As I wrote my previous letter, it occurred to me that the commitment to register 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 a sandwich away from a picnic. I counted over 1,000 books here alone – 1,047 if you insist – and would dare to suggest that the house should contain over 3,000 titles. Assuming, of course, that I don’t buy more, it will only take me about three lifetimes to properly review what I have. So forgive me if I seem to periodically speed through the shelves, landing perhaps on an old but very dear friend, or indeed a friend I never knew I liked.
However, none of the top shelves fall into this category. All are relatively recent acquisitions that just didn’t fit in the obvious places. However, it would be fair to say that I have barely read them. Two of them are still wrapped in the cellophane wrapper, while the first eleven show all the hallmarks of the eternal reserves. Fresh sleeves, clean joints, silent 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 linger a bit longer on these volumes.
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 play, entitled “A Part of the Town” and offers a fascinating insight into the development of the Jewish diaspora in and around Charleston. This charming and historic city housed, in the first quarter of the 19th century, the most prosperous Jewish community in America, surpassing that of New York, financially, culturally and numerically. 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 dissidents to introduce Reform Judaism in the United States.” The book, the result of a seven-year collaboration, is finely illustrated and is a glimpse of both life left behind and life ahead of the immigrant Jewish population. This is a book I will certainly return to, especially for its detailed focus on prominent families and personal narratives.
This last point is relevant in more ways than one. I have been involved intermittently for the past five years in genealogical research on my own family. This is a major endeavor using conventional means, so I am always intrigued to read actual or anecdotal evidence from secondary sources that may facilitate my investigations. As five of my great-grandmother’s siblings settled in the United States, I continually search for clues and supplemental information, where possible, from the vast material available that may better define their experience. So here I am, two days after Christmas and many months after the acquisition, nailing the cellophane and checking another gift for me.
Despite its protective cover, I can instantly see that the book is not in perfect condition with a small tear on the dust jacket and a few bumps on the spine. Internally, however, “Brooklyn Jews” is a delight and is actually a robust series of 55 essays by cultural historians, museum curators, residents, and others. The subject ranges from “Nice Jewish Girls: Growing Up in Brownsville, 1930’s – 1950’s” 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 as engaging as the last.
The next mini stack included 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 untouched territory that I’ll deflower like a book once the cellophane is off. The survey on French painting is conducted by the distinguished scholar and art historian, Christopher Wright. I also own a sister publication by the same 17th century Dutch painting author that, ironically, I have been reading over the weekend, having borrowed it from my father. This sits on a completely different shelf with a copy of Taschen’s “1,000 Favorite Websites”, a recent addition still drenched in plastic. I’ll do it pretty quickly, don’t worry. Taschen is synonymous with quirky, lavishly illustrated titles that span everything from design to erotica and more. Sets a standard that some other editors match. Check it out and you will see why I have such a passion for Taschen.
Fast forward, as we must, attention can now turn to a topic that I have always cherished. I remember being invited by a girlfriend 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 also struck by the number of prominent ads from unexpected sources like Sweden and Brazil. I think there is an element here of a total underdog that comes out of nowhere. I had a similar feeling watching Abebe Bekila and his Kenyan compatriots suddenly and excitingly take the middle distance athletics events by assault at the 1972 Olympics. Or the similarly vintage Fiji rugby team whose power , momentum 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 that they were definitely on the map after the screening. I realized that the perceived backwaters of human effort had the ability to not only tip the apple cart, but also tip it over. More importantly, I witnessed for the first time the cultural differences expressed in native languages and understood, albeit hesitantly, the breadth of the global marketplace. “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 perhaps you as well.
“Sign Language” is a wonderful little number that I suspect, however, it will appear on a few shelves besides mine. The author has had a life-long love affair with handmade street signs, makeshift billboards, and the like. The book is a kind of hymn to the wonders of typography in all its shapes and forms. I too enjoy a pang of nostalgia seeing Cromwell Road W, for example, or the first blue signs dotted around London. For me, they particularly embody city life with their distinctive lettering and distinctive experience. “Sign Language” is a lovely and fun book, although it’s probably not for everyone.
The next one is “La Habana en mi corazón”, a retrospective of 75 years of Cuban photography. I just spent ten minutes flipping through it and am a bit embarrassed to have ignored its evocative and powerful images for so long. Behold, another title from Taschen is presented, namely, “Country Houses of England.” I must admit, having dipped now, that this is not a typical purchase, but I was attracted to, save me a thought, their 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 knack for words.
The final book in this batch is a heavyweight. This is “The Harvard Museums”, an impressive tome that reflects the three outstanding collections under the aegis of the university. They are probably all worth mentioning as I had only heard of one and had no idea how considerate cognoscenti are. They are the Fogg Museum of Art, the Busch-Reisinger Museum and the Arthur M. Sackler Museum and, among others, they display an exceptional variety of paintings, drawings and prints by old and modern masters, photographs, classical sculptures, Indian miniatures, etc. This is a big and serious book, not recommended for reading on the subway or discreetly during lunch.
The artistic theme is substantially maintained in the remaining five books on this shelf. The first concerns a subject with which I am very familiar. It is titled “To Have and To Hold: An Intimate Collectors and Collecting Story” and forced one critic to say that it was “never less than fascinating, often brilliant. I think it will captivate thousands of readers as much as it dazzled and loved it.” Do not say more. I also have a copy of “Art Since 1945”, a relatively early edition of Thames and Hudson, undated but probably published around 1959. This is a comprehensive analysis of modern art and comes with 60 color plates and 120 prints. 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 nonetheless an excellent resource that I will return to.
Now I am entering 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 to hide with. This exceptionally thought-provoking and enlightening study traces the rise in baroque Europe of the “halls of wonders.” The desire to create a complete and private universe of knowledge reached its peak at this time and was pursued by antiquarians and princes, merchants and statesmen. Collections often include beautiful minerals and corals, scientific instruments, monstrously deformed nativity scenes, automatons, preserved and pickled animals, wax effigies, seashells, exquisite ivory carvings, etc. This is a fabulous read that, if you’re a bit loose when it comes to books, I can’t recommend it highly enough.
The penultimate title had a difficult act to follow and I am afraid it failed quite miserably. “Treasures of the National Trust” is firmly in the dignified but boring department. Arguably the most interesting aspect is the publisher, one 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 messy mind. Normal service resumes with the final offering, “Morocco – Decor, Interiors, Design”, a hallmark of Conran and Taschen’s distant cousin. I’ve 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.
