November 1, 2007
Suzzallo’s ‘Companionable Books’ exhibit an extraordinary slice of history
Lovers of old books are drawn to Suzzallo Library every day of the year, but just now there’s even more reason for bibliophiles to stop by: An extraordinary exhibit called Companionable Books: A Century of Publishers’ Bindings, 1820-1920.
The books are behind glass in Room 102 — the exhibit room to the left as you enter from Red Square — as well as the Allen Library first floor lobby and in the display area outside the Special Collections Division, in the Allen south basement. The exhibit will remain through Dec. 19.
History itself is on display in the covers and bindings of these 500-plus handsome volumes. Many have elaborate cover illustrations and date back to before the advent of dust jackets. They’re on display now, but are accessible to the public in Special Collections all year long. And in their day these books were not rarities; they were meant to be handled and read.
The exhibit was painstakingly curated by Sandra Kroupa, book arts and rare book curator for UW Libraries, who also buys vintage books for the UW; and Kathryn Leonard, library materials conservation supervisor. Leonard also created large, eye-catching posters for the show, depicting outsized book covers.
“Most of the books in the exhibit, about 98 percent, were bought for their content, and the bindings came along for the ride,” Kroupa said. Now, though, those bindings and cover illustrations tell of times gone by.
Kroupa, who also teaches classes in book arts, said it’s important for students to know about what a book was like in the time it was published.
Many of the books fairly glow with elaborate, gold-hued titles and two-color illustrations depicting dramatic, eye-catching scenes from the text — characters silhouetted against the moon, in conflict, or embarking on great voyages.
“This was all marketing,” Kroupa said — an effort by publishers, then as now, to interest readers in purchasing the volume by hinting, often sensationally, at the dramas within.
Included are displays dedicated to celebrating two bygone stars of the book design world, Margaret Armstrong (1867-1944) and Sarah Wyman Whitman (1842-1904). And for the book lover, there are volumes that nearly take the breath away, such as a first edition of Stephen Crane’s The Red Badge of Courage and a luridly illustrated English publication of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin, among many others.
Kroupa explained that prior to 1800, “if you bought a book, you bought it in a paper wrapper, untrimmed, uncut, and you got it bound.”
She said appreciation of such old volumes has increased tremendously since she came to the UW in 1968 and worked with Robert Monroe, the first head of Special Collections, who bought scores of beautiful books “when they were still inexpensive.”
Kroupa said there were virtually no reference books about these types of books back then, but that scholars have taken a greater interest in recent years.
Certain writers, over time, become forgotten if their books are not kept in print, “and those voices could be stilled forever.” But modern scholarship is increasingly embracing, and bringing back to public attention, the work of those near-forgotten talents — many women and minorities. The process may ultimately change the canon of American literature taught in schools and embraced by readers.
In her curator’s statement, posted near the display, co-curator Kathryn Leonard wrote, “This gathering of publishers’ bindings displays not only the products of technical invention, but the inspired efforts of countless artists, craftsmen and publishers. I am struck by the abundance of innovation, creativity and sheer proliferation of the book first made possible in the 19th and early 20th centuries.
“The availability and affordability of these books shaped culture, and provided roots for the enduring presence of the physical book today.”
But in this day of digital downloads and online publications, will the physical book survive? Absolutely, Kroupa believes.
“My focus is 50 to 100 years from now,” she said. “I’m collecting for someone who’s going to be here when I’m gone.”
With a smile, Kroupa described her own knowledge of old books as being “like an oil slick — broad, but thin.” But she loves her work and has no intention of retiring even though she’s approaching her 40th year at the UW. (“I’ve been interviewed by students as a living artifact of the ’60s,” she quipped.)
“The great thing about working here is that you know you’re contributing to something, to a greater good.”
