It occurred to me, as I was writing my letter above, that committing myself to registering all the books in my collection was a bit ambitious. Having done a quick scan of the shelves in my study, I can safely conclude that I must be one sandwich away from a picnic. Here I only counted more than 1000 books, 1047 if you insist, and I would suggest that the house must contain more than 3000 titles. Assuming, of course, that I don’t buy any more, it will only take me about three lifetimes to properly review what I have. Please forgive me, therefore, if I seem to be skimming the shelves periodically, stopping perhaps on an old but much-loved friend or, indeed, a friend I never knew I liked.
However, none of the top shelves fall into this category. They’re all relatively recent acquisitions that just didn’t fit in the obvious places. However, it would be fair to say that I have barely skimmed through them. Two of them are still wrapped in the cellophane wrapper, while the first eleven show all the characteristics of the eternal reserves. Crisp sleeves, clean joints, quiet words. Unfortunately, despite my best intentions, squad rotation is an innovation that has yet to reach the farthest corners of my studio, so let me dwell on these volumes a bit longer.
The first two I bought at a book fair associated with Jewish Book Week. They refer to the American Jewish communities in South Carolina and Brooklyn, respectively. The first is a beautifully produced work entitled “A Portion of the People” and offers a fascinating insight into the development of the Jewish diaspora in and around Charleston. This charming and historic city was home, in the first quarter of the 19th century, to the most prosperous Jewish community in the United States, surpassing that of New York in financial, cultural and numerical terms. Its inhabitants included, for example, “the first Jew elected to public office in the Western world, the first Jewish soldier to die in the American Revolution, and the first dissenters who introduced Reform Judaism to the United States.” The book, the result of a seven-year collaboration, is finely illustrated and is a glimpse into both life left behind and life ahead of the Jewish immigrant population. This is a book I will certainly return to, especially for its detailed focus on prominent families and their personal narratives.
This last point is relevant in more ways than one. I have been involved on and off for the past five years in genealogical research on my own family. This is a major effort using mainstream media, so I’m always intrigued to read actual or anecdotal evidence from secondary sources that might make my queries easier. As five of my great-grandmother’s siblings settled in the United States, I am continually looking for additional clues and information, where possible, from the vast amount of material out there that can better define their experience. So here I am, two days after Christmas and many months after the purchase, piercing the cellophane and checking out another gift for myself.
Despite its protective cover, I can instantly see that the book is not in perfect condition with a small tear to the dust jacket and some dents to the spine. Internally, though, “Jews of Brooklyn” proves to be a delight and is actually a solid 55-essay series by cultural historians, museum curators, residents, and others. The subject ranges from “Nice Jewish Girls: Growing Up in Brownsville, 1930 – 1950” to “Brooklyn Jewish Radio, 1925 – 1946” and “Cruising Eastern Parkway in Search of Yiddishkayt.” As will be revealed in due course, I am a great admirer of the essay as a literary form, and this book is just as engaging as the last.
The next mini stack includes a slightly mixed bag. There are three books here, namely “The French Painters of the 17th Century”, “Creative Advertising” and “Sign Language: Street Signs as Folk Art”. I’ve flirted with the first two, but the last one is genuinely virgin territory that I’ll deflower like a bookseller once the cellophane is peeled. The survey of French painting is by the distinguished scholar and art historian Christopher Wright. I also own a sister publication by the same author of 17th century Dutch painting which ironically I have been reading over the weekend as my father has just lent it to him. This sits on a completely different shelf with a copy of Taschen’s “1,000 Favorite Websites,” a recent addition that’s still covered in plastic. I’ll get to that pretty sharp, don’t worry. Taschen is synonymous with quirky, lavishly illustrated titles that cover everything from design to eroticism and beyond. It sets a standard that few other publishers match. Take a look and you’ll see why I’m so passionate about Taschen.
Fast-forwarding, as we must, attention can now turn to a subject that I have always held dear. I remember being invited by a friend about twenty years ago to a private screening of the international advertising industry awards. It was a revelation. Not only was the quality very high, but I was surprised by the number of featured ads from unexpected sources like Sweden and Brazil. I think there’s an element here of a complete underdog emerging out of nowhere. I had a similar feeling watching Abebe Bekila and his Kenyan compatriots suddenly and thrillingly sweep the middle-distance track and field events at the 1972 Olympics. Or the Fiji rugby team of a similar era whose power, drive and sheer exoticism turned them into another surprise package.
The respective Swedish and Brazilian ad directors may have only been household names in their own homes before the screening, but the collective purr told me they were definitely on the map after that. I realized that the perceived backwaters of human effort had the ability to not only upset the apple cart but also tip it over. More importantly, I witnessed for the first time cultural differences expressed in native languages and understood, albeit tentatively, the breadth of the global market. “Creative Advertising” is primarily aimed at art directors and copywriters but, in its coverage of ideas and techniques from the world’s best campaigns, it also has great appeal to the voyeur in me and maybe you too.
“Sign Language” is a wonderful little number that I suspect, however, will show up on a few shelves other than mine. The author has had a lifelong love affair with handmade street signs, makeshift billboards, and the like. The book is something of a hymn to the wonders of typography in all its shapes and forms. I, too, enjoy a twinge of nostalgia at the sight of Cromwell Road W, for example, or the first mottled blue signs around London. For me, they particularly embody the life of the city with their distinctive lyrics and distinctive experience. “Sign Language” is a charming and entertaining book, though probably not for everyone.
It is followed by “Havana in my heart”, a retrospective of 75 years of Cuban photography. I just spent ten minutes flipping through it and am a little embarrassed that I ignored the evocative and powerful images of it for so long. Lo and behold, another Taschen title is introduced, namely “Country Houses of England”. I must admit, now that I’ve dove into the interior, this isn’t a typical purchase, but I was drawn to it, spare me a thought, by its padded covers. It has been written simultaneously in French and German, but the entire production has been executed in the usual Taschen style. I was quite intrigued by the French version of the title – it was translated as “Les Maisons Romantiques d’Angleterre”, but the French often seem to have a way with words.
The final book in this batch is a heavyweight. It is “Harvard’s Museums”, an impressive tome that reflects the three outstanding collections under the auspices of the university. All of them are probably worth mentioning, as I had only heard of one and had no idea how highly regarded the cognoscenti are. They are the Fogg Museum of Art, the Busch – Reisinger Museum, and the Arthur M. Sackler Museum and, among others, exhibit an exceptional variety of paintings, drawings and prints, photographs, classical sculptures, Indian miniatures, etc., by old masters and modern. This is a big, serious book, not recommended for reading on the subway or quietly over lunch.
The artistic theme is substantially maintained in the remaining five books on this shelf. The first refers to a subject with which I am very familiar. It is titled “To Have and to Keep: An Intimate History of Collectors and Collecting” and prompted one reviewer to rave that it was “never less than fascinating, often brilliant. delighted.” Do not say more. I also have a copy of “Art Since 1945”, a relatively early Thames and Hudson edition, undated but probably published around 1959. This is a comprehensive analysis of modern art and comes with 60 color plates and 120 etchings. The dust jacket may have seen better days but make no mistake, this is an elegant contribution to contemporary art criticism. I don’t remember where I bought it but it is nevertheless an excellent resource and one to which I will return.
Now I am heading towards the home stretch, after which I have seen another book still wrapped in cellophane. It is “Cabinets of Curiosities”, also from the Thames and Hudson stable, and a book with which to hide oneself. This exceptionally stimulating and illuminating study traces the rise in Baroque Europe of “halls of wonder.” The desire to create a universe of complete and private knowledge reached its peak at this time and was pursued by antiquarians and princes, merchants and statesmen. The collections often include beautiful minerals and corals, scientific instruments, monstrously deformed nativities, automatons, preserved and pickled animals, wax effigies, seashells, exquisite ivory carvings, etc. This is a fabulous read which, if you have a bit of a book to spare, I can’t recommend highly enough.
The penultimate title had a tough act to follow and I’m afraid it flopped miserably. “National Trust Treasures” sits firmly in the dignified but dull apartment. Arguably the most interesting aspect is the publisher, a certain Robin Fedden, whose unusual last name made me wonder if he was related to the modern British painter, Mary Fedden. Sorry, just the workings of a disordered mind. Normal service resumes with the final offering, “Morocco – Decoration, Interiors, Design”, a Conran imprint and a distant cousin of Taschen. I have never been to Morocco but I hear good things and this polished effort brings me a little closer. By the way, I loved the cover design, an exquisite blue damask that highlights a mysterious red symbol. Probably Moroccan.