A preoccupation with the functionality of tools from the present can sometimes result in a failure to appreciate the sophistication of instruments from previous centuries, but Peter Apian’s work is a reminder that the act of computing predates the use of a contemporary computer. In the Early Modern period, those individuals wishing to perform complex calculations of planetary motions could turn to a volvelle, a type of wheel chart made from paper or parchment containing rotating parts that functioned like an analog computer. Tied together at the center, the independent layers of the substrate (paper, in this instance) allowed the instrument to rotate around the central axis and the user to swivel the pointers and calculate the positions of the sun, moon, or planets. In his introduction, Apian claims to have taken eight years to create the Astronomicum Caesareum, and to have colored, cut, and assembled all of the instruments himself in his workshop.

The dragon plates, shown below, are some of the most famous and best loved apparatus in the Astronomicum Caesareum. In addition to offering a splendid potential tattoo design, the first draco volvelle invites its users to calculate the latitude of the moon. The central disk has two pointers: the dragon’s head (caput draconis), and the dragon’s tail (cauda draconis). Each corresponds to a lunar node, the point at which, in the geocentric Ptolemaic System, the orbit of the moon was thought to intersect the ecliptic, the sun’s apparent path across the sky as observed from Earth.

The elaborate draco volvelle can be used in conjunction with the text and numerical tables printed on the facing page. The first column of text provides an explanation of how to use the volvelle, and it cleverly employs the birthdays of Peter Apian’s patrons, Charles V and Ferdinand I, as examples. To see this instrument in action, turn to the video “Using the Astronomicum Caesareum Book” created by the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and watch the dragon disk turn.

The Rare Book and Special Collections Division has two copies of this magnificent work. The copy from the Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection has been digitized in full, so, now history-loving night owls can contemplate the Ptolemaic spheres from the comfort of their domicile at any hour. Those who prefer to be active during daylight hours and who also enjoy physical proximity to the Library of Congress during the month of July may wish to stop by the Rare Book Reading Room in LJ-239 during business hours to view a mini display of books that feature dragons. The display will be available until the end of the month.

Come take a look!

Sources and Further Reading:

Betteridge, R. (2017). “Astronomicum Caesareum.” National Library of Scotland.

Gislén, L. (2018). “A Commentary on the Volvelles in Petrus Apianus’ Astronomicum Caesareum”. Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 21(2&3), 135-201.

Fowler, I. (2023). ‘Astronomicum Caesareum’ with Ian Fowler. New York Public Library.

Karr, S (April, 2004). “Constructions Both Sacred and Profane: Serpents, Angels, and Pointing Fingers in Renaissance Books with Moving Parts” Yale University Library Gazette 78 (3/4), 101-127.

Martin, R. (2015). “Decoding the Medieval Volvelle: Made from Circles of Paper or Parchment, the Volvelle was Part Timepiece, Part Floppy Disk, and Part Crystal Ball.” Art Stories. Getty Museum.

Metropolitan Museum of Art. (2022). “Using the Astronomicum Caesareum Book.”

Poulle, E. (1984). Les Tables Alphonsines avec, les Canons de Jean de Saxe. Editions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. Paris, Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique.

Wattenberg, D., and Archenhold, G. (1967). Peter Apianus and his Astronomicum Caesarum. Edition Leipzig. [Leipzig].

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Special thanks to the Library’s Multimedia Group for their skill and expertise in bringing these films to life!

We will continue to add to our America 250 series in the runup to July 4th, 2026, but here are the films that we have produced in our first few sessions:

The Goddard Printing of the Declaration of Independence

In January of 1777, after evacuating Philadelphia for Baltimore, the Continental Congress commissioned Mary Katharine Goddard to print a second issue of the Declaration of Independence. This time, those who signed the Declaration in July of 1776 reasserted their commitment to the cause of Independence by allowing their names to be printed on the broadside. Mary Katharine Goddard put her name in print, too. In this film, Marianna Stell tells the story of this printing of the Declaration of Independence and explains broadsides as a crucial form of printed communication.

James Monroe as Diplomat and Scholar

Decades prior to becoming our nation’s fifth President, James Monroe served the United States as Minister to France. During his time in Paris, he purchased a rare book about Roman history that he later referenced during his retirement as he wrote a book about the history of republican governments. This film explains Monroe’s turbulent years as a diplomat, his relationship with George Washington, and his research into political history.

Two 19th Century American Board Games

What does it mean to win the game of life? Children’s board games teach cultural values and measurements of success to a society’s youngest members. A comparison of these two 19th century board games, one from 1843 and one from 1889, reveal the cultural shift that occurred in the United States during the second half of the 19th century. Library Cataloguer Jackie Coleburn explores the similarities and differences between these two board games in this film.

Early American Almanacs

In the American Colonies, pocket sized almanacs outsold all other types of books combined. These little books were handy, printed tools used by readers every day, providing weather predictions, the dates of important religious and civic events, business resources, medical guidance, and informative essays. This film explains how Benjamin Franklin achieved economic security by writing and publishing Poor Richard’s Almanac and explores an almanac used by George Washington.

The First American Math Textbook

In 1729, the first American mathematics textbook, Arithmetic Vulgar and Decimal, was published anonymously in Boston. The story of its author, Isaac Greenwood, and his little book, with its shortcuts and blank space for calculations, is one of home-grown American industry, innovation, and tragedy. In this film, Ralph Pantozzi, an Albert Einstein Fellow, explains the biographical context and textual innovations that distinguish the first American math textbook.

Phyllis Wheatley

One of America’s first great poets to achieve international acclaim, Phillis Wheatley wrote about key events and figures of the American Revolution, such as the Boston Massacre and General George Washington. She was also an enslaved woman who had to prove her abilities time and time again. This film presents the story of her book, Poems on Various Topics, Religious and Moral, published in 1773.

The Bay Psalm Book

The first book produced in British North America was the Bay Psalm Book, printed in Cambridge, Massachusetts, in 1640. Despite being error-ridden and not particularly well printed, this little book is among the rarest and most valuable items in the Library’s collections. In this film, Kevin Butterfield, Director of the John W. Kluge Center at the Library of Congress, explains the history behind the first book printed in what became the United States.

The First American Cookbook

Among the most formative moments in the development of an American culture independent of European traditions was the publication of American Cookery, the first cookbook written by an American for an American audience. In this film, RBSCD Reference Librarian Amanda Zimmerman explains culinary culture in the early United States, the importance of Amelia Simmons’s 1796 cookbook, and an errata sheet that suggests someone’s attempt to sabotage this publication.

The Great Gatsby

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby was not always considered to be so great. Unflattering reviews and disappointing sales had confined the novel to obscurity for decades before it re-entered the public consciousness during World War II. In this film, Patrick Hastings presents the history of The Great Gatsby and its unlikely journey to become one of the Great American Novels.

Bidwell’s The Declaration in Script and Print tells the story of the composition and first printings of the Declaration of Independence in 1776-1777 and traces the history of 19th century artistic reproductions of our nation’s founding document. Dr. Bidwell weaves his technical and interpretive examinations of historic printings of the Declaration within a lively narrative of the people and events involved in bringing illustrated versions of the text to the American public. Dr. Bidwell’s book also provides a comprehensive checklist of the Declaration’s earliest printings. In sum, The Declaration in Print and Script explores a transformative moment in print history by discussing the techniques of typesetting, engraving, and lithography that artists and printers used to reproduce and illustrate the various editions of the Declaration in this era.

The Library couldn’t be more excited to host Dr. Bidwell as he speaks about the research and writing process that brought this book into being. 

The event on July 17 will include four components:

• John Bidwell will present a brief introduction to his book and the process by which he identified, researched, and interpreted the Library’s collections in his work.
• Then, Stephanie Stillo, the Chief of the Rare Book and Special Collections Division, will engage with Dr. Bidwell in a conversational interview segment.
• With the remaining time in the hour, the audience will have the opportunity to ask questions.
• Before and after the event on stage, a curated display of select printings of the Declaration of Independence from the Manuscript and Rare Book Divisions will highlight the Library’s extraordinary Americana collections. 

This event will be free and open to the public, and you can register to attend via this link. If you are unable to join us in person on July 17, the event will be filmed and posted to RBSCD’s filmed events page.

John Bidwell is a curator emeritus at the Morgan Library & Museum in New York City and served as the Astor Curator of Printed Books & Bindings there. Dr. Bidwell received his bachelor’s degree in history at Columbia University, earned his M.A. at Columbia’s School of Library Service, and received his doctorate in English from Oxford. He has written extensively on the history of papermaking and the graphic arts.

The Rare Book and Special Collections Division and the Manuscript Division will co-host this event as part of the “Made at the Library” series, which highlights works that emerge from research conducted at the Library of Congress. This series features authors, artists, and other creators in conversation with experts from the Library’s staff. Dr. Bidwell will offer his perspective on the experience of working with the Library’s collections as he researched the rich and varied printing history of the Declaration of Independence. 

When the Declaration of Independence was formally adopted by the Continental Congress on July 2nd, 1776, John Adams presciently envisioned future celebrations of this event:

The Second Day of July 1776, will be the most memorable Epocha, in the History of America.—I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations.

Adams surely meant to include registering for lectures about the Declaration in his list of celebratory acts!

Please join us on July 17th if you can!

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James Joyce’s Ulysses, well known as a hefty tome, is enlarged and enhanced in the Arion Press’s massive 1988 edition featuring etchings by the Abstract Expressionist artist Robert Motherwell. Motherwell’s illustrations complement Joyce’s novel with appropriate ambiguity while also faithfully representing subtleties in the text, revealing the artist’s lifelong obsession with Ulysses.

Robert Motherwell (1915-1991) was a member of the New York School, and his paintings and prints explored the emotive possibilities of raw gestures. Elements that recur in Motherwell’s work—triangles interacting with ovals, vertical strokes that finish with a shorter diagonal slope downward, conjoined angular peaks—offer associations and sensations while eluding a singular, fixed interpretation. Just like Ulysses.

Motherwell’s interest in Joyce began when he was twenty years old on a European tour with his father. Late on his first night in Paris, Motherwell purchased a copy of Ulysses from an outdoor bookstall and was absorbed into the novel for the rest of the trip. He paid little attention to Europe’s architecture, cuisine, or landscape, prompting his father finally to ask, “What’s that damned book your reading?” The young man murmured his reply, “I have a feeling it’s a masterpiece.”

Although the Arion Press’s illustrated edition of Ulysses was limited to only 150 copies printed to be sold, Motherwell conceived of it as a book to be read. In his mind, the massive size of the book was a benefit rather than a burden (which is saying something for a book that weighs 16 pounds). Motherwell explained,

“To me the most important thing, which has nothing to do with my etchings, is that there be a readable volume of Joyce. The typeface is faultless. And it is a large type on a large page. To ponder over Joyce you need a larger type! You need to be able to pause over each word. I have a sense of how the prints will look opposite the beautiful typeface.”

The edition’s beautiful Perpetua type was set by hand and printed on a Miller cylinder press at Arion Press in San Francisco. This large type pops off the substantial French mould-made Jahannot paper used in the edition.

Motherwell kept copies of Ulysses scattered all over his home and in his studios, frequently dipping into the novel to read a dozen or so pages at random. “Joyce is permanently on my mind,” he remarked. Inspired and influenced by Joyce’s innovative form of interior monologue, Motherwell shaped subconscious impulses into refined works of art, relying on techniques of Surrealist automatism to suggest hidden figures in his markings. 

In his Ulysses etchings, Motherwell responds both to the content and the spirit of Joyce’s novel, balancing figuration with abstraction and allowing the reader to discover connections between the image and the text. For example, Motherwell’s illustration of the “Scylla and Charybdis” episode of Ulysses presents three distinct figures, and the reader might identify them with characters or ideas from the text. What do you see in the image above? Perhaps the figure on the left strikes a contemplative pose, like an abstraction of Rodin’s “The Thinker.” The reader could identify with this quizzical figure while puzzling over this dense chapter, in which the 22-year-old protagonist, Stephen Dedalus, eruditely theorizes about Shakespeare’s Hamlet. In short, Stephen “proves by algebra that Hamlet’s grandson is Shakespeare’s grandfather and that he himself is the ghost of his own father.” Like the figure in Motherwell’s etching, the “Scylla and Charybdis” chapter is a head-scratcher.

But that’s just one reading of one of the forty etchings Motherwell made for this illustrated edition of Ulysses. Motherwell encouraged all readers to make their own meaning out of Joyce’s notoriously tricky text and the abstract illustrations that accompany it. 

In terms of artistic technique, Motherwell made these etchings in a multi-step process that begins with a plate of copper covered with wax or varnish. The artist uses a sharp tool to scrape away the wax in the shape of the desired image, and then the plate is dipped into acid. The acid burns into the copper where Motherwell carved away the wax, creating a smooth groove in the metal plate. The printmaker applies ink into those grooves, a piece of paper is laid on top of the copperplate, and then an intaglio press’s tremendous pressure releases the ink from the grooves onto the paper.  

Taken together, these elements—the thick paper, the large type, and Motherwell’s imaginative etchings—serve to prioritize the reader’s experience, inspiring a fresh opportunity for the reader to collaborate alongside Motherwell and Joyce in seeing Ulysses anew.

Sources and Further Reading:

Ashton, D. (Ed.) (1989). Robert Motherwell. Arnoldo Mondadori Editore Arte.

Joyce, J. (1966). Letters of James Joyce, Vol. 1 (R. Ellmann, Ed.), Viking.

Joyce, J. (1988). Ulysses (R. Motherwell, Illus.). Arion Press.

Mattison, R. S. (1981). “Two Decades of Graphic Art by Robert Motherwell.” The Print Collector’s Newsletter, vol. 11 (no. 6), 197–201.

Motherwell, R. (1992). The Collected Writings of Robert Motherwell (S. Terenzio, Ed.), Oxford University Press.

Motherwell, R. (1979). Robert Motherwell: Prints 1977-1979. Brooke Alexander, Inc.

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Gifted to the Library in 1941 by the family of Felix Warburg, the Warburg Hours is one of these tiny masterpieces. Crafted around 1500 by an as-yet unidentified workshop, this little Book of Hours features trompe l’oeil borders that anticipate the naturalism of the still-life paintings that flourished in Northern Europe a century later. Identifiable flowers and fruits—such as the violets and strawberries in the border below—mingle with mythical grotesques and intricately rendered insects.

Other leaves of the Warburg Hours dazzle the viewer with borders containing pearls and gems so convincing that the treasures appear to be in danger of rolling from the painting with a turn of the page.

On the leaves that contain large miniatures, the borders function as a liminal space in which the eternal and the natural worlds are presented as playfully contiguous. On folio 16, an expertly painted Salvator mundi gazes directly at the reader as if looking through a window. He raises his hand in a gesture of blessing while a snail in the border to his right slowly climbs the stem of a violet. Directly below, a fly descends upon a perfectly ripe strawberry—it’s little legs outstretched in perpetual preparation for landing. The berry, plump and heavy on its stem, looks sweet and juicy. The reader can almost smell it.

Woven into each of these strewn flower borders are religious and moral messages that are a challenge to untangle; the flexibility and relational nature of the symbolic program offers to the reader paintings of persistent interest that are capable of capturing attention even after repeated use renders them familiar. The naturalism of the art, however, is a constant source of wonder.

In recognition of its fine, illusionistic borders, the Warburg Book of Hours is on exhibit from May 18 through November 2, 2025 at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. The exhibition, titled “Little Beasts: Art, Wonder, and the Natural World,” features nearly 75 paintings, prints, and drawings in a unique presentation alongside specimens and taxidermy from the Smithsonian National Museum of Natural History.

This exhibition is the first time within the past several years that the public will have an opportunity to view the Warburg Hours. Recently, the manuscript has undergone extensive treatment in the Library’s Conservation Division that made it unavailable for viewing until now. Rebound during the early nineteenth century in a structure so stiff that a comfortable opening was impeded, the Warburg Hours required the Library’s book conservationists to create a new, strong but flexible binding for this little treasure.

A lengthy and challenging undertaking due to the heavy application of adhesive (hide glue) by the earlier binder, rebinding the Warburg Hours was a delicate, thoughtful, and multi-step project. Senior Book Conservator, Dan Paterson, removed the problematic binding, cleaned the spine, reduced the adhesive in the gutters, checked the paint and gold leaf for friability through the entire manuscript, repaired spine folds, sewed raised supports, built a non-adhesive spine to impart greater flexibility, and covered the wooden boards in a green leather goatskin. In addition to treating the Warburg Hours itself, he created two prototypes bindings before crafting the final binding.

The headbands are sewn in a traditional and lively chevron pattern in blue and green thread that complements the green goat leather and the blue and green used in the paintings throughout the manuscript.

The result of Dan Paterson’s work is a manuscript that is not only beautiful but that can now be shown and read and digitized without compromising the long-term health of the artwork. To view the Warburg Hours in person, find it in the “Little Beasts” exhibit in the West Building, Ground Floor, Gallery 23 at the National Gallery of Art!

Sources and Further Reading:

As-Vijvers, A. M. W. (2003). “More than Marginal Meaning? The Interpretation of Ghent-Bruges Border Decoration.” Oud Holland 117, No. 1, Pp. 3-33.

Hindman, S., & Marrow, J., (Eds). (2013). Books of Hours Reconsidered. London: Harvey Miller Publishers.

Kren, T. (2010). Illuminated Manuscripts from Belgium and the Netherlands in the J. Paul Getty Museum. Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum.

Kren, T., & McKendrick, S. (2003). Illuminating the Renaissance: The Triumph of Flemish Manuscript Painting in Europe. Los Angeles, Calif.: J. Paul Getty Museum.

Walters Art Gallery. (1949). Illuminated Books of the Middle Ages and Renaissance: An Exhibition Held at the Baltimore Museum of Art Gallery in Cooperation with the Baltimore Museum of Art. Baltimore: Trustees of the Walters Art Gallery.

Wieck, R. (2017). The Medieval Calendar: Locating Time in the Middle Ages. New York, NY : The Morgan Library & Museum, New York, in association with Scala Arts Publishers, Inc.

Wieck, R. (1988). Time Sanctified: The Book of Hours in Medieval Art and Life. New York: G. Braziller in association with the Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore.

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Because baseball emerged and developed concurrent to the rise of cheap, mass-produced reading material, the Library has a variety of printed artifacts that document the rise and popularization of America’s favorite pastime. 

Baseball, an untimed game played on expansive grass fields, provided a pastoral retreat from the industrialized, scheduled, congested urban environment that was beginning to dominate American life. More than 80% of Americans lived in rural areas prior to 1860, but the ensuing decades saw millions of people flock to the cities. The era of baseball’s emergence coincided with a U.S. population explosion from 17 million people in 1840 to over 76 million by the turn of the century, and many of these people crowded into American cities. When these urban workers had leisure time, many of them sought outdoor recreation in the fresh air.

In this same era, the Common School Movement prompted the growth of public education, creating an increasingly literate population eager for accessible reading material. Mass-produced books and newspapers served the demands of a reading public at the same time as baseball’s rise in popularity, so the game’s evolution was documented and promoted in print. In previous eras, localized rules for “town ball” and other games were taught from one generation to the next, but the game of baseball was codified, printed, and shared in mass-media nationwide. A standardized version of baseball spread in part because its rules were published in cheap, pocket-sized baseball guidebooks sold across the country by enthusiasts such as the sporting goods magnate Albert Spalding. Further promoting the game’s popularity, journalistic accounts of exciting games filled the columns of weekly entertainment newspapers such as the New York Clipper, written by journalists such as Henry Chadwick. The game spread in print as much as it did in the fields.

Within the Library’s collections, we have a few 19^th century baseball books that offer tips to players and publish official changes to the game’s rules. The first set of rules were compiled in 1845 by the New York Knickerbocker Base Ball Club, led by Alexander Cartwright, and were first printed for the public in 1848; the Library’s earliest book containing the Knickerbocker Rules is from 1858. Most of these rules resemble those followed today: three swinging strikes makes an out, three outs end an inning, the field is divided into fair and foul territory, and pegging runners with the ball is not allowed.

However, there are a few key differences between this early form of baseball and the game we play today, the most notable of which is the rule that “the ball must be pitched, not thrown, for the bat,” meaning that the pitcher’s job was essentially to facilitate the batter putting the ball in play. Up until 1884, pitchers had to toss the ball underhand (like slow pitch softball), and the batter even specified whether he wanted the ball to be delivered high or low (like little league coach-pitch).

These rules meant that the early game’s central matchup was not hitter vs. pitcher; rather, the contest pitted the batter against a team of fielders. In this way, the game might reflect the societal transitions of the mid-1800s. The lone batter may be a vestige of agrarian America’s rugged individualism, while the team of fielders in defined positions (short stop, 1st base, right field, etc.) reflect the cooperation and specialized labor of modern industry and commerce. As America’s first standardized team sport, baseball encouraged the kind of teamwork necessary for factories and densely populated cities to function effectively. Plus, every player had the opportunity both to field alongside his teammates and bat as an individual in each inning. This two-tiered system created baseball’s unusual focus on both collective and individual success; a team’s wins and losses are recorded, but so is each player’s batting average. The game suited the dual interests of this transitional era in American history.

The Knickerbocker Rules were not the only version of the game codified and promoted in print. In New England, “The Massachusetts Game” was another popular early form of baseball. In this game, fielders could peg a runner with the ball to get him out, the infield was a smaller square (not a diamond), the bases were four wooden stakes (not square white bags), a single out ended the inning, overhand pitching was allowed, and there was no foul territory, so batters could smack the ball in all directions. It was an athletic, high-scoring game with 100 runs required to win a match. Before the Red Sox-Yankees rivalry, the Massachusetts Game vied against the New York Knickerbocker’s style of baseball until the mid-1860s, when the New York game won out and became the version adopted nationwide.

Whereas the Massachusetts Game was played on a field that extends 360° in all directions around the batsman, the Knickerbocker Rules of baseball focused its action on a diamond infield with a foul line that extends down the first and third base lines into the outfield, creating a wide-open outfield space while still establishing a boundary between fair and foul territory. This design had a few important benefits. First, an enclosed area of play required less field space to play the game within tightening urban environments. Second, by restricting the playing space, baseball required fewer players to cover the field, making it easier for clubs to field smaller teams of nine players vs. the 15-20 fielders needed to cover the 360° playing spaces of other contemporary bat games.

Another crucial benefit of the foul line was the creation of “out of bounds” space that was safe for the thousands of spectators and journalists who soon crowded into foul territory behind home plate and all down the foul line. As early as 1862, Brooklyn was home to a defined baseball facility with a capacity of roughly 6,500 spectators. In 1866, an astounding 40,000 people watched a game between the Philadelphia Athletics and the Brooklyn Atlantics.

The game’s dissemination in print gave Americans a common recreational vocabulary … literally. An alphabet primer titled Base Ball ABC from 1885 uses terms and images from baseball to teach the ABCs to children, which reminds us that baseball is essentially a children’s game. The Library has an array of children’s books from the 19^th century that tell stories about youngsters playing the game with their friends and against their rivals.

In addition to promoting humility and resilience, these children’s baseball books often contain conflicts over sportsmanship and proper following of the rules. In The Winning Run by Captain Ralph Bonehill, the climax involves a controversy over a catcher’s illegal blocking of home plate. In a major scene of an 1868 novel by William Everett titled Changing Base, “the umpire now announced that, in accordance with the new rule, he should begin to call strikes on the player.” Up until the 1860s, batters did not have to swing at pitches they didn’t like, and at-bats could take fifty pitches or more; the batter in this scene of the novel was trying to exhaust the pitcher’s arm (and his patience) by making him throw pitch after pitch without swinging the bat.  

Of course, we also have a 1901 edition of Casey at the Bat. Spoiler alert: Casey strikes out.

Sources & Further Reading

Armenti, P. (2021) Baseball Resources at the Library of Congress. Research Guides.

Gelber, S. M. (1983). “Working at Playing: The Culture of the Workplace and the Rise of Baseball.” Journal of Social History, Oxford University Press.

LinWeber, R. E. (1982). “Baseball Guides Galore.” Baseball Research Journal.

Morris, P. (2010). A Game of Inches: The Stories Behind the Innovations That Shaped Baseball. Ivan R. Dee.

Nemec, D. (1994). The Rules of Baseball. Lyons & Burford.

Seifried, C. and Pastore, D. (2010). “The Temporary Homes: Analyzing Baseball Facilities in the United States Pre-1903.” Journal of Sport History, University of Illinois Press.

Society for American Baseball Research. The Research Collection.

Vaught, D. (2011). “Abner Doubleday, Marc Bloch, and the Cultural Significance of Baseball in Rural America.” Agricultural History, Agricultural History Society.

 Voigt, D. Q. (1974). “Reflections on Diamonds: American Baseball and American Culture.” Journal of Sporting History, University of Illinois Press.

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Our book from Monroe’s personal library, rather than a commentary on foreign policy or current events in Monroe’s America, is a 1723 French translation of a history of Rome that was written in the first century BCE by a Greek historian and rhetorician named Dionysius of Halicarnassus. Known to classicists as the Roman Antiquities, the history was translated into French by François Bellenger (1688-1749) and published in Paris. The work was popular enough that Thomas Jefferson also owned a copy of this translation, which can still be found in the Jefferson Library today. While Jefferson did not annotate his copy with anything substantial, James Monroe’s copy is far more intriguing: pinned to the front flyleaf are Monroe’s handwritten notes about an interesting, transitional moment in Roman history. 

In his notes, Monroe writes about the reign of Servius Tullius, the sixth King of Rome, who Monroe interprets as instituting a series of proto-republican reforms that separated powers between the King, the Senate, and the People. As best I can tell (Monroe’s handwriting is not easy to read), he writes about the “compromise between contending parties,” specifying that “the King commanded the armies,” while the “the senate had great authority,” and “the people had the right to change magistrates [and] to consent to new laws.”

Here’s my best guess regarding the context for these notes: after Monroe’s second term as President, he retired to his home in Virginia, where he spent a lot of time in his library and began writing a book about political philosophy. His plan was to compare the government of the United States with other republics from previous eras of history, such as those in Athens, Carthage, and Rome. It’s possible that the notes in Monroe’s copy of Les Antiquites Romaines, now at the Library of Congress, were part of his research process as he was drafting this book manuscript.

When Monroe finished writing this monograph, which he titled, The People the Sovereigns, he sent the manuscript to his son-in-law, George Hay, a federal judge. When Monroe asked for an honest assessment, Judge Hay responded, “I think your time could have been better employed.” Imagine offering such a harsh critique to an ex-President! Or to your father-in-law! Monroe put the manuscript in a drawer and never pursued publication.

But, a few decades later, Monroe’s grandson rediscovered the manuscript and had the book published in 1867. 

President Monroe, after a lifetime spent in service of the Republic of the United States, spent part of his retirement writing a book comparing the government of the United States with other republics across the span of history.

For this and other reasons, James Monroe will always be America’s favorite fifth President.

Sources and Further Reading: 

Dionysius & Bellenger, F. (1723). Les Antiquités Romaines de Denys d’Halicarnasse. Paris: Chez Philippe-Nicolas Lottin, MDCCXXIII.

Dionysius, Cary, E., & Spelman, E. (1950). The Roman Antiquities of Dionysius of Halicarnassus. Harvard University Press; W. Heinemann.

Monroe, J. (1867). The People the Sovereigns: Being a Comparison of the Government of the United States with those of the Republics which Have Existed Before, with the Causes of their Decadence and Fall. Philadelphia, J. B. Lippincott & Co.

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The Smiths were among the largest property holders in Glastonbury in the 19^th century. Zephaniah Hollister Smith (1759 – 1836), a Yale graduate and former clergyman turned farmer and lawyer, purchased their home, the Kimberly Mansion, around 1790, where he raised five daughters with his wife Hannah Hadassah (Hickok) Smith (1767-1850). Hannah was noted as being “a lady of uncommon literary attainments, speaking French and reading Italian.” She was responsible for writing one of the first anti-slavery petitions presented to Congress by John Quincy Adams, and it is said that it was primarily at Hannah’s urging that the Smith home became a stop on the Underground Railroad (now designated a National Historic Landmark). In 1870, their home was nearly 150 years old, and its beauty, quaintness and antiquity were often remarked upon in newspapers of the time due to its historic interest as the site of “some of the most important anti-slavery meetings…held in the days of the struggle for the freedom of the blacks.” Zephaniah and Hannah’s strong beliefs in women’s rights and education, and the abolition of slavery, were passed on to their daughters.

The family was well known locally for their nonconformist ways, though wealth and social status shielded them from excessive criticism. All five daughters were extremely well educated, attending some of the first institutions dedicated to women’s education, such as Catharine Beecher’s Seminary in Hartford, CT and Emma Willard’s Seminary in Troy, NY. Each uniquely-named daughter had distinct strengths and interests: Hancy Zephinia (1787–1871), the eldest, was a staunch abolitionist who spoke openly and often about the evils of slavery. Cyrinthia Sacretia (1788–1864) was a gifted horticulturalist. Laurilla Aleroyla (1789–1837) and Julia Evelina (1792–1886) were both teachers, but, while Laurilla was gifted in painting and the fine arts, Julia studied languages and could read Greek, Latin, and Hebrew. Abby Hadassah (1797–1878), the youngest, is best remembered for her involvement in the following notable chapter in the women’s suffrage movement.

Though the family led mostly quiet lives, the citizens of Glastonbury certainly considered the Smiths at least slightly eccentric, particularly as the years wore on and none of the daughters opted for marriage. Zephaniah passed away in 1836, Hannah in 1850, and, by the year 1872, only Julia and Abby remained. The two sisters continued to live together in the family home, both attending local and regional temperance and women’s suffrage meetings, and sharing their property with a small herd of seven Alderney cows raised by Julia that were more akin to family pets than livestock.

Their story might end there, had not the town leaders opted to raise taxes selectively: only the Smith sisters and two local widows saw a tax increase, while there was no change for property-holding men. Abby was outraged, and she noted that without a father, husband, brother, son, or any other male relative nearby to represent them, this charge amounted to taxation without representation. When the tax collector came knocking at their door, Abby vowed that they would not pay until she and her sister were given a vote in town elections. The tax man was forced to retreat, unsure of how to proceed against these plucky, wealthy women old enough to be his grandmothers.

Though the sisters were secure financially, this refusal put them in a tenuous position culturally, and they awaited the potential backlash. Abby and Julia hoped to make their case to the town leaders, but the sisters were refused when they asked to speak at a town meeting. A local newspaper reported that upon being denied, “Abby and Julia withdrew, remarking rather pointedly on the injustice which refused them a hearing in the hall for which they had paid more than any voter in town.” Not to be discouraged, Abby (now 76 years old, and the younger of the two) climbed onto an old wagon in front of the meeting house, and gave her speech to a gathering of local men. The response was mixed. Some of the men took the women seriously (whether they agreed with them or not), while others jeered and cracked jokes. Either way, Abby and Julia had their attention.

A few months later local authorities arrived again at the Smith farm and, finding the sisters firmer than ever in their resolve, seized their cows to sell at auction to cover the debt. Newspapers reported on the sad scene: “after the seizure, [the cows] were huddled into an old tobacco-shed, and ‘tied up for seven days and nights together; always having had their freedom before.’ … When the mournful procession started for the place of sale, the animals were harassed by a dog and drum. Several wagons followed. Mrs. K. remarked on the way that it appeared like a funeral.” Still refusing to pay what they considered to be an illegal tax of just over $100, the sisters attended the auction and spent far more than $100 on buying their cows back. This would not be the last time the cows would be marched to auction however, and sadly, several of the cows were indeed eventually sold.

Covered regularly by the newspapers, the story of the Smith sisters’ plight spread like wildfire, and was followed with great interest across a nation already rumbling with the growing momentum of the women’s suffrage movement. In January 1874, Abby wrote a letter to leading suffragist and abolitionist Lucy Stone (1818-1893) in which she explained the following: “You have probably read the result of taking our cows…We had no idea the town would do any such thing, and we think now had they known what notoriety it would bring they would not have done it.” She goes on to mention that the Defense Fund was suggested without their knowledge in the Springfield Republican, and, while monetary donations would be helpful in demonstrating strong public sympathy for their case, the Smith sisters intended “to pay all expenses ourselves, and return the money.”

Connecticut authorities eventually changed tactics and auctioned off several acres of the Smiths’ land worth about $2000 to a neighboring man for less than $80. This action, the sisters and their lawyer claimed, was against the law, which plainly stated that all moveable property must be sold to cover unpaid taxes before real estate could be seized. The sisters sued the town, and, after a two-year battle with the courts, the case was decided in their favor.

Julia collected several of the newspaper reports and assembled them into a pamphlet, Abby Smith and Her Cows, which she published using her own funds in 1877. The copy in the Rare Book and Special Collections Division is actually part of Susan B. Anthony’s Library, donated to the Library of Congress in 1903. The frontispiece shows Abby with four of the seven cows, seized and sold for property taxes, along with two calves named “Martha Washington” and “Abigail Adams.” The compilation includes Abby Smith’s 1873 and 1874 speeches before Glastonbury town meetings, Julia and Abby’s letters to the press, and reports of the 1876 court case regarding unlawful seizure of their land for taxes.

Though this copy is not annotated by Anthony, a humorous note from the January 1874 edition of the Worcester (Mass.) Daily Press demonstrates Anthony’s early interest in the case of the harassed Smith sisters in the image below.

Contemporary accounts of these events provide striking descriptions of the Smith sisters themselves, particularly the strength that these women showed in the face of difficult odds, their peaceful but resigned insistence on standing for what they considered right, and very often, the wit and humor they consistently displayed throughout the fight. Newspapers also described the pair as unlike other suffrage leaders, who desired notoriety and attention. In fact, celebrity was the very last thing the sisters intended—they were simply fighting against what they saw as a very clear injustice, and they were pleasantly surprised by the outpouring of support that they received.

Furthermore, it did not go unnoticed that the Smith sisters’ resistance began in 1873, the year of the 100^th anniversary of the Boston Tea Party. Newspapers and suffrage leaders alike ran with the allusion that compared the sisters to ideals from American Revolutionary history. As Lucy Stone noted in 1874, “Today … Gen. Hawley…is moving heaven and earth to bring together the means by which to celebrate the praises of men, who, a hundred years ago, resisted unto death the taxation which had no representation. In his own state are two women, educated, intelligent, and venerable with years, who are standing for the defense of the same principle.”

Emphasizing the similarities between the Smith sisters’ arguments and that of their American forefathers was extremely effective in illustrating the perceived injustices of the law as it stood in relation to women. An entry in the National American Woman Suffrage Association (NAWSA) files continues this comparison: “Somewhere the stones are lying, which will one day be builded up to mark the spot where this bloodless victory was won, and the names of these heroic women will be written there, the first signers of this new Declaration of Independence.” Though the sisters won their case, neither lived to see women win the right to vote; but their plight and the newspaper coverage that they received, provided a new face for the women’s suffrage struggle that would eventually win the day.

Sources and Further Reading: 

Chicago Daily Tribune. (Chicago, Ill.) 1872-1963. January 17, 1874, Image 4. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Library of Congress.

Housley, K.L. (1993). The Letter Kills but the Spirit Gives Life: the Smiths–Abolitionists, Suffragists, Bible Translators. Glastonbury: Historical Society of Glastonbury, Conn.

National American Woman Suffrage Association Records: General Correspondence, 1839-1961; Smith, Abby H. mss34132, box 28; reel 19. Manuscript Division.

National American Woman Suffrage Association Records: Subject File, 1851-1953; Smith, Abby H. and Julia E. Image 12. mss34132, box 74; reel 53. Manuscript Division.

National American Woman Suffrage Association Records: Subject File, 1851-1953; Smith, Abby H. and Julia E. Image 25. mss34132, box 74; reel 53. Manuscript Division.

The Red Cloud Chief. (Red Cloud, Webster Co., Neb.) 1873-1923. September 01, 1882, SUPPLEMENT, Image 5. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Library of Congress.

Springfield Weekly Republican. (Springfield, Mass.) 1851-1946. January 09, 1874, Page 2, Image 2. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Library of Congress.

Smith, J.E. (1877). Abby Smith and Her Cows. Hartford, Conn. [American publishing company]. Susan B. Anthony Collection, Rare Book and Special Collections Division.

Speare, E.G. (1957). “Abby, Julia, and the Cows,” American Heritage, Volume 8, Issue 4.

Worcester Daily Press. (Worcester, Mass.) 1873-1878. January 13, 1874, Image 2. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Library of Congress.

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But theater people were not always so precious about Shakespeare. Within our collections, we have no fewer than seven printings of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet that include an added deathbed conversation between Romeo and Juliet in the play’s final scene. The editorial introductions to these editions reveal changing attitudes toward the fixed nature of the text; they challenge our contemporary reverence for Shakespeare as an untouchable genius.

The first authorized, complete edition of Romeo and Juliet was published in 1599 and was only the fourth of Shakespeare’s plays to be put into print. It sold for 6 pence and replaced the unauthorized 1597 edition of the play, which contained errors, omissions, and duplications of passages. The 1599 edition became the “True Original Copy” used as the source text for the 1623 First Folio of Mr. William Shakespeare’s Comedies, Histories, and Tragedies, the authoritative text of Shakespeare’s collected plays that we celebrate today.

By 1769, a new version of Romeo and Juliet – “as it is performed at the Theatre-Royal in Drury Lane” – had become popular. Published with alterations to the text made by an actor/director named David Garrick, this edition eliminates references to Rosaline (Romeo’s initial love interest), reduces the role of Mercutio, and, most notably, includes the addition of a 67-line final conversation between Romeo and Juliet. In Garrick’s version of Act 5, scene 3, Juliet wakes up after Romeo takes the poison but before he dies. (O true apothecary, thy drugs are not quite as quick in Garrick’s version.)

The lovers share a final, tragically impassioned conversation, and then Romeo dies in Juliet’s arms. In the 1769 edition, Garrick’s editorial “Advertisement” acknowledges and explains his reasons for making these changes.

Subsequent 1794, 1814, 1819, and 1874 editions of Romeo and Juliet adopt Garrick’s alterations to Shakespeare’s original text. Three of these editions provide introductions that offer context and justification for retaining Garrick’s changes; below, I’ve provided PDFs of these interesting primary sources.

Some people simply thought that Garrick’s version was better than Shakespeare’s. A few of these introductory notes claim that Garrick’s alterations are more faithful to the original sources that Shakespeare used for the story of Romeo and Juliet, including a French tragedy by Pierre Boisteau that was translated into English (1557), an English poem by Arthur Brooke (1562), and Italian novels by Luigi da Porto (1535) and Bandello (1554). 

After more than a century of preference for printing Garrick’s altered version of Romeo and Juliet, attitudes begin to shift back toward Shakespeare’s original text in the late 1800s. An 1882 edition reprises the figure of Rosaline and has Romeo die immediately after taking the poison without Garrick’s final melodramatic conversation with Juliet. 

Chasing these changes from edition to edition through time eventually leads us back to where we started, the 1599 quarto. By 1886, primacy returns to Shakespeare’s original text. A multivolume series of Shakespeare’s plays publishes a facsimile of the 1599 quarto edition of Romeo and Juliet. This edition includes an introduction written by an Oxford scholar that demonstrates an interest in textual variants that feels familiar to what we encounter today when opening a paperback copy of a Shakespeare play. He notes that “this facsimile has been compared with the folio, and the lines differing from it have been marked” with the various brackets, carets, and other symbols that we find in our classroom copies today.

This concern for identifying, representing, and honoring the true, authoritative, original text continues from the late 19^th century to the present, but teachers and students might be surprised to learn that an altered version of the text was a “trespass sweetly urged” for over a century.

Primary Source Materials:

If you’re interested in exploring this topic further, here are some downloadable primary sources taken from copies of Romeo and Juliet found in our collections.

• Garrick’s Addition to 5.3 (the inserted deathbed scene)
• 1769 Advertisement 
  • Garrick’s editorial “Advertisement” acknowledges and explains his reasons for making changes to Shakespeare’s text.
• 1794 Introduction
  • Criticizes Shakespeare’s writing, asserting that “in his original play, there are many superfluities, and breaches of irregularity, which Mr. Garrick has, with a masterly hand, corrected.” 
• 1819 Remarks 
  • Presents Garrick’s changes metaphorically, suggesting that “the play of Romeo and Juliet may be compared to a spreading rose-tree: Garrick has pruned and trimmed it.”  
• 1874 Editorial Introduction
  • Explains the alterations in relation to the source texts and with regard for theatrical benefits.
• 1882 Preface 
  • Garrick’s version of the text seems to have become the expected standard, compelling the editor of this edition to explain in his “Preface” that “changes have been made from the ordinary manner” and defends his decision not to use Garrick’s alterations.
• 1886 Quarto Facsimile Introduction
  • Familiar to our current era’s concern for the authoritative text.

For my teacher friends:

I fully appreciate that you may not have the flexibility in your course schedule to add time to your Shakespeare unit, but, if you do, here are a few teaching ideas and resources that I hope you find useful:

Class Discussion/Writing Prompts:

• How does Garrick’s addition to Act 5, scene 3 impact your experience at the climax of this tragedy? What is gained? What is lost?
• Directors often cut and move language when staging Shakespeare today, but could someone add a scene to a Shakespeare play today? Should they? Why or why not?
• What does the continued printing of Garrick’s added scene for over a century say about attitudes in different eras toward authors/artists generally and reverence for Shakespeare specifically?
• Why might some people today view Shakespeare’s text as untouchable? Are certain works of literature beyond revision or improvement? Is perfection possible in art?
• How does the elimination of Rosaline change your understanding of Romeo? What is lost? What is gained?
• What changes to existing works of art do we see today? In film? In music? In adaptation? Provide specific examples and offer your opinion about whether those changes are improvements.
• Are Shakespeare’s plays primarily written texts for scholarly analysis and interpretation? Or are they scripts for creative performances on stage/screen?
• Who owns a story? Who has the power to decide what details belong in a story and what gets left out? Why?

Research Questions:

• Who was David Garrick, and why did he revise Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet?
• What was Thomas Otway’s The History and Fall of Caius Marius? How does it relate to Romeo and Juliet?
• What sources influenced Shakespeare’s creation of Romeo and Juliet? Did he come up with the story himself, or was he borrowing from other writers? What specific decisions did Shakespeare make in relation to the source texts, and do you agree with those choices? Why or Why not?
• Using the editorial introductions provided for these altered versions of Romeo and Juliet, evaluate the intentions and arguments presented for performance of Garrick’s version of the play. How do these justifications change over time? Why?
• Identify three specific opinions expressed in the 1874 Introduction and argue in support or disagreement with them.

Creative Writing Activity:

• Select another moment in the play that you think could be improved by the addition of new text. Your insertion may be further dialogue between characters who are already speaking, a new exchange between characters who do not directly address each other in the scene, or an aside spoken by one character to the audience or to him/herself.
  • Compose a brief editorial introduction that explains and justifies the inclusion of your addition to the scene.
    • How does your addition intend to enhance, alter, or complicate the character dynamics, themes, and/or plot?

If I can be of further help in your lesson planning, or if you’d like to schedule a virtual visit with these or other materials, don’t hesitate to reach out!

If you are local to Washington DC, some of our Shakespeare materials are on display in the Rare Book Reading Room through Memorial Day. Come visit!

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“It will sell about 80,000 copies,” Fitzgerald supposed, “but I may be wrong.” In fact, he was wrong twice.

Fitzgerald’s first novel, This Side of Paradise, was published five years earlier in March of 1920 and was so popular that it was reprinted nine times and sold more than 41,000 copies within the first year, ushering in the Jazz Age of American Literature.

Rather than being inspired by this success to pursue his next project, Fitzgerald indulged in years of celebration and excess. He languished in a stupor of drunken parties and ill-discipline, noting in April 1924 that he had “deteriorated” to writing an average of only 100 words per day over the past two years. (For reference, this blog post is already over 170 words long.)

In a letter, he blames three bad habits for his lack of productivity: “1) Laziness 2) Referring everything to Zelda [his wife] 3) Word consciousness + self doubt.” After identifying these causes for his lack of productivity, Fitzgerald describes a crippling lack of self-assuredness, writing that he had “not lived enough within myself to develop the necessary self reliance” to write with confidence.

Yet, in this same letter, and on the verge of launching himself fully into writing The Great Gatsby, he asserts that “I feel I have an enormous power in me now, more than I’ve ever had.” He was focused and eager to prove his literary mettle.

Most of Fitzgerald’s career featured bursts of serious literary ambition surrounded by longer periods spent writing lesser fiction for popular magazines such as The Saturday Evening Post, which provided him with a steady income and the payout of mass market publication. When Fitzgerald explained to Ernest Hemingway this practice of shifting between writing for art and writing for money, Hemingway accused Fitzgerald of “whoring” his talent. But Fitzgerald committed the summer of 1924 to writing “the very best he could write” and finished his first draft of The Great Gatsby before the end of August.

As Fitzgerald was writing Gatsby, his editor (Max Perkins) sent him an early sketch of Francis Cugat’s now-famous cover art depicting a woman’s face hovering over a carnival scene. Fitzgerald loved the imagery and pleaded with his editor “for Christs sake don’t give anyone that jacket you’re saving for me. I’ve written it into the book.”

Scholars disagree on how seriously to take Fitzgerald’s claim, but we might find the dust jacket’s influence in the novel’s depiction of a billboard with the looming eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg, or else in the description of Daisy as a “girl whose disembodied face floated along the dark cornices and blinding signs.” Regardless, Perkins saved the haunting painting for the dust jacket of The Great Gatsby, and Fitzgerald considered it “a masterpiece for this book.”

As Fitzgerald emerged from the sustained focus of crafting this tight 50,000-word novel, he turned his attention to the business side of things. Max Perkins of Scribner’s Sons offered Fitzgerald a $5,000 advance on a tiered royalty structure: he would receive 15% on the first 20,000 copies sold, 17.5% on the next 20,000 copies sold, and then 20% on all sales beyond 40,000 copies. The book was priced at $2.00, meaning that nearly the entire first print run of 20,870 copies would need to sell before Fitzgerald would earn out his advance.

The initial reviews of Gatsby were mixed. While some critics perceived the brilliance of Fitzgerald’s prose and the value of the novel’s commentary on American ambition and wealth, others considered the new novel “obviously unimportant,” “artificial,” “negligible,” “no more than a glorified anecdote,” and “far inferior” to Fitzgerald’s earlier work. Some readers couldn’t figure out if Gatsby was a crime novel without crime, a romance without love, or a mystery novel without a whodunit. The prevailing critical opinion was that Fitzgerald’s once-glorious talent was “ending in a fizzle of smoke and sparks.” In the words of one critic, Gatsby was simply “a dud.”

Consequently, The Great Gatsby underperformed the sales figures of his previous novels. The first run didn’t sell out until June of 1926, and boxes of unsold copies of the second printing spent two decades gathering dust in a Scribner’s warehouse. Only seven copies of the novel sold in the month preceding Fitzgerald’s death in 1940; he earned a paltry $13.13 in royalties that year.

So, The Great Gatsby did not sell 80,000 copies as Fitzgerald expected.

Rather, it sold over 30 million copies and continues to sell 500,000 more each year.

The novel’s astounding second wind is attributed to its inclusion in the Armed Services Editions, which were pocket-sized, unabridged paperback books printed for U.S. Servicemembers to read during World War II. In the months leading up to D-Day, General Dwight D. Eisenhower ordered that every soldier storming the beaches of Normandy be equipped with an Armed Services Edition book in his breast pocket. Between 1943 and 1947, over 122 million paperbacks were printed for free distribution to U.S. Servicemembers.

The Great Gatsby was one of 1,324 titles selected for the Armed Services Editions by an advisory committee consisting of prominent literary and public figures who met twice a week. In 1945, 155,000 copies of The Great Gatsby were distributed to service members who read it, loved it, and returned home from the war hoping to buy a copy of the book. Scribner’s printed new editions to meet the renewed interest in the novel, and The Great Gatsby finally achieved its status as a Great American Novel.

Sadly, Fitzgerald did not live to see the eventual recognition and popularity of his greatest work. A few months before he died, Fitzgerald, burdened by debt and disappointment, wrote a forlorn but prescient letter to Perkins:

“I’m hunting for a small apartment. I wish I was in print. It will be odd a year or so from now when Scottie [Fitzgerald’s daughter] assures her friends I was an author and finds no book is procurable. Would the 25 cent press keep Gatsby in the public eye? Would a popular reissue in that series make it a favorite with class rooms, profs, lovers of English prose – anybody. But to die, so completely and unjustly after having given so much. Even now there is little published in American fiction that doesn’t slightly bare my stamp – in a small way I was an original.”

While Fitzgerald could not have imagined the wide distribution and popularity of the Armed Services Edition of Gatsby, his idea of a cheap paperback reissue was exactly what brought the novel into America’s collective consciousness. It hasn’t left us since.

While Fitzgerald did not live to experience the widespread success of The Great Gatsby that he had hoped to achieve back in 1925, the novel’s history provides hope for any writer, artist, or reader that great work will be found and appreciated in time.

“And so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” Even now, a century later.

Sources and Further Reading:

Alter, A. (2018). “New Life for Old Classics.” New York Times.

Berg, A. S. (2016). Max Perkins: Editor of Genius. New American Library.

Bruccoli, M. (1981). Some Sort of Epic Grandeur: The Life of F. Scott Fitzgerald. Harcourt Brace.

Cole, J. “Books in Action: The Armed Services Editions.” Timeless: Stories from the Library of Congress.

Corrigan, M. (2014). So We Read On: How the Great Gatsby Came to Be and Why It Endures. Little, Brown and Company.

Dourgarian, J. (2001). “Armed Service Editions.” Firsts Magazine.

Hemingway, E. (1964). A Moveable Feast. Scribner’s Sons.

Mesher, D. (1991). “Covering a Debt: F. Scott Fitzgerald and Francis Cugat.” Modern Fiction Studies, 37 (2), 235–239.

Scribner, C. (1992). “Celestial Eyes: From Metamorphosis to Masterpiece.” The Princeton University Library Chronicle, 53 (2), 141–155.

Yochelson, A. (2022) “Books Go To War: World War II Armed Services Editions.” From the Catbird Seat: Poetry at the Library of Congress.