiritualism, and everything in-between. The clippings within were gathered from newspapers, magazines, trade publications, and other serials, many that were likely difficult to track down at the time. Each scrapbook was a true labor of love as Newmann hand cut every clipping, carefully selected where to paste them down, and adorned the front (and back) cover with a clipping related to the scrapbook’s overall theme or topic. In addition to carefully compiling each book, Newmann arranged the information in a logical manner, indexed the articles into themes, typed up accompanying table of contents, and provided a detailed introduction to each scrapbook. Below is a selection of photos featuring some of my favorite covers, page designs, and clippings. The McManus-Young Collection is open for research. However, the Newmann Scrapbooks are currently uncatalogued and many are too fragile to serve in the Reading Room. For more information about access, please contact the Rare Book Reference Staff via Ask-a-Librarian. Sources and Further Reading: Alfredson, James B. (1989). Newmann The Pioneer Mentalist. Glenwood: David Meyer Magic Books. Beck, Leonard N. (1974). “Things Magical in the collections of the Rare Book and Special Collections Division.” Library of Congress Quarterly Journal, v. 31. Newmann, C. A. George. (1945). The Newmann Library: America’s Most Comprehensive Collection on the Magic Arts… Minneapolis: Self published. https://blogs.loc.gov/bibliomania/2026/11/04/the-scrapbooking-mentalist/ #newmann #georgenewmann #magiclibrary #specialcollections #collectionsdivision #rarebook #mentalist #georgenaeseth #andrewgeorge #minnesota #rss #feeds #linksharing #qwibbit

Death of the Magician: 100th Anniversary of Houdini’s Tragic Death Harry Houdini died 100 years ago this Halloween, the master magician shuffling off this mortal coil on Oct. 31, 1926, in a series of events that, like most of his sensational career, has always been seen in light and shadow, in plain sight but not entirely clear. He bequeathed his astonishing library — one of the world’s largest private collections of books on magic, witchcraft, demonology, spiritualism and psychic phenomena, about 4,000 books in all, going back to 1489 – to the Library of Congress, so that it would be readily available to the public, which it is! Drop by anytime; it’s in the Rare Book and Special Collections Division. There are also personal scrapbooks and the like. But his real final act — the Prestige, in the parlance — was that he died but never really disappeared. Harry Houdini, just before leaping into the Charles River in Boston, bound in chains and handcuffed. This April 30, 1908 event was one of his simpler escapes, but all of them drew crowds, eager to see if he could survive. Photo: John H. Thurston. Prints and Photographs Division. A century on, he remains a one-word incantation of mystery, of things that can’t quite be explained, as if he had just walked out of a weird tale by his buddy H.P. Lovecraft, the legendary horror master. There has always been a steady stream of movies, television shows, books, radio broadcasts, comics and documentaries about the man; there’s even Dua Lipa’s worldwide 2023 dance hit — “Houdini” — with the catch line “I’m not here for long/Catch me or I go Houdini.” “There’s just something about him,” says Amanda Zimmerman, the reference specialist who oversees the Houdini collection. “Somehow he keeps finding his way back into the popular mind.” He blew up in the age of vaudeville, of ragtime, a show-stopping marvel in a rural nation of cow-milkers and horse-riders, of immigrants pouring into port cities and sprawling metropolises, an America that gawked at the new inventions of electricity and lights and cars and telephones and planes flying overhead. Moving pictures were popping up in theaters alongside road shows and circus acts and every day there was always something incredible, something that had never happened before, happening on the next block, the next town over, if you could just get there in time to see it. And towering over them all was one man — all 5 feet, 5 inches of him — dangling upside down from a rope high in the air, chained, handcuffed, swathed in a straitjacket, looking down at thousands of mere mortals, necks craned, mouths gaping up at him. “Look at me!” he’d bellow from a riverfront dock, bound in iron chains and handcuffs, before leaping into water below, only to resurface, unbound, moments later. “Will wonders never cease?!” he’d call out from a stage, emerging from his exotic Chinese Water Torture Cell or escaping from a sealed milk can. Comic books were just one format in which the Houdini legend continued to thrive in pop culture. Serial and Government Publications Division. Photo: Shawn Miller. He had his own movie production company. He was the first person to fly an airplane in Australia. He sold out cinemas, theaters, auditoriums and outdoor venues, thousands of them across the nation and abroad. He was on front pages of newspapers, of magazines. “The great showman of our time by far,” said Will Rogers, his contemporary and a hugely popular entertainer himself. “We’re talking Michael Jackson, Prince, Springsteen, the Beatles, Elvis — bigger than Elvis,” bellowed Penn Jillette, the boisterous vocal half of the magician duo Penn & Teller in a visit to the Library’s Houdini collection in 2006. “This is Houdini.” Particularly after his mother’s death in 1913, Houdini began a crusade exposing spiritualists — people who said they could communicate one’s dead relatives — to be frauds. Here, he produced a double-exposure photo of himself and Abraham Lincoln to mock spirit photographs, a scam that had been going on decades. Prints and Photographs Division. Harry Houdini’s birth name was Erik Weisz, a Jewish kid born in Hungary on March 24, 1874, who then emigrated with his family four years later. He would falsely tell people for the rest of his life that he was born in the town where they settled: good old Appleton, Wisconsin. His dad was a scholarly rabbi who lost his job, putting the family into financial straits. Young Harry spoke with a slight German accent, was enthralled by magic and dived into it with the blazing intensity that would mark the rest of his life. By the time he was 19, he was calling himself Houdini, after the French magician Jean-Eugène Robert-Houdin, and billing himself as a prestidigitator (a ten-dollar word for a card trickster). “This book is one of the ‘early books’ in my library,” he wrote on the flyleaf of “Tricks with Cards,” by the magician Professor Hoffman, in 1916. “In those days it was my wont to go to Public Libraries — but this book I bot (sic). “It was a lot of money for me in those days — but Life’s pathway is not always best at the early mileage — though the early days were the happiest of my life.” Some 23 years after he bought this copy of “Tricks with Cards” in 1893, he penned this remembrance of when he bought it on an inside page. Rare Book and Special Collections Division. Photo: Shawn Miller. Here’s what he looked like up close: “Houdini is a short strong stocky man with small feet and a very large head,” wrote Edmund Wilson, the premier literary critic in the first half of the 20th century, in a 1925 profile. “Seen from the stage, his figure, with its short legs and its pugilist’s proportions, is less impressive than at close range, where the real dignity and force of his enormous head appear. Wide-browed and aquiline-nosed, with a cleanness and fitness almost military, he suggests one of those enlarged and idealized busts of Roman generals or consuls.” Lest you think this was throwing shade, Wilson gushed that Houdini’s stage performance was “a human skill or faculty earned to its furthest point, to a point where its feats seem incredible.” It all came to an end when he was just 52. No doubt you’ve heard that Houdini died because an overeager student came backstage at one of his shows and, seeking to test the strength of Houdini’s legendary abs, punched him in the gut before he was ready, thus rupturing his appendix and causing him to die nine days later. Houdini’s death was front-page news around the country. This Washington Times edition on Nov. 1, 1926, shows that the myth of his death being caused by a surprise punch in the stomach began as soon as he died. Chronicling America. Like a lot of things about Houdini, it’s partly true and partly false, writes author Adam Begley in his 2020 biography, “Houdini.” The punch was real, but an appendix rupturing due to blunt trauma is extremely rare — a recent medical survey found fewer than three dozen in millions of cases over nearly two decades, and this included car wrecks. It’s possible the punch could have aggravated a prior condition, Begley writes, but even so, Houdini could not possibly have lived for nine days with a ruptured appendix spreading a poisonous infection through his abdomen. (Three days is usually the outside limit of survival if untreated; septic shock and multi-organ failure set in.) Houdini’s appendix therefore had to have ruptured a few days after the punch, Begley concluded. Though in great pain and running a horrendous fever, he put off seeking medical help in order not to cancel any shows. “Harry died from peritonitis because he was reluctant to see a doctor and, when he finally did, refused to follow the medical advice he was given,” Begley writes. So why did Bess, his widow, push the sucker-punch story so hard for so long? One reason would be because Houdini’s life insurance policy paid out a double indemnity in case of an “accidental demise,” Begley concludes. Such a claim would double the payout from $25,000 to $50,000 (the latter about $957,000 in today’s dollars). So, Bess got a lawyer, the insurance company accepted the sucker-punch story and paid out the doubled claim. The legend of the great Houdini had its final capstone — not completely wrong, but almost certainly not exactly what it appeared to be, either. Houdini would have appreciated, no doubt, that’s one definition of how magic works. Subscribe to the blog— it’s free! https://blogs.loc.gov/loc/2026/10/death-of-the-magician-100th-anniversary-of-houdinis-tragic-death/ #tragicdeath #houdini #anniversary #harryhoudini #collectionsdivision #rarebook #specialcollections #photographsdivision #library #charlesriver #rss #feeds #linksharing #qwibbit

Some of the Spookiest Specters in the Library’s Archives What’s the scariest part of working at a library? The ghost writers. Library staffers aren’t easily spooked — as proved by a recent presentation on some of the collection’s most haunting finds, just in time for Halloween. In the Prints and Photographs Division, spirit photography in the 19th century reflected how grief and loss fueled a spiritualism phase in the 1850s and 1860s, explained archivist Maggie McCready. The massive loss of life during the Civil War, combined with Victorian anxiety about death, led to a desire to connect with deceased loved ones. Enter photographers such as William H. Mumler, who claimed to show spirits in their images. The reality? Using old glass plate negatives left a ghostly image behind on the new photograph. Scandal struck when it turned out that one of the “spirits” in a Mumler photo was, in fact, alive. A few years later, in 1869, New York authorities ran a sting operation and arrested Mumler for fraud. The prosecution’s star witness was P. T. Barnum (not known for his adherence to the truth), who was photographed in a phony spirit image featuring Abraham Lincoln. But a parade of witnesses all claimed they couldn’t identify any trickery and Mumler was acquitted for lack of evidence. “You’d think Mumler would have been scared straight and then everyone would now realize spirit photography was fake because of all the photographers explaining the process in the papers, but no,” McCready said. Mumler continued his fraud photography work until his own demise, particularly exploiting widows — including Mary Todd Lincoln. At the American Folklife Center, the veracity of a tale is less important than what it can tell us about its place in a culture. “We don’t make a judgment as to whether the story is true or not, because honestly that’s not the most important question. … It’s why that story is being told in that particular area and all of the aspects around that story,” said Meg Nicholas, a folklife specialist. Nicholas — who said she’s always on the lookout for a good ghost story — shared the 200-year-old legend of the Bell Witch. It begins in Tennessee with the ghost of Kate Batts — a woman with no documented history. As the story goes, Batts haunted John Bell and his family until his death, but the narrative persisted over the next centuries in various formats. The first page of “The Bell Witch” radio play script from 1941. American Folklife Center. The legend shows up in several collections in the AFC, including the Library’s first foray into broadcast media. The Radio Research Project, started in 1941, featured programs related to American history and folklore, with ethnomusicologist Alan Lomax and playwright Arthur Miller among the staff. An early episode tells the story of the Bell Witch through a radio play. The recording and manuscript are in the collection. Some of the earliest examples of the print horror genre developed alongside mystery radio theater, with pulp magazines of the late 1930s and early 1940s featuring short stories and the beginnings of the comic format. One of the first issues devoted fully to horror was Eerie Comics by Avon Publishing in 1947. The dramatic cover image with a red-eyed, knife-wielding ghoul — twist! — isn’t actually related to a story inside. These original comics in the Library’s collection are very fragile, explained Joanna Colclough, a librarian in the Serial and Government Publications Division. Reprints, which are easier to obtain, can be found in the general collections and are a way to peruse an entire volume. The genre took off when EC Comics went to the dark side. The E had stood for “educational” or “entertaining,” until the publisher started including horror in existing series. Horror titles soon fully replaced crime titles, though the series continued with their original numbering. “Crime Patrol” became “The Crypt of Terror” at issue No. 17, and was eventually retitled the iconic “Tales from the Crypt.” EC drew in readers and included them directly in the story, while regular hosts provided a sense of familiarity across issues. But EC Comics met a swift end — after putting out a shocking 87 horror issues in five years, the restrictive comics code limited the horror content and the publisher ceased comic production in 1955. “The EC horror comics had a really short run, but the output they were able to create was so impressive, and the lasting fanbase they had made it endure,” Colclough said. To really make art stick around, carve it in stone. Gutzon Borglum is most famous for Mount Rushmore, with a portfolio of other patriotic American art. Before most of that, he wrote a gargoyle play. Archivist Andrea J. Briggs processed an addition to Borglum’s materials that included details on a 1903 commission for Princeton University’s Class of 1879 Hall. Borglum was paid $500 to sculpt and carve a series of gargoyles and grotesques to line the top of the tower. (Gargoyles are practical architectural elements for downspouts; grotesques adorn buildings but don’t spit.) Borglum created gaggle of 30 gargoyles including tigers, a monkey photographer and a vampire. He even some he named: Snout, Bottom and the unfortunately dubbed Half-Equipped. Among Borglum’s papers, Briggs found notes on these gargoyles as part of the cast of a theatrical work, with a set drawing that resembles the Princeton building. Gutson Borglum’s papers show this sketch illustration for his play. Manuscript Division. “I quickly realized they were all about one piece of creative writing that Borglum was starting to indulge himself in creating,” Briggs said. The plot? Hard to say. Borglum didn’t finish the piece, only one scene is fully written and his handwriting isn’t doing future researchers any favors. The main character is a sculptor named Sark who is caught in the conflict of selling out vs. staying true to his art (while also dreaming of gargoyles). “As I was reading the one scene that I could make sense of, mostly because it was type-written, it became very clear to me that Sark was just a stand-in for Borglum himself,” Briggs said. “I think he was working through some things as he was writing this play.” The untitled piece even includes musical numbers, with the gargoyles acting as a mischievous Greek chorus. The real horror is that we’ll never see it performed. Subscribe to the blog— it’s free! https://blogs.loc.gov/loc/2026/10/some-of-the-spookiest-specters-in-the-librarys-archives/ #spookiestspecters #bellwitch #mumler #archives #folklifecenter #americanfolklife #radio #civilwar #lincoln #photographsdivision #rss #feeds #linksharing #qwibbit

A Gorey Halloween With the days growing shorter, the weather becoming chillier, and All Hallows’ Eve almost upon us, I thought it might be a good time to take a look at some selections from the Library of Congress’s extensive holdings on Edward Gorey. The Rare Book and Special Collections Division holds two major Gorey collections: The Glen Emil Collection and the Edward Bradford Collection. Between these two collections, the library has nearly every instance of Gorey artwork in print, including book covers, interior illustrations, periodical appearances, special editions, calendars, postcards, and posters, as well as a significant number of realia, such as key chains, buttons, mugs, plush characters, etc. Both collections arrived at the library within the past 12 years, and cataloging and storage are ongoing. Photograph shows Edward Gorey and a mannequin from his window display at the Henri Bendel store / by Gotfryd, Bernard, photographer, [June 1978]. Bernard Gotfryd photograph collection (Library of Congress) https://lccn.loc.gov/2020730951Edward St. John Gorey was an American writer, poet, illustrator, and set designer. He’s probably best known for his ominous and macabre illustrations in Edwardian and Victorian settings which have appeared in his own work, as well as in books, magazines, and films of others. He received a Tony Award for costume design in the 1977 Broadway revival of Dracula, and his animations have greeted viewers of PBS’s Mystery! series for more than 40 years. Born in Chicago, Illinois, on February 22, 1925, Gorey showed early signs of being a prodigy by learning to draw at eighteen months of age and learning to read by the age of three. He attended public schools in Wilmette, Illinois, and contributed illustrations to the Stolp School yearbook in 1937, which contains some of his earliest preserved work. Gorey briefly studied at the Art Institute of Chicago in 1943 before serving in the army from 1944 to 1946 in Utah. Upon leaving the Army, he enrolled at Harvard University where he completed his studies in French in 1950 while rooming with American poet Frank O’Hara. That same year, Gorey and O’Hara helped found the Poets’ Theatre in Cambridge. Moore, Merrill, 1903-1957, author. Gorey, Edward St. John, illustrator. Case Record from a Sonnetorium. New York: Twayne Publishers, [1951]. https://lccn.loc.gov/51014821 Wells, H. G, author. Gorey, Edward St. John, illustrator. War of the Worlds. New York: Epstein and Carroll Associates, [1960]. https://lccn.loc.gov/60013060 In 1951, Gorey began illustrating the covers for poet Merrill Moore’s books published by Twayne Publishers, including Case Record from a Sonnetorium. By 1953, he was living in Manhattan and working as a freelance artist providing dust jacket and cover illustrations for some of the largest publishers, including Doubleday, Anchor, Random House, and Bobbs-Merrill. It’s estimated that his artwork appears on the covers of more than 500 titles. Gorey’s first book entirely of his own work, The Unstrung Harp, was published when the author was 28 years old. It’s often referred to as a small autobiographical masterpiece that tells the story of a writer, Mr. Earbrass, struggling to find a story to fit a title that he randomly selected from a list of titles. The story details many of the difficulties encountered when writing a novel. Gorey, Edward. The unstrung harp, or, Mr. Earbrass writes a novel. New York: Duell, Sloan and Pearce ; Little, Brown and Company, [1953]. https://lccn.loc.gov/53010238 Interior illustration: Gorey, Edward. The unstrung harp, or, Mr. Earbrass writes a novel. New York: Duell, Sloan and Pearce ; Little, Brown and Company, [1953]. https://lccn.loc.gov/53010238 Gorey’s seventh book, The Curious Sofa, was published under the name Ogdred Weary, one of several of the author’s anagrammatic pen names. The cover title suggests it’s pornographic, but the author uses a combination of innuendo and carefully placed objects to obscure any sensitive areas. Still, the book was banned in Austria in 1966. Weary, Ogdred. The Curious Sofa. New York: Obolensky, [1961]. https://lccn.loc.gov/61012368 Another copy with a unique bookbinding by Patrice Miller replicating the cushion of a sofa. Weary, Ogdred, author. Miller, Patrice, bookbinder. The Curious Sofa. New York: Dodd, Mead & Company, 1980 https://lccn.loc.gov/2023657250 The Fantod Press In 1962 Gorey published his book The Beastly Baby under his own imprint, The Fantod Press, after several publishers had rejected the book for publication. “Fantod,” not surprisingly, is an archaic word meaning a state of uneasiness or irritability, fidgeting, or an emotional outburst. He continued to publish another 27 titles under the Fantod Press imprint using a number of his pen names, most anagrams of his own name: Mrs. Regera Dowdy, Eduard Blutig, O. Müde, Raddory Gewe, Edward Pig, Garrod Weedy, Awdrey-Gore, and others. Weary, Ogdred. The Beastly Baby. New York: Fantod Press, (1962). https://lccn.loc.gov/2023657303 That same year, Gorey released his book, The Willowdale Handcar; or the Return of the Black Doll. A long-time friend of Gorey created The Black Doll for him in 1942. While visiting that friend, Gorey saw the doll in its unfinished state and insisted it remain that way, lacking a face, arms, and even clothing. The Black Doll became a recurring, unsettling, and enigmatic character, and it appeared in many of Gorey’s books, including a silent screenplay. Gorey, Edward St. John. The Willowdale handcar, or, The return of the black doll / by Edward Gorey. New York: Peter Weed Books, [1962]. https://lccn.loc.gov/2023658748 Gorey, Edward St. John. The black doll / by Edward Gorey. [United States] : Necessaries Toy Foundation, [2011]. https://lccn.loc.gov/2023657408 Issued as a three-volume box set, The Vinegar Works: Three Volumes of Moral Instruction, is Gorey’s eleventh work. It’s composed of The Gashlycrumb Tinies, a poetic abecedarium describing the demise of 26 children; The I God, which tells the story of a child abducted by anthropomorphized i; and The West Wing, an almost wordless set of drawings of a haunted building inspiring dread. The artwork in these three titles represents some of Edward Gorey’s most intricate and beautiful drawings. Gorey, Edward St. John. The Vinegar Works: Three Volumes of Moral Instruction. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1963. https://lccn.loc.gov/2023657266 “A is for Amy who fell down the stairs.” Gorey, Edward St. John. The Vinegar Works: Three Volumes of Moral Instruction. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1963. https://lccn.loc.gov/2023657266 “B is for Basil assaulted by bears.” Gorey, Edward St. John. The Vinegar Works: Three Volumes of Moral Instruction. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1963. https://lccn.loc.gov/2023657266 Gorey’s first book to be published by the Gotham Book Mart and to feature a not-tragic ending was The Sopping Thursday (1970). Frances Steloff, proprietor of the famous bookstore, suggested to Mr. Gorey that he place stacks of his small books at the cash register to sell. Employee and later owner of the store Andreas Brown is credited with launching Gorey’s career through publications, exhibitions, and gallery openings of his work. Gorey, Edward St. John. The Sopping Thursday. New York: Gotham Book Mart, 1970. https://lccn.loc.gov/2021658642 In 1977, Gorey joined the Broadway revival of Dracula as set and costume designer. The full-proscenium sets were all black and white and were similar to his book illustrations and engravings. Hidden throughout the walls, beds, curtains, and costumes were his bats, which audiences tried to find during the performances. Gorey won the Tony Award for Best Costume Design and was nominated for the Tony Award for Best Scenic Design. Dracula with Frank Langella. Artwork, costume sketches, and scenery by Edward Gorey. New York: Johnray Publishing, 1977. Throughout his life, Gorey was a fan and supporter of the New York City Ballet, and he attended every performance–including many rehearsals–over a twenty-five-year period. His book The Lavender Leotard (1973) is a tribute to the famed dance company. Later in life he lived year-round in Yarmouth Port, Massachusetts on Cape Cod. He passed away on April 15, 2000, and his Yarmouth Port home became the Edward Gorey House, a public museum dedicated to his life and work. Gorey’s ashes, along with the ashes of six of his deceased cats, were spread on the grounds of his house. Gorey, Edward, author. Miller, Patrice, binder. The lavender leotard, or, Going a lot to the New York City Ballet. New York: Ballet Review, 2007. https://lccn.loc.gov/2023657269 Gorey, Edward, author. Miller, Patrice, binder. The lavender leotard, or, Going a lot to the New York City Ballet. New York: Ballet Review, 2007. https://lccn.loc.gov/2023657269 Special Editions The Rare Book Division holds many special editions of Edward Gorey’s books, including those with special bindings, hand-colored illustrations, miniature books, pop-up books, and toy theaters. Among these are several specially bound editions by Patrice Miller of the Aredian Press. She received special permission from the Edward Gorey Charitable Trust to create two post-humous Gorey first editions: The Mourning Fan and the Worsted Monster. Gorey, Edward, author. Miller, Patrice, printer and binder. The mourning fan, or, Meanwhile and elsewhere. Dallas: Small Fires Press, 2019. https://lccn.loc.gov/2025293741 Interior view: Gorey, Edward, author. Miller, Patrice, printer and binder. The mourning fan, or, Meanwhile and elsewhere. Dallas: Small Fires Press, 2019. https://lccn.loc.gov/2025293741 Edward Gorey’s artwork is now nearly ubiquitous and can be found in a number of products marketed to his admirers. Calendars, posters, t-shirts, magnets, coffee mugs, postcards, toy theaters, and bean bag animals are just a handful of the types of products adorned with his artwork. Cover: Gorey, Edward, author. Penick, Ib, paper engineering. The Dwindling Party (pop-up book). New York: Random House, c1982. https://lccn.loc.gov/81085698 Interior page: Gorey, Edward, author. Penick, Ib, paper engineering. The Dwindling Party (pop-up book). New York: Random House, c1982. https://lccn.loc.gov/81085698 Cats & Dogs, 20 Postcards. Petaluma: Pomegranate, nd. Mystery! Coffin. Nashua: Facsimiles, Ltd., nd. Cover card from the Fantod Pack, a set of divination cards “interpreted by Madame Groeda Weyrd.” San Francisco: Pomegranate, [2007]. https://lccn.loc.gov/2025293658 “The Burning Head” card from the Fantod Pack. https://lccn.loc.gov/2025293658 “The Child” card from the Fantod Pack. https://lccn.loc.gov/2025293658 “The Tunnel” card from the Fantod Pack. https://lccn.loc.gov/2025293658 Most of these materials have been cataloged and are available for research in the Rare Book and Special Collections Division. https://blogs.loc.gov/bibliomania/2026/10/21/a-gorey-halloween/ #gorey #edwardgorey #collections #edwardbradford #johngorey #twaynepublishers #glenemil #bradfordcollection #specialcollections #book #rss #feeds #linksharing #qwibbit

Mary Lincoln: “A nice, chatty little letter” Shortly Before the Assassination of her Husband On Wednesday, Feb. 15, 1865, Mary Lincoln sat down before a lined sheet of paper, which was bordered in black, marking that she was still mourning the death of her son Willie three years earlier, the second of the Lincoln children to die of a childhood illness. In tight, perfect penmanship, she dashed off a short letter to her friend Caroline Wright. She thanked Wright for sending along a wreath of hair, advised her that the Executive Mansion (as the White House was then called) was in the midst of remodeling and thus it would be best if Wright and her husband stayed at the nearby Willard Hotel for an upcoming visit. “We will be deprived of several charming visitors, yourselves included, on the 1rst of March,” she wrote, referring to the period around her husband’s second inauguration. “Yet … we will be happy to have you dine with us and see you frequently.” She wrote that she was interrupted just then, must close, and signed off with kind regards as “Mary Lincoln,” the way she always did after she married. “There’s nothing earth-shattering in this letter, which is why I love it so much,” says Michelle Krowl, a historian in the Manuscript Division and the Library’s expert on the Civil War and Reconstruction. “It’s just a nice, chatty little letter, which isn’t often the case with Mary Lincoln’s correspondence during and after the Civil War, given the personal losses she endured and the grief she expressed.” Mary Lincoln’s letter to Caroline Wright, written from the “Executive Mansion,” as the White House was then called. The sideways writing at the top left is her post-script. Manuscripts Division. Photo: Shawn Miller. The Library acquired the letter earlier this year, and it is now online, part of the Library’s Mary Todd Lincoln Papers. It’s a small but poignant footnote in documenting her unusual place in national history — perhaps the country’s least popular first lady, known for her emotional outbursts and untethered spending, who was married to a man considered one of the nation’s greatest and most humble presidents. Some of her letters are preserved in the Library’s Abraham Lincoln Papers, but there was never a centralized repository of her correspondence as there was no perceived need during her lifetime, and many are now lost to time or scattered around the country in private collections, museums or libraries. (Note: Among the Library’s most treasured items are the seed pearl necklace and bracelets that Abe bought for her. Purchased at Tiffany’s in New York, they seem tiny.) So it is that this good-natured missive, written on the front and the back of a single page, illuminates a rare moment of calm in her turbulent life, a moment of peace suspended in time. The Civil War, which started as Abraham Lincoln was taking office, was drawing to a close after four terrible years. Willie’s death in 1862, at age 11, left her debilitated with grief and exacerbated her bouts of bad temper, mood swings and migraines. But now Lincoln had been reelected and Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia, the main fighting force of the Confederacy, was in tatters and on the run. The couple, grieving their personal losses like the rest of the nation, could finally begin looking to the future. Mary Lincoln, in an undated photo taken at some point after Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. She only wore mourning black after his death. Photo: Joseph Ward & Son. Prints and Photographs Division. Less than three weeks later, her husband delivered his second inaugural address. It is one of the most famous speeches in American history, including phrases now embedded in the national identity. “With malice toward none, with charity for all …” And just a few weeks after that, she was sitting at his side at Ford’s Theatre when John Wilkes Booth walked up behind the couple and shot her husband. The peacefulness illustrated by the letter just two months earlier was obliterated, never to return. She lived for another 17 years, a period most often marked by grief, agony, betrayal, public disapproval (mostly for her spending habits), illness and a level of heartbreak that seems surreal. The Lincoln’s fourth child, Tad, died suddenly in 1871 at 18, possibly of pneumonia. Four years later, her only child who lived into adulthood, Robert, alarmed at her erratic behavior, successfully took her to court to be committed to a mental hospital. It took her a year to convince a court that she was sane. She and Robert later had some sort of rapprochement, but her body and mind were worn out. She was going blind and in poor health. She died in 1882, back in Illinois where she and Abe had met, of a stroke she suffered on the anniversary of Tad’s death. She was just 63. The close of the letter, signed “Mary Lincoln.” The inclusion of her maiden name, Todd, in referring to her only became common after her death. She did not use her maiden name after she was married. Manuscript Division. Photo: Shawn Miller. Largely vilified by historians and in popular culture for more than a century — a 1982 poll of historians rated her as the worst first lady in American history — she has been seen in recent decades as a misunderstood woman of intellect and political acuity who was also bedeviled by mental illness, particularly some sort of anxiety disorder that was sent into overdrive by her traumatic losses in life. Her husband, too, suffered from deep spells of depression, making for a difficult, if devoted, partnership. (The recent Broadway comedy, “Oh, Mary,” which satirically lampoons the couple, is a fact-free farce.) “Beyond the accepted storyline (of Mary Lincoln) is a reality far more nuanced and heart-wrenching, that of a formidable but troubled woman who likely inherited mental illnesses that were never treated, who was handed far more adversity than most people could handle, and who helped launch one of America’s greatest presidents,” writes journalist Lois Romano in “An Inconvenient Widow,” a biography published this year. It was featured at the National Book Festival and at an event at the Library this month. As Romano makes clear, Mary Todd was born into the wealth and prominence of a political family, who first lived in Kentucky and then in Springfield, Illinois. She was highly educated, particularly for a young woman of the era, and saw the promise in her seemingly unsophisticated husband long before anyone else. She was well-mannered, socially polished (she spoke French fluently) and sometimes charming, but was also “a larger-than-life, provocative character who spent too freely, grieved too publicly and for too long and who seemed unable or unwilling to corral her emotions,” she writes. All of which lends the poignancy, the emotional depth, to this short letter she wrote one day in February of 1865, when it seemed her troubles, and those of the nation, might be moving slowly into the distant past. Subscribe to the blog— it’s free! https://blogs.loc.gov/loc/2026/10/mary-lincoln-a-nice-chatty-little-letter-shortly-before-the-assassination-of-her-husband/ #marylincoln #chattylittle #civilwar #lincolnpapers #carolinewright #littleletter #executivemansion #whitehouse #nice #willardhotel #rss #feeds #linksharing #qwibbit

John J. Audubon’s Breathtaking Book of Birds —This is a guest post by Ashley Rose Young, a curator in the Rare Book and Special Collections Division. It also appears in the September/October issues of the Library of Congress Magazine. In the early 19th century, John James Audubon set out to do something no natural history illustrator had attempted at such scale: depict North American birds at life size, in vivid, animated poses. The result was “The Birds of America,” one of the most ambitious — and physically imposing — sets of books ever produced. Published between 1827 and 1838, the work was issued as a series of hand-colored engravings, printed on enormous “double elephant” sheets measuring roughly 38 by 26 inches. Audubon partnered with the London engraver Robert Havell Jr. to translate his paintings into prints of remarkable precision and color. Subscribers received the plates in installments, eventually assembling a collection that included 435 illustrations depicting 489 species of birds. All that paper adds up: Typically bound in four volumes, “The Birds of America” can be astonishingly heavy. The Library’s set totals 196 pounds, with the largest volume weighing a whopping 55 pounds. Artist and naturalist John James Audubon, who conceived and executed the monumental “Birds of America” project in the early 19th century. Prints and Photographs Division. Audubon’s commitment to realism extended beyond careful observation. He used wires and pins to stage specimens in dynamic poses, composing scenes that suggest motion and vitality. Wings arc midflight, talons clutch prey and necks twist with startling energy. That ambition, however, ran up against the limits of even the largest handmade paper available. Some birds simply could not fit on the page without compromise. In his famous depiction of the American flamingo, Audubon bent the bird’s long neck into an elegant but uncanny curve, creating a sinuous composition that feels both graceful and slightly strained. Audubon’s flamingo became famous in part for how he posed the bird to fit on the page. Rare Book and Special Collections Division. Other large species are similarly compressed, their bodies contorted to remain within the boundaries of the sheet. These visual negotiations reveal the tension at the heart of “The Birds of America”: a desire to present nature at true scale, constrained by the physical realities of print. The result is a work that is at once scientifically ambitious, artistically inventive and unmistakably shaped by the medium that made it possible. Subscribe to the blog— it’s free! https://blogs.loc.gov/loc/2026/10/john-j-audubons-breathtaking-book-of-birds/ #breathtakingbook #birds #audubon #rarebook #jamesaudubon #johnjames #america #collectionsdivision #specialcollections #roseyoung #rss #feeds #linksharing #qwibbit

David Harrington, the Kronos Quartet and the American Folklife Center — This is a guest post by David Harrington, the founder and artistic director of San Francisco’s Grammy Award-winning Kronos Quartet. It also appears in the September/October issue of the Library of Congress Magazine. In 2024, the Library appointed Harrington the Kluge Chair in Modern Culture and announced its acquisition of the Kronos archives. The quartet’s 1992 album “Pieces of Africa” was inducted into the National Recording Registry. Whenever a creative project of the Kronos Quartet reveals a need for information deeply embedded in the complex world of American traditional music, the first call I make is to the American Folklife Center. The AFC, through its expert, generous, helpful staff and rich archival holdings, has demonstrated again and again what a treasure we have available to us as patrons of the Library. Many years ago, I saw a beautiful and gripping documentary about Gullah Geechee music on a 1960s Alan Lomax TV show. Instantly I knew this music had to become part of our Kronos Fifty Future free online library. After a call to AFC, I was referred to someone with connections to Gullah composers, and within days we were already collaborating. When I learned that AFC had the earliest known recording of a Gullah spiritual called “Come by here” — more commonly known as “Kumbaya”— it became clear that gold had been found! For a Kronos album celebrating Pete Seeger, one of our composers needed samples of Seeger’s voice. A trip to the AFC was essential for him and the compositions. Multiple composers have received informational leads about topics of interest and direct access to available sound sources housed at AFC. Recently, I approached AFC seeking the earliest recordings of Native American songs. From a large selection I chose an 1890 Edison cylinder recording of a Salutation Song sung by a Passamaquoddy elder. Along with the amazing recording, I was given contact information for the current tribal historic preservation officer and essential advice from AFC staff about how to respectfully request permission to properly and ethically use this 130-year-old recording in Kronos concerts. When we needed information about Antonio Haskell, composer of “God Shall Wipe All Tears Away,” sung by Mahalia Jackson in the 1930s, I reached out to AFC. How could there be so little information about the composer of one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard? It was through the AFC’s diligence that we were able to learn more and include information about Haskell in our program notes. It is important to credit the immense care with which our cultural treasures are handled at the AFC, which I’ve witnessed firsthand. The family of linguist/ethnomusicologist Patricia Jones-Jackson had carefully held her priceless recordings, films, photos and notes since her death in 1986. The agility with which AFC staff created trust with her family enabled the preservation of this essential American story. There is no better place for her life’s work to reside. The AFC is now an essential collaborator, one of our revered guest artists as we attempt to tell parts of the story of the time we live in and how it is continually shaped and reshaped by the past. I offer a huge congratulations to everyone at AFC on the first 50 years. Working with AFC is a high point of my creative life, and I look forward to every next step with the kindred spirits there. Subscribe to the blog— it’s free! https://blogs.loc.gov/loc/2026/10/david-harrington-the-kronos-quartet-and-the-american-folklife-center/ #folklifecenter #kronosquartet #americanfolklife #davidharrington #afc #kronosfifty #sanfrancisco #recording #nativeamerican #gullah #rss #feeds #linksharing #qwibbit

Ticknor & Fields, the Old Corner Bookstore, and the Hub of the American Renaissance Most bibliophiles can imagine scenes of a bustling old bookshop in a bygone era; men wearing long coats and top hats creak the hardwood floors as they peruse the shelves, a woman in a floral dress pulls down a volume to sample a few pages, a tight huddle of thinkers discuss in loud whispers the latest works of the most interesting writers of the day. “James Thomas Fields; Nathaniel Hawthorne; William Davis Ticknor.” Unknown photographer. Photogravure reproduction of a photograph, 1860s. Courtesy of National Portrait Gallery London. In the mid-19th century at the Old Corner Bookstore in Boston, readers might catch a glimpse of the very poets, philosophers, and authors of fiction who wrote the books that filled the shelves. These literary figures, including Henry David Thoreau, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and Harriet Beecher Stowe, might drop by the Old Corner Bookstore on any given day to visit with the proprietors, William Ticknor and James T. Fields, because they had business to conduct. Ticknor and Fields were not only operating a thriving bookshop; they were also running a publishing business that gave the world many of the most iconic and influential works of the American Renaissance. Henry David Thoreau. Walden; or, Life in the Woods. Boston, Ticknor and Fields, 1854. Holmes Collection, Rare Book and Special Collections Division. Ticknor & Co., founded in 1832, quickly became a principal publisher of one of the brightest, most productive eras of American literary history. Readership in the United States expanded rapidly during the decades of the firm’s business; in 1850, US Census data reported that roughly 90% of the adult white population was literate, while free people of color held a literacy rate around 60%. (For context, the British literacy rate in 1851 was roughly 62%.). Between 1820 and 1850, as American readership expanded to 17 million people hungry for literature to devour, the U.S. book industry grew from $2.5 million to $12.5 million. To meet this exploding demand, Ticknor and Fields utilized new industrial processes to mass-produce books. Rather than using the handmade, laid paper of previous generations, their books were made of white wove paper produced in mills scattered across New England now using new industrial paper manufacturing techniques. “Fourdrinier machine, c. 1860.” The Art of Writing, Printing, Engraving, Lithography and Bookbinding. Leiden: A.W. Sijthoff, 1874. Image courtesy of KB National Library of the Netherlands. Mid-19th century paper mills introduced the fourdrinier machine to produce paper on an industrial scale. They still relied on cotton and linen fibers for the liquid pulp, but now a machine sprayed a jet of slurry evenly across a rapidly moving continuous wire mesh to form a “web” of paper fibers. To solidify this pulp into a sheet, the “web” passes through heavy rollers that squeeze out excess water from the slurry. Remaining moisture is then baked or steamed out when the sheet passes over heated iron cylinders. Finally, the dried paper is run through calenders that smooth and stamp the sheet flat. This process dramatically increased the speed and efficiency of the papermaking process. Ticknor and Fields purchased their paper from a variety of Boston wholesalers. One of these suppliers, Rice, Kendall & Co., was run by Alexander Hamilton Rice, who later became Governor of Massachusetts. Ticknor and Fields also made use of an innovation in the printing process called stereotyping that further facilitated the mass-production of books. Stereotyping allowed printers to preserve the composed text for later reprints without keeping thousands of individual pieces of metal type tied up in the forme of the original text. After a compositor had set the type, the stereotyping workshop would make a “flong” by pressing or beating a layer of plaster-of-Paris or papier-mache into the text to make a mold or matrix of that page. Once the flong had dried and solidified, the workers would pour molten metal into the mold to cast a metal plate of the text called a stereotype. The printers could then store the stereotype for subsequent reprints of the book. This allowed the print shop to free up those individual pieces of metal type to compose other books, and it saved those valuable pieces of type from being mashed and worn down during the printing process. Ticknor and Fields utilized many stereotypers and printers across the Boston area, including Metcalf and Company, Boston Stereotype Foundry, and New England Type and Stereotype Foundery. With this extensive network, Ticknor & Fields were typically able to contract workshops with the capacity to make their stereotype plates and print their books quickly. Nathaniel Hawthorne. The Scarlet Letter: A Romance. Boston: Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, 1850. The Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection, Rare Book and Special Collections Division. Stereotyping allowed Ticknor and Fields to be far more nimble and responsive to their readership. For example, they first published Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter in March 1850 with an edition of 2,500 copies. When that issue sold out in just ten days, they printed another 2,500 copies in April. Given the novel’s popularity, they made stereotype plates for a September 1850 edition of 1,000 copies, followed by an issue of 800 copies a few months later, and then a steady succession of 500-copy reprints from the plates to continue to meet demand. Within a decade, Ticknor and Fields had issued 16 printings of The Scarlet Letter for a total of 12,300 total copies printed. The distinctive chocolate brown bindings of Ticknor and Fields were standard in ribbed T grain cloth with gold stamped lettering. These publisher’s bindings featured a stamped arabesque ornament on the front and back cover. In addition to the efficiencies of fourdrinier machine paper production and stereotype printing, Ticknor and Fields bound their volumes in relatively cheap cloth covers. Ticknor and Fields established themselves as a recognizable brand by issuing their books in easily recognizable chocolate brown covers with impressive gold stamped lettering. With these standard bindings, shoppers looking for a new book could easily spot a Ticknor and Fields title and have confidence that an excellent work of literature was contained within those brown ribbed T grain cloth covers. Most Ticknor and Fields editions included pages of advertisements for the firm’s recent publications at either the front or back of the book. Beyond the savvy branding of their books’ design, Ticknor and Fields used the front or back pages of each book to market the firm’s other titles. These pages of free advertisements allowed the firm to publicize a wider catalog of their books directly to a target audience. Still, a publishing company’s effective branding and marketing techniques are only as good as the literary product they sell. In order to maintain their close relationship with the era’s most interesting authors, Ticknor and Fields were pioneers in offering royalties, whereby a writer would receive a percentage (usually 10-15%) of each book sold. In short, Ticknor and Fields built a successful, cutting edge business by developing a network of personal relationships with outstanding writers, creating an easily recognizable and trusted brand, and using innovative technologies to maximize efficiency and market responsiveness. As fascinating as their catalog of iconic titles and vibrant community of readers may be to scholars of literary history, Ticknor and Fields is equally interesting as a case study for folks interested in entrepreneurial business. Or maybe I’m just stereotyping. “The Old Corner Book-Store.” The Iconographic Society, 1850. Lot 4382F, Prints and Photographs Division. Sources and Further Reading: Clark, C. E. F. Jr. (1978). Nathaniel Hawthorne: A Descriptive Bibliography. University of Pittsburgh Press. Emblidge, D. (2008). “The Old Corner Bookstore: ‘Rialto of Current Good Things, Hub of the Hub.'” The Concord Saunterer, No. 16, 103–118. Velella, R. (2017). “The Legacy of Publishers Ticknor and Fields at the Old Corner Bookstore.” HistoricBoston.org. Wilson, J. F. F. (1880). Stereotyping and Electrotyping. London: Wyman & Sons. Winship, M. (1995). American Literary Publishing in the Mid-Nineteenth Century: The Business of Ticknor and Fields. Cambridge University Press. https://blogs.loc.gov/bibliomania/2026/08/12/ticknor-fields-the-old-corner-bookstore-and-the-hub-of-the-american-renaissance/

Reid Wiseman: To the Dark Side of the Moon … and Back Reid Wiseman sat onstage at the National Book Festival, still marveling at the journey that brought him there. As commander of NASA’s Artemis II mission in April, Wiseman led humanity’s first crewed voyage beyond low Earth orbit in 53 years — a nearly 10-day journey that looped around the moon and back. The deepest moments came on the far side of the moon. “The moon is blocking our view of Earth. We can’t talk to home,” Wiseman said. “This was an amazing magical period for us, where we were truly alone in the solar system. We were further away than any human had ever been.” The astounding view — the sun behind the moon, the moon just a black sphere pulling the spacecraft around it — was beyond the power of words to convey. “I don’t think the human mind has evolved to the point of describing what we’re looking at,” he said. At the furthest point, the crew celebrated with maple cookies, shared a tearful group hug over a crater named for Wiseman’s late wife, Carroll, and heard a posthumous recorded greeting from Apollo 13 commander Jim Lovell: “Welcome to the neighborhood.” Artemis II Commander Reid Wiseman looking back at Earth as the crew traveled toward the moon. Photo: NASA. And then the return home, traveling about 24,000 mph during reentry. “We’re falling straight down,” he recalled as the scene played on the main stage’s huge screens. “It was not scary inside, but it’s terrifying watching this video of what we looked like from the outside.” Parachutes brought the spacecraft to a safe ocean landing, concluding the mission with a joyful splash. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was go see the far side. All I ever want to do is go as far away as I can,” he said. His mission completed, Wiseman offered advice to the next generation: “For the kids, if you ever get the chance to do this, just do it.” Wiseman came away with an enormous sense of pride in the collective accomplishment. “If you grew up in this country, if you’re an American, you should just be so dang proud of what this country could do if we tried,” he said. “This is an amazing place to live.” Subscribe to the blog— it’s free! https://blogs.loc.gov/loc/2026/09/reid-wiseman-to-the-dark-side-of-the-moon-and-back/

Faulkner’s “Beer Broadside” Celebrated American author and Nobel Prize winner William Faulkner is best known for his novels and short stories, but few may be familiar with this rare piece of Faulkneriana. In 1944, Faulkner’s hometown of Oxford, Mississippi passed a law banning the sale of beer. Just a few years later in 1950, newspapers reported that the town would hold a referendum on the possible repeal of that law in September. Members of the community on both sides of the issue were stirred to action. Jack E. Boucher, creator. Front – Lafayette County Courthouse, Court House Square, Oxford, Lafayette County, MS, 1975. Prints and Photographs Division (Library of Congress). On August 17th, 1950, a letter from three of the town’s clergymen appeared in the Oxford Eagle, laying out their arguments for why the beer ban should remain in place. Two weeks later the same paper published a statement by members of the Oxford Citizens Committee for Legal Control, who pointed out several issues with the 1944 vote. For one thing, though the majority of people in the town of Oxford had technically voted in favor of legal beer sales at that time, their votes were overridden by the county vote. In addition, many eligible voters were away serving in WWII and had no opportunity to voice their opinions in the vote taking place at home. However, this 1950 vote would be different: the war was over, meaning many soldiers had returned home and were available to participate in this vote, and the Mississippi Legislature had just passed a law allowing the citizens of cities with over 2500 residents, such as Oxford, to vote without the input of the county. The Oxford Citizens Committee for Legal Control hoped citizens would vote again to correct what they viewed as an injustice to the people’s real feelings on the subject. In yet another section of that same paper, over 180 people endorsed the message put forth by the clergymen earlier that month. It’s clear that the beer question was a divisive issue for the people of Oxford. William Faulkner, born and raised in Mississippi, had resided in Oxford on and off since he was five years old. He was also famous for his affinity for drinking. Reading the letter from the clergymen in his local paper, Faulkner was outraged and wrote a reply now commonly referred to as “the Beer Broadside.” Broadsides (including posters, advertisements, public notices, etc.) occupy an important place in the history of printing and the democratic dissemination of information. Typically defined as large, single-sided printed sheets intended for the speedy spread of information, these ephemeral pieces were cheap to produce, easy to distribute, and allowed people at a wide range of social strata to see them. Faulkner drafted his thoughts on the beer question and brought it to the Oxford Eagle, who printed 1500 copies for him to circulate. Then, with the help of his brothers and their children, he mailed out and hand-distributed the broadside directly to friends, neighbors, and other townspeople. William Faulkner. To the Voters of Oxford,1950. Printed Ephemera Collection, Rare Book & Special Collections Division (Library of Congress). In the broadside, Faulkner responds directly to four of the points made in the clergymen’s letter, vacillating between biting wit and snide fact-checking. While his arguments speak directly to the issue of the beer ban, this was not the only source of Faulkner’s outrage. The closing paragraph of the broadside asserts that Ministers of God should “keep out of temporal politics.” Faulkner pointedly refers to the clergymen as “Private Citizens” in the opening lines of the response, suggesting that if they wish to participate in this civic debate it should be as private citizens and members of a shared community rather than in their roles as Ministers of God. After the 1950 referendum, which went by a large majority of votes to those who were for the ban of legal beer sales, the paper reported that, “Even the ‘world’s greatest living novelist’ interested himself in the election. William Faulkner turned his prose in answer to that of the preacher’s committee and had his message ‘struck’ on circular letters which he mailed and delivered over town over the weekend. For once, the great writer paid for — rather than got paid — for seeing his stuff in print.” -September 7th, 1950. While the Beer Broadside didn’t seem to have an impact on the vote in 1950, another vote in 1973 resulted in the ban being partially lifted; restrictions were not fully lifted until 2013. The copy of the “Beer Broadside” now held by the Rare Book & Special Collections Division was received by the Library of Congress in 1974 from Faulkner’s daughter Jill Faulkner Summers, who sold the family home in Oxford to the University of Mississippi in 1972. So let’s raise a glass to William Faulkner, Private Citizen. Sources and Further Reading: Carter, H. (1957). “Faulkner and His Folk.” The Princeton University Library Chronicle 18, no. 3, pp. 95–107. City of Oxford, Mississippi. (1974). Minute Book No. 27, City of Oxford. March 26, 1973-July 30, 1974. Faulkner, W. (1950). To the Voters of Oxford,1950. Printed Ephemera Collection, Rare Book & Special Collections Division, Library of Congress. Merimether, J. B. (1960).The Literary Career of William Faulkner: Catalogue of an Exhibition in the Princeton University Library. The Princeton University Library Chronicle 21, no. 3, pp. 111–64. Takahashi, H. (March 1986).“Faulkner Items in the Oxford Eagle (Part 5),” Journal of the Faculty of Liberal Arts, Shinshu University, Vol. 20. The University of Mississippi. William Faulkner Archives LibGuide. The University of Mississippi. Archives and Special Collections, J.D. Williams Library, Rowan Oak Papers Finding Aid. Click here to subscribe to Bibliomania and never miss a post! https://blogs.loc.gov/bibliomania/2026/08/19/faulkners-beer-broadside/