The Anatomy of Bibliomania

by Holbrook Jackson

An unmitigated delight for any bibliophile, Holbrook Jackson's musings on the joys of reading combine his irrepressible wit with the wisdom of famous readers from all corners of the world. These three volumes, now back in print, are a leisurely, luxuriant confabulation on "the usefulness, purpose, and pleasures that proceed from books."

In The Anatomy of Bibliomania, Jackson inspects the allure of books, their curative and restorative properties, and the passion for them that leads to bibliomania ("a genial mania, less harmful than the sanity of the sane"). His sparkling commentary addresses why we read, where we read (on journeys, at mealtimes, on the toilet—this has "a long but mostly unrecorded history"—in bed, and in prison) and what happens to us when we read. He touches on bindings, bookworms, libraries, and the sport of book hunting, as well as the behavior of borrowers, embezzlers, thieves, and collectors. Francis Bacon, Anatole France, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Leigh Hunt, Marcel Proust, Ralph Waldo Emerson, William Shakespeare, and scores of other luminaries chime in on books and their love for them.

Violent reactions to books, whether from jealous wives, political hacks, or righteous church leaders, indicate books' power over readers and their ability to inspire change. The Fear of Books interweaves Jackson's thoughts with the words of others to consider the trials and tribulations—burning, pulping, shredding, and censoring—to which books have been subjected throughout history and the fears that lead to such behavior.

In The Reading of Books, Jackson focuses on the relationship between author and reader, describing reading as "the art of extracting essences from books for our own, not the author's benefit." Reading should be "a courtship ending in a collaboration"—a creative process in which readers not only share the writers' aesthetic experiences but also distill them into something more personal.

As Jackson says, reading is not a duty, and if it is not a pleasure it is a waste of time. Entertaining as well as instructive, his "books on books" provide inveterate readers with all things needful: vindication, inspiration, cogitation, and delectation.

"Mr. Jackson's cross-lights and unexpected illuminations are fascinating . . . among all his good things from other writers, his own good things should not be overlooked." — The Times Literary Supplement

"The Reading of Books is a library in itself and will be a constant source of pleasure to all who give themselves the satisfaction of owning a copy." —E. M. Sowerby, Christian Science Monitor

Genres: Books About Books, Nonfiction, History, Literary Criticism, Essays, Writing, Reference

672 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1930

About the author

Holbrook Jackson (1874 - 1948) was a British journalist, writer and publisher. He was recognised as one of the leading bibliophiles of his time.

Reviews

[شمس · Rating 5 out of 5]

For, as Goethe holds, and I go some of the way with him, the best sign of originality lies in taking up a subject and then developing it so fully as to make every one confess that he would hardly have found so much in it . . . so that if the centre or core of my dissertation remains Bibliomania, its environs extend far beyond it, as towns grow from a single citadel, institution or workshop, into a county, but remain towns. Examine the rest, therefore, in like sort, and you shall find a true picture of a book and all its relations and purposes: its joys, advantages, infirmities and offences. —The Author To The Reader

Plenty of books and leisure for good reading, methinks, is a sufficient portion of itself, beatus ille qui procul negotiis, happy is he who is free from worldly cares, and he does well that will accept such a life. It was the counsel which the politic Cicero gave to his best friends, as it was the life he himself wished most to live. No less than this is implied in that remark of his when he longed to buy the books of Atticus: If ever I do, he said, supe Crassum divitiis atque omnium vicos et prata contemno, I shall be the richest of millionaires and shan’t envy any man his manors and meadows. Now go brag of thy money. —32.7

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This book is insane. No, really. Jackson said it himself, he's

out-Burtoned Burton . . .

I first read Burton's The Anatomy of Melancholy many years ago, and enjoyed it immensely . Burton's work, ostensibly about Melancholy, is split into the Causes of Melancholy, Cures of Melancholy, and Love and Religious Melancholy. Split into sections members, and subsections, Burton merely uses these high level topics to launch into all manner of topics sprinkling quotations and anecdotes from an astounding number of authors throughout.

Jackson has taken Burton's work as a model and anatomises Bibliomania as Burton did Melancholy.

The art was perfected by Robert Burton and he remains its unapproachable master. Many have larded their lean books with the fat of his masterpiece, but he has had no imitator till now, save Charles Lamb in an experiment which was never meant to be more than a fragment. [Curious fragments, Miscellaneous Prose] . . . From this enjoyment of so wide a calmness I found an inclination to reproduce it, and proceeded more by instinct than design, as though sauntering into a domain of unexplored tranquillity, wherein I beheld the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies, and began, for gladness, to extend its bounds. This ancient manner, with its undulations and digressions, its dingles and coppices of verbiage, its elegant parterres of selected prose and verse, its sharp contrasts of grassy plots and arid places, is not, I am well aware, the fashion of these times when all men hurry and many torture us with noises which disrupt our thoughts and interrupt our lives

To attempt to mimic Burton is a lofty goal, as Jackson says himself, but he hits his target and and arguably takes it almost to an extreme in terms of quotations: There are anywhere from 1-17+ footnotes per page referencing his sources, amounting to a staggering number of quotes and references.

I have trawled the seas of authorship; presumed to put my sickle in other men’s corn. I have rifled gardens; picked pockets; dipped my bucket into friendly wells; charged my battery at others’ dynamos; gone up and down the world of imagination, which without doubt can do wonderful things and beget strange persuasions; climbed Parnassus, roamed round Helicon, stared at Olympus; looked through 

Magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn; —Keats, Ode to a Nightingale

hobnobbed with bards and philosophers by the proxy of many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, in 

The Muse-discovered World of Islands Fortunate —Cowley, Pindarique Ode

and gathered as I went rare thoughts and fine phrases. 

And words more sure and sweet than they.
Love could not think, truth could not stay. —Crashaw, Hymn to St Thomas

I have perchance in some instances jumbled up these many good things immethodically, but not always; there is order in my chaos, nor do I beg pardon for those wild parts, for unless you have chaos within you cannot give birth to a dancing star. Greater men have failed, how then shall I, that am vix umbra tanti philosophi, hope always to please? No man so absolute, Erasmus holds, to satisfy all, except antiquity, and not, as it is managed in this age, even that. ’Tis the common doom of all writers: I must (I say) abide it; I seek not applause, enough 

If my slight Muse do please these curious days. —Shakespeare, Sonnets, 38

As Burton has his favourites: Hierome, Hercules de Saxonia, etc, so does Jackson; the authors he references the most being: Dibdin, Montaigne, Boswell, John-Hill Burton, Robert Burton, Elton, Edward Fitzgerald, Hunt, Lamb, Lang, etc

Burton's work isn't an absolute prerequisite to this; Jackson's Anatomy can definitely be enjoyed on its own, but having a familiarity with Burton's work will definitely help you to appreciate this one more fully.

As for those other faults of style, manner as distinct from matter and method, I am exposed to attack on all fronts, and most by comparison: I have missed my mark, fallen short, o’ershot it; out-Burtoned Burton here, vulgarized him there, and diluted him too often; I am barbaric, unscholarly, provincial, amateurish, sentimental, glib, garrulous, what you will; a dealer in tautologies, rhetoric, gusto, purple patches, rhapsodies, cliche, vogue words, rags gathered together from several dunghills, excrements of authors, toys and fopperies confusedly tumbled out, as he said of his own book, without art, invention, judgment, wit, learning, harsh, raw, rude, phantastical, absurd, insolent, indiscreet, ill-composed, indigested, vain, scurrile, idle, dull and dry; and with him I confess all; few writers are more frequent in this kind of mischief. Thou canst not think worse of my performance than I do myself, for in the first place I have my vision of what it might have been, and in the second, any work in this kind must remain an effort rather than an achievement, and in that alone I am belike overbold in advancing it. But thou canst still say tis not worth reading; to which I reply again briefly and yet I hope sufficiently: the choice is thine; and if it is as bad as I have said, I yield it, I desire thee not to waste time in perusing so vain a work, I should be peradventure loth myself to read myself or thee so writing. But such arguers may please to consider that I have precedents; ’tis not the first usurpation of an author’s style and method; others have done as much and not always as frankly, but the theme is mine, the whole discourse being a kind of picture of mine own disposition . . . And when I have spread all my reasons out, it remains, and it must be plain to all perspicacious readers, that this treatise is writ for mine own exercise and satisfaction: I have made a recreation of a recreation,’ to please myself, not in vanity, but as a game is played, and if you like not my game, go play something else, I shall not be offended.

As was probably expected, the number of quotes I collected from this work topped my previous highest, Leopardi's Zibaldone, before Montaigne overtook that. As such, instead of selecting the best of the bunch, as is my usual MO, I thought I'd select one per subsection to attempt to give anyone interested a flavour of the work as a whole . . . I attempted to do this but quickly met the word limit. In place of this, I'll simply state that if you enjoyed and appreciated Burton, and also have a love of Books (with a capital B) and everything about them, you'll greatly enjoy the insane number of anecdotes that Jackson relates, and the thread he has used to weave them all together via the following topics which can be seen in my comment below (word count hit; listed a'la the sections of Burton's Anatomy, in an attempt to mimic the style of Burton's analytical contents pages)
__________
I also want to thank Jackson for providing titles for many, many books; a small number of which looked interesting enough for me to want to read in the future.

Achieving, as they do, so much in the economy of life, it is no surprise to learn from Richard de Bury that their origin is divine: all the glory of the world would be buried in oblivion, unless God had provided mortals with the remedy of books', and in many other parts of the same dissertation this most notable authority apostrophizes books in terms which outrace praise and exalt them beyond most mortal things, which I shall have occasion to cite. In the meantime let him relate how they are masters who instruct us without rod or ferule, without angry words, without clothes or money, and that if you come to them they are not asleep; if you ask and enquire of them they do not withdraw themselves; they do not chide if you make mistakes; they do not laugh at you if you are ignorant; they to all who ask and enfranchise all who serve them faithfully; they are the treasured wealth of the world, the fit inheritance of generations and nations, necessities of life.

[Al · Rating 5 out of 5]

I read this work over a period of several months. If you love books, collect them, hold them, smell them, etc... you will love this work. Jackson wrote it in the style of Burton's Anatomy of Meloncholy, and it was HUGELY entertaining. It also made me realize that my love of books directly competes with my love for Christ...not good.

[Elizabeth · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book was the bane of my existence for the five days I spent reading it. I may have felt somewhat differently if I had taken longer to digest its 650 pages, but on the whole I found Jackson's meandering style in desperate need of an editorial hand. In his preface to the reader, he loftily suggests his book's aim, like the Anatomy of Melancholy from whom he cribs his title, is to enumerate and reflect upon all of the aspects of books and reading. There is little doubt he manages to do so in the lengthy prose of his work, but he does so by piling source upon quote upon source with no thesis or purpose behind them. The result, at least for my academic use, is that Jackson has composed what amounts to a review essay of basically every thought a person might have had regarding books and reading through the end of the nineteenth century. This is obviously useful territory for me, and I admired Jackson's willingness to include opinions he did not share within his intricate enumerations. However, the overall bias of his prose is clear throughout: books for Jackson are meant to be used, and using them entails reading them. He goes on at great length to this effect, in several chapters, highlighting differences between bibliophiles (who love books for reading) and bibliomanes (who only care for the object). I would have been more eager to accept his contributions had he not written about them at such repetitive length, and in such a way that skimming could easily have resulted in my missing something relevant to my own interests. I have to admit I very much enjoyed some sections of the book -- particularly his insights on books as weapons (literally their use to hit people over the head) as well as the history of reading and the toilet (which didn't go to graphic lengths, but was still suggestive of a potentially interesting field of study). I'm glad I have this behind me and under my belt, but unless you are writing a dissertation on books and/or reading, I can't recommend it unless you are looking for a big fat book to hit someone over the head with.

[Bryan Szabo · Rating 4 out of 5]

Not a book for the casual lover of books. Not even a book for the utterly devoted reader. This is a book for those who are devoted, not to the words on the page and their meaning but, rather, to the bindings on the shelves, to the long history of priceless volumes passing from the hands of one devoted collector to another. There are many interesting stories to be told about these collectors, and Jackson has collected all of them--like a true bibliophile, he collects stories with only the smallest measure of discernment. He arrays anecdotes and quotes (Latin and French as often as English) up and down the page, which makes the reading more than a little tedious at times. Still, he must be commended for the breadth of his reading. There is NO study (that I know of at least) of this subject that is so wide-ranging and thorough. It remains the de facto reference for those writing or reading about book love in all its forms.

A moment, though, for a lament. The kind of book collector that Jackson describes in this book is nearly extinct--at least in the form in which Jackson describes him. Since the kinds of books (bound in moroccan, tooled in gold, some with the scribblings of famous authors in the margins, others with names like Elzevir and Manutius on the title page) that most excite Jackson's bibliophiles have all but disappeared from the open market, the kind of mania that drives the collector to the bookstalls and the back corner of dusty shops is almost never satisfied with the object of its mad desire. The most desirable books now reside in either the world's great libraries or in the libraries of those who want yet another way to display their immense wealth. Even when Jackson wrote this book nearly a century ago, this process was nearly complete. He complains, as men have complained in every century, about the scarcity of treasures and about the immense cost of collectable volumes. Unless it is inherited or stolen (the latter being one of the finer chapters in this book), a library of the kind that Jackson describes here is all but entirely out of reach of the book lover of modest means. We book lovers can admire from afar, but never can we run our hands over the pages and bindings of these volumes. Our love is unconsummated--but only marginally less sweet for being so.

For those of us without the deepest of pockets, we must content ourselves with an everyman's library. The 20th century gave us the mass-produced book, and, though they look not so glorious on the shelf as a row of Manutians bound in red calf, they fill a home with words and let us live in close proximity to the greatest minds of this and of past ages. We can love these books every bit as much as Jackson's bibliophiles loved theirs. No small number of the bibliophiles in this book were lovers of the printed word. They loved not just books, but literature as well, loving what books say and how they say it, how they speak to us across the centuries of the essentially unchanged human experience. These are those who, in short, read their books and own them TO read them. To collect books for any other reason seems, to this reviewer, a kind of madness.

[Charles Schneider · Rating 5 out of 5]

A lovely, massive book-lovers tome stuffed with literary anecdotes, Book folklore, legend and curiosa. Perfect to keep next to the bed for dipping into on stormy nights, tea in hand. Have adored this book for 40 years. An entire chapter entitled:
BOOKS BOUND IN HUMAN SKIN
Need I say more? Just get it.

[Marc Joseph · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is an extremely well-researched treatise on the condition of Bibliomania. It is instructive to read with copious footnotes and written in the style of Robert Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy. If you enjoy books on books or are an avid book collector, this title is for you. I read the original two volume limited edition, although this book has gone through many editions and you can purchase a one volume edition should you choose. Not a quick read by any means, but a rewarding one.

[Pollypollack · Rating 4 out of 5]

Lots of meaty little gems in this book, but lots of skippable parts (for me) too. But definitely worth finding!

[Sue Bridgwater · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book I have just read is actually Volume 1 of 2. It has 419 pages. Now on to volume 2!

[Antonio Gallo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Holbrook Jackson (1874-1948) è uno scrittore e critico inglese autore del più famoso libro sulla Bibliomania intitolato “Anatomia della Bibliomania”. Un testo che è una vera e proria delizia per il bibliofilo appassionato, un libro considerato da molti la pietra d’angolo sulla utilità, gli scopi ed i piaceri che nascono dall’amore per i libri. ”Anatomia della Bibliomania” inizia proprio dal principio, da quando cioè i libri cominciarono ad apparire sulla scena della vita dell’uomo. Il libro offre agli appassionati l’abbraccio e la compagnia dei tempi lontani, dal tempo dei Romani, del Rinascimento e del periodo romantico. Jackson studia a fondo la natura dei libri, ne conosce le loro proprietà terapeutiche e curative, le loro passioni intense che possono condurre alla manìa.

Una Bibliomania, egli dice, che è “geniale e comunque meno insana della sanità di chi si ritiene sano di mente”. Con arguzia leggera ed intelligente egli esprime le sue opinioni su perché si legge, dove si legge, quando si legge, cosa accade dentro di noi quando affrontiamo il viaggio coi libri. Egli ci parla dell’allestimento dei libri, dei vermi che li abitano, delle biblioteche che li ospitano, dello sport della caccia dei libri, del carattere e del comportamento di chi compra i libri, di chi li abbellisce, li decora, chi li ruba, chi li prende in prestito, chi li colleziona. Francesco Bacone, Anatole France, Emerson, Shakespeare e innumerevoli altri autori sono presenti in questo suo libro e animano questa eterna mania.

Quasi un’afflizione che arricchisce, che vale la pena coltivare, conoscere, migliorare in tutti i sensi. Un libro istruttivo quello di Jackson, affascinante, godibile, di un piacere al quale nessun amico dei libri può sottrarsi. Lo scopriremo insieme allorquando esaminerò i capitoli nei quali il libro è strutturato, un tomo di oltre seicento pagine, suddiviso in 32 sezioni. Un lungo, straordinario percorso di lettura scritto sulla falsariga di un’altra famosa opera scritta con un intento anatomico maniacale simile a questo e che va sotto il nome di “The Anatomy of Melancholy”: una “Anatomia della Follia”.

Seguitemi nella lettura dei post che vi proporrò e non vi pentirete della vostra bibliomania. Ma il viaggio che faremo nel libri, nella mente di chi li scrive, nella vita di chi li legge, li vende, li compra, li raccoglie, li stampa, li colleziona, li trasforma in un modo od un un altro, non si fermerà a Jackson. Sono trascorsi molti anni da quando venne pubblicato il suo libro. Molta acqua è passata sotto i ponti dove scorrono i libri. La moderna tecnologia ha letteralmente trasformato non solo il modo di scrivere, stampare e pubblicare i libri, ma anche quello di pensarli in maniera creativa.

Il libro moderno è destinato ad essere diverso, molto diverso da quello che abbiamo conosciuto fino ad oggi. Non sarà più solo cartaceo, bensì digitale, elettronico, “liquido”. Vale a dire, in un continuo divenire, non più limitato nel tempo ed allo spazio, ma capace di andare oltre. Per mezzo del tempo e dello spazio i “nuovi” libri saranno capaci di rinnovarsi ed integrarsi tramite connessioni impensabili prima, possibili oggi con le nuove tecnologie. Un viaggio affascinante, sempre nuovo e diverso, nella biblioteca della vita.