Wednesday, 20 January 2021

Libraries: The First Cut Is The Deepest

In 1887, Augustine Birrell explained that “Libraries are not made; they grow. Your first two thousand volumes present no difficulty, and cost astonishingly little money” but “After your first two thousand difficulty begins.”

When I started collecting, just shy of a hundred years after Birrell wrote this, both observations were still true, although he does not explain the connection between “growth” and “difficulty” quite as clearly as I would have liked.

I definitively had very little difficulty accumulating a room full of books but, when I got to about two thousand, difficulties certainly began. The difficulties Birrell has in mind (you can read his essay here) are a combination of money, haste and taste.

Money is always a problem when you have champagne tastes on a beer income, but the main difficulty I faced—whether I was living below the poverty line, as I did for two decades, or above it—was and still is, space.

Since thousands of volumes “present no difficulty,” and “astonishingly little money” to accumulate, “an ordinary man can in the ordinary course, without undue haste or putting any pressure upon his taste, surround himself with”—more books than he has room for.

And since libraries grow, and grow, and grow—sometimes faster, sometimes slower, but always and forever growing—they do need pruning every now and then, if—like fruit trees—they are going to be productive, and retain any kind of “shape.”

I have pruned my library a number of times over the years, many more times than I would have liked. I have pruned when I was poor and needed to sell books (will I ever stop regretting selling my first edition of Lyrical Ballads?), but more often I pruned when I had simply run out of space.

I have consoled myself on each occasion, that the pruning has forced me to be more selective than I would otherwise have been, and so more focused in what I collect, thus improving my collection as a whole.

While there is obviously some truth in this, and so the fruit-tree metaphor is a good one, I still mourn the books I have been forced to prune. Perhaps, as a result, the word I have always used is based on a much bloodier metaphor: “cull.”

Below is the story of my first library pruning / cull. This first cull was by a very wide margin, the most savage of all, so it looms largest in my memory. I am telling this story now, so I can tell another (about a specific book, in a separate post), but I may tell the story of other culls in future. To tell the story of my first library cull, I have to tell the story of my first library.

My First Library

I started actively collecting books in my early teens. I was given a little pocket-money, but I earned a little more, mowing lawns and doing garden work in the neighborhood; later it was paper rounds, and supermarket shelf-stacking. I spent most of it on books.

I was very methodical about my book-buying. I would get the local paper on a Wednesday, and would study the garage sale listings, and then consult the street directory to work out the maximum number of garage sales—those that mentioned books—which I could reach on my bike, on a single Saturday morning circuit. On Saturday, I would head out shortly after seven, ride for about an hour, then work my way home, going from one garage to another, seeing what I could buy.

When I think about it now, my geographical range was enormous and still impressive. My range of purchases was far less impressive; I would buy science fiction, fantasy, and anything to do with the supernatural, with a very little literature and history thrown in when something piqued my interest. Most of what I bought was cheap pulpy paperbacks, but I picked up a few older hardbacks too.

At about this time I would also, on occasion, tag along with my mother on shopping trips to Hornsby or Chatswood, so I could make a hasty visit to a paperback bookshop or op shop. (I recently found a few surviving books bought on these trips—Bram Stoker and “Dennis Wheatley Library of the Occult” paperbacks—but that is a subject for another day.)

In my mid- to late teens (especially after I left school), I earned more money, and ranged further, catching trains to visit secondhand bookshops all over Sydney, spending whole days trawling bookshops. I was buying more paperbacks, but mostly hardbacks, and a few antiquarian books, and focusing more on literature and history.

Once I started working full time, I bought even more. My first real job was working in the city as a storeman and packer; my five-day paycheck was about one hundred dollars. I have a few random records for my purchases at this time: my copy of Dante’s Inferno, illustrated by Gustave Doré, cost me $75—most a full week’s wage. Adam Alexander’s Summary of Geography and History, Both Ancient and Modern (1809) was $55.

Most of the other books I bought at this time were twenty to thirty dollars each, but I bought them four or five at a time, leaving nothing much in the bank by the time I quit. (That the price on all of these books would be the same today, over three decades later, shows what a poor investment this was!).

I did somewhat better at saving at my next job, but I also started buying what might be called “real” antiquarian books: 16C classics, 17C and 18C literature in English, private press and limited editions; I also bought some new books: leather-bound reprints, slip-cased facsimiles and coffee-table books. After my gap-years working (and collecting), I went away to university in Hobart, leaving behind a room full of books.

I returned after a year of studying English Literature, Latin, Classics and Medieval History—with even more books: adding scholarly editions and serious works of reference to my still-growing library. With space at home exhausted, and with transporting any number of books to, or from, Hobart being very difficult, I (stupidly, idiotically, rashly) decided to dispose of most of the books from my childhood and adolescence, especially my garage-sale finds: the pulpy paperbacks, the science fiction, fantasy, and the supernatural.

If I had gone to university in Sydney, I might have carted these books from share-house to share-house, getting rid of a few here and there, gradually winnowing the bookish chaff from the wheat. Instead, chaff and wheat alike went to Ashwoods and a few other bookshops in Sydney, while my most prized books were posted to Hobart—at enormous expense.

I began to regret this cull almost immediately, and so I began to replace some of the books I missed the most only weeks after selling them. But I had no catalogue of the books I had disposed of, and no substitute for one: no purchase receipts, reading records and no systematic photographing of shelves.

(The few photos I do have from before I went to University show only a little of a few of my shelves, and these photos are so blurry that you can only make out about half the titles.)

As the years have passed, my memory of my first library of garage-sale and op-shop finds has faded somewhat, and I stopped looking to replace the books that I sold so long ago. But I still occasionally find myself in a bookshop, with a familiar-looking book in hand, unsure whether this is simply a book I have seen many times, in many other bookshops, or whether it is one of the books I had had in my first collection.

Although it is satisfying when I am sure that the book in hand is a copy of a book I once owned, I usually don’t buy it just to satisfy my nostalgic impulse. Likewise, whenever I am driven by my nostalgic impulse to examine an old photo of my books, and find myself newly able to correctly identify a blur—presumably, after recently seeing a copy of the book in a shop somewhere—I do not race off to buy the book.

Instead, for some years now, I have simply added the titles to a list of my pre-University books that I have been maintaining. The list costs me nothing, and allows me to satisfy my nostalgic impulse without cluttering up my shelves with books I would never now want to buy or read.** (Of course, I do buy the ones I do still want to buy and read.)

Like book collecting itself, it is astonishing how easy it has been to accumulate a lengthy catalogue of my pre-University library, without “putting any pressure upon” myself. The 750-odd books I have identified probably represent less than half of those I had at the time. But what my catalogue tells me is that, of the more than 1500 books that I must have had before my first cull, I kept only about ten percent.

This figure explains why “prune” is not really the best term for my first … “library sale” (?). If you remove ninety percent of a fruit tree, all that remains is a stump. Even “cull” suggests a less drastic act of slaughter, that leaving ninety percent of the herd on the blood-soaked earth.

While—in raw numbers—I probably disposed of more books in later culls, the percentage disposed of has never approached that of this first cull. As I explained at the start, this is probably why it looms so large in my memory. That, and—as Cat Stevens rightly says—“The First Cut Is the Deepest.”

**I got the idea for this catalogue (as a substitute for re-constituting my entire first library) from Don Astlett’s Freedom from Clutter (1986): an excellent book. At one point, I had two copies—but, in time, I found the strength necessary to dispose of one.

Monday, 18 January 2021

The Lender’s Library, 1907

I found "The Lender’s Library" printed in Perth Boy’s School Magazine, Vol. 1, no. 1 (2 May 1913): 5b. Google tells me that over thirty years later the poem was reprinted as “The Lender’s Litany,” in The Educational Magazine, Vol. 4 (1947): 143, but it seems not to have been printed again.

Since the poem nicely enumerates (albeit condemns) many of the evidences of reading that I am presently searching for, and hoping to find, I thought I should do my bit to preserve it. I have since done some research into the author and first publisher, which I will post separately.

CARE OF BOOKS

The following lines, written by F. H. Johnstone, Esq., M.A., of Perth, are published this month for the benefit of all readers, but more especially for those boys who are thoughtless and careless in their treatment of books, and who have yet to learn that “books are friends,” and should be cared for as such.

We have to thank Mr.[sic] Zabel, of the Booklovers’ Library, Hay-st., Perth, by whom the copyright is held, for kindly allowing us to use the verses, and trust that they will be carefully studied and practised [sic].

THE LENDER’S LIBRARY

From leaves turned down or folded back,
To mark the careless reader’s track;
From comments in the margin writ—
By pen or pencil void of wit;
From Vandal’s mutilating zeal,
Inflicting wounds that none can heal;
From candle grease or liquid spilt
On covers fair or edges gilt;
From dogs’ ears that too plainly say
“A dirty thumb has passed this way”;
From thoughtless failure to extend
Protection when the rains descend;
From artists of a tender age,
Whose sketch-book is the printed page;
From all such conduct as offends
The reader to whom books are friends—
Good Borrower, deliver me.

(Copyright Book Lovers' Library, Perth, W.A., 1st Sept., 1907[)].

[Updated 2121.01.20]

Wednesday, 9 December 2020

Collecting Haywood, 2020

2020 was a woeful year in so many ways, so it should be no surprise that so few Haywood items appeared on the market.

At first, it appeared that millions were likely to be stuck at home, out of work and out of money. Embracing a harsh bad-news-may-be-good-news-for-somebody outlook on life, this might have resulted in a flood of new material appearing online, as people turned over the contents of attic and basement, hocking everything they owned out of either desperation or cabin-fever-driven neat-freakery.

Instead, millions of people turned their homes into offices, going on an online buying spree for video cameras, headphones, green-screen backdrops, and booze—the latter being necessary to deal with some of the stress of attempting to work from home, in our new bizzaro-world, while homeschooling children. Others, largely with government support, either entered into a period of sustained stasis or, largely with government interference, attempted to sustain their small businesses in a myriad of ways.

From my perspective, as a collector of not just Haywoodiana but eighteenth-century literature generally, the entire rare book market dried up. And when I say “dried up,” I don’t mean dried up in the way that a ring of moisture left by a wine glass might dry up—quickly and leaving only a subtle mark. No, I mean dried up like the body of a sheep, in the middle of summer, in a dusty and bare drought-stricken paddock—slowly and leaving behind a trauma-inducing corpse.

At the same time that the rare book market was drying up, the postal service was suddenly choked with a massive increase in parcels generated by all the people stuck at home and unable to shop IRL. What little of interest that was available on the book market took two or three times as long to be delivered—by boat, mostly, since so few planes were flying.

I don’t know whether this withering of the book market was the result of people being extra busy working from home (and shifting things into attic and basement to do so), because the auction circuit ground to a halt, or because it was impossible to take books to a bookseller to sell, while the booksellers themselves were shuttered and going broke. Whatever the cause, the result will likely be the permenant closure of many bookshops.

As a result, my Haywood tally for 2020 consists of only five items only: two odd-volumes of La Belle Assemblée (one bought pre-WuFlu but delivered afterwards) and two sets of The Female Spectator—unquestionably, the two most common Haywood items, and in all four cases duplicates (actually, two duplicates, one triplicate and one quadruplicate).

The fifth item was another copy of Edwin and Lucy—in poor condition, but of modest interest to me as a variant of a number of other copies I have. In the last twenty years, I have only had two years with so little to show for my constant vigilance (the most recent of these being twelve years ago).

However—shockingly, in the midst of this bookish-equivalent of a dought-stricken paddock—a 1740 manuscript receipt, signed by William Hatchett, appeared on the market. The receipt is for a subscription to Hatchett’s Dramatic Pieces, a collection that was never (fully) published. I secured the receipt in June, with a number of similar receipts from the same (contemporary) book-collector. The collection has a long, complex and fascinating provenance, which I hope to explore in an article, but which I hope to preview here in the new year.

It certainly was and is some consolation that my first Haywoodiana manuscript appeared in such a grim year. But not consolation enough: for this, and many other more-honourable reasons, I hope that WuFlu can be brought under control and the bookish drought breaks in 2021.

Friday, 2 October 2020

Eliza Haywood Criticism Online

I previously maintained the list below of free, online Eliza Haywood criticism on the same page as my list of 18C and 19C editions of the works by Eliza Haywood (here). Since both lists have grown considerably since 2009, when I started the lists, I have decided to move this list of articles, chapters, theses etc. here.

I have not yet updated the list, but will do so as I get a chance. If readers of this blog find any dead links, please let me know. And if readers (or authors) know of any thesis, chapter or article not listed here, which ought to be, please let me know about this also.

(BTW: For contemporary and early reviews of works by Haywood, see here; for contemporary and early criticism and commentary on Haywood, see here. For an extensive online Haywood bibliography (up to 5 July 2005), see here.])

Chelo de Andrés Martinez, "[Review of] Juliette Merritt, Beyond Spectacle: Eliza Haywood's Female Spectators. University of Toronto Press, 2004," on Academia.com. [also Medieval Feminist Forum, vol. 44, no. 1, p. 16. 2008.]

Scott Black, "Trading Sex for Secrets in Haywood's Love in Excess," on Academia.com. [also Eighteenth-Century Fiction 15, no. 2 (2003): 207–26.]

Emily Kathryn Booth, "Eliza Haywood's Feigning Femmes Fatale: Desirous and Deceptive Women in Fantomina, Love in Excess, and The History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless." (MA thesis, East Tennessee State University, 2001).

Claire Boulard-Jouslin, Augustus Caesar to Livia Drusilla’: théorie(s) de l’Histoire dans le Female Spectator Études Épistémè 17 (2010): 87–104.

Amy Thomas Campion, "Scandalous Figures: Authorial Self in Eliza Haywood, Laurence Sterne, Charlotte Smith, and Lord Byron." (PhD thesis, University of California, 2010). ¶ NB Ch.2. "Scandal: Eliza Haywood’s Chameleon Self" (ibid. 18–58).

Rachel K. Carnell, "It's not easy being green: Gender and friendship in Eliza Haywood's political periodicals," on Academia.com. [also in Eighteenth-Century Studies, vol. 32, no. 2 (1998): 199–214.]

Rachel K. Carnell, "Eliza Haywood and the Narratological Tropes of Secret History," on Academia.com. [also in Journal for Early Modern Cultural Studies, vol. 14, no. 4 (2014): 101–21.]

Claudia Chibici-Revneanu, "Genius and the Construction of 'the inferior female creator': The Case of Eliza Haywood," Rupkatha Journal on Interdisciplinary Studies in Humanities, vol. 7, no. 3 (2015).

Sarah R. Creell, "[Review of] Carol Stewart (ed.), The Rash Resolve and Life's Progress," on Academia.com. [also ABO: Interactive Journal for Women in the Arts, 1640–1830, vol. 4, no. 1 (2014).]

Anna Davison, "Bridging the Gap: Defining and Deciphering the Female Heroine in Eliza Haywood’s The History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless," Courtship and Catastrophe: Negotiating the Classical and Contemporary Marriage Plot (2009): 41–57.

Emily Joan Dowd, "Evoking The Salon: Eliza Haywood's The Female Spectator [and] The Conversation of Protofeminist Space" (PhD Theses; Florida State University, 2010).

Joseph Drury, "Haywood's thinking machines," on Academia.com. [also in Eighteenth-Century Fiction, vol. 21, no. 2 (2008): 201–28.]

Paula Kay Fitzgerald, "'A Scribbling Dame' Eliza Haywood's literary reputation and the Female Spectator." (MA thesis, California State University, 2006).

Joanna Elizabeth Fowler, "Theorizing voice and perspective in the narratives of Eliza Haywood and her contemporaries" (PhD thesis, Loughborough University, 2010).

Patsy S. Fowler, "Rhetorical Strategy and the 'Dangerous Woman-Poet': Eliza Haywood and the Politics of Self-Promotion" in Prologues, Epilogues, Curtain-Raisers, and Afterpieces: The Rest of the Eighteenth-Century London Stage, edited by Daniel James Ennis and Judith Bailey Slagle (University of Delaware Press, 2007), 179–97.

Amrita Ghosh, "Masquerade as a Strategy: Eliza Haywood’s The Masqueraders or The Fatal Curiosity: Being the Secret History of a Late Amour," The Criterion 4.3 (June 2013).

Suzanne B. Gibson, "The Eighteenth-Century Oriental Tales of Eliza Haywood, Frances Sheridan and Ellis Cornelia Knight" (PhD Theses; McMaster University, 1996). Paper 2316.

Andrea K. Gill, Objectifying Men: Gulliver’s Travels, Fantomina, and the Dildo in Eighteenth-Century Literature Pursuit: The Journal of Undergraduate Research at the University of Tennessee 2:1 (2011).

Kristin M. Girten, "[review of] A Political Biography of Eliza Haywood, by Kathryn R. King" ABO: Interactive Journal for Women in the Arts, 1640–1830 3:1 (2013), Article 10.

Jennifer L. Hargrave, "'To the Glory of the Chinese:' Sinocentric Political Reform in Eliza Haywood's The Adventures of Eovaai, on Academia.com. [also Eighteenth-Century Studies, vol. 49, no. 1 (2015): 31–50.]

Eileen A. Horansky, "Sexualizing Politics: The Rhetorics of Sexuality and Political Satire in the Works of Eliza Haywood" (Conference Presentation, October 2014), on Academia.com.

Genevieve Howard, "Equal Performances: An Exploration of Eliza Haywood's Depiction of Hillarian Ideals in Fantomina," (MA thesis, Victoria University of Wellington, 2015).

Aleksondra Hultquist, "Haywood's Re-Appropriation of the Amatory Heroine in Betsy Thoughtless," on Academia.com. [also Philological Quarterly, vol. 85, no. 1/2 (2006): 141–65.]

Marisa C. Iglesias, "Secret servants: Household domestics and courtship in Eliza Haywood's fiction" (MA thesis, University of South Florida, 2008).

Catherine Ingrassia, Texts, Lies and the Marketplace: Eliza Haywood and the Literary Marketplace at Mid-Century (1995)

Catherine Ingrassia, "'Queering' Eliza Haywood", on Academia.com. [also Journal for Early Modern Cultural Studies, vol. 14, no. 4 (2014): 9–24.]

Kathryn R. King, "New Contexts for Early Novels by Women: The Case of Eliza Haywood, Aaron Hill, and the Hillarians, 1719–1725" in A Companion to the Eighteenth-Century English Novel and Culture, ed. Paula R. Backscheider, Catherine Ingrassia (2009), 261–75.

Marta Kvande, "The Outsider Narrator in Eliza Haywood's Political Novels", on Academia.com. [also SEL Studies in English Literature 1500–1900, vol. 43, no. 3 (2003): 625–43.]

Joy LaFrance, "Whenever we would truly conquer, we must seem to yield: Eliza Haywood's Fantomina and subversive fiction for women" (MA Theses; Lehigh University, 2003).

Tesi di Laurea, "A Present for a Servant-Maid: Eliza Haywood and the Conduct Book Tradition" (Bachelor's thesis, Università Ca'Foscari Venezia, 2013).

Kate Levin, "'The Only Beguiled Person'?: Accessing Fantomina in the Feminist Classroom," ABO: Interactive Journal for Women in the Arts, 1640-1830 2:1 (March 2012).

Kathleen Lubey, "Eliza haywood's amatory aesthetic," on Academia.com. [also Eighteenth-Century Studies 39, no. 3 (2006): 309–22.]

Holly Rae Luhning, "'Manacles of Madness: Haywood's The Distress'd Orphan; Or Love in A Madhouse," eSharp 8 (Autumn 2006).

Holly Rae Luhning, "A Crafted Debut: Haywood’s Love in Excess and the Literary Marketplace." Lumen, vol. 28 (2009): 97–110.

Holly Rae Luhning, "Entertainment and Didacticism: Eliza Haywood’s The Unequal Conflict and Fatal Fondness." Lumen, vol. 29 (2010): 161–174.

L. Lutsenko, "Eliza Haywood's Intrusive Practices from the Perspective of Feminist Narratology." Advancedscience.org, 2014, no. 5 (2014): 80–83.

Cameron McFarlane, "Equal Ardour: Gender and the Ideal Relationship in Eliza Haywood's Amatory Fiction." (PhD thesis, McMaster University, 1991.

Kelly McGuire, "Mourning and Material Culture in Eliza Haywood's The History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless," on Academia.com. [also Eighteenth Century Fiction, vol. 18, no. 3 (2006): 281–304.]

Juliette Merritt, "Beyond Spectacle: Eliza Haywood's Female Spectators" (PhD Theses; McMaster University, 1998). Paper 2140.

Juliette Merritt, "'That Devil Curiosity Which Too Much Haunts the Minds of Women': Eliza Haywood's Female Spectators," on Academia.com. [also Lumen Selected Proceedings from the Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies, vol. 16 (1997).]

María Jesús Lorenzo Modía, "The Female Spectator: an experiment in women's press in the eighteenth century," on Academia.com. [also in The Grove: Working Papers on English Studies, no. 5 (1998).]

Susan Vida Muse, "Gender Politics in the Novels of Eliza Haywood," (PhD thesis, Marquette University, 2012).

Douglas A. Northrop, "Gender Politics in the Novels of Eliza Haywood," Proceedings of the 14th Northern Plains Conference on Earlier British Literature, April 7–8, 2006, edited by Bruce E. Brandt and Michael S. Nagy (Brookings, SD: South Dakota State University, 2006), 87–93.

Leah Orr, "The Basis for Attribution in the Canon of Eliza Haywood," on Academia.com. [also The Library, vol. 12, no. 4 (2011): 335–75.]

John Richetti, "Histories by Eliza Haywood and Henry Fielding: Imitation and Adaptation," on Academia.com. [also in The Passionate Fictions of Eliza Haywood: Essays on Her Life and Work, edited by Kirsten T. Saxton and Rebecca P. Bocchicchio (2000), 240–58.]

Laura J. Rosenthal, "Eliza Haywood: Discrepant Cosmopolitanism and the Persistence of Romance," NineteenthCentury Gender Studies, vol. 3, no. 2 (Summer 2007).

Jonathan Sadow, "The Puppet Show Conundrum: Haywood and the 'Fittest Entertainment for the Present Age'," Digital Defoe, vol. 5, no. 1 (2013): 121–20.

Kirsten T. Saxton and Rebecca P. Bocchicchio, eds., The Passionate Fictions of Eliza Haywood: Essays on her Life and Work (2000).

Orla Smyth, ""Fashioning Fictional Selves from French Sources: Eliza Haywood’s Love in Excess," on Academia.com. [also in The ‘self’: theories and representations in “Great Britain in the long eighteenth century, ed. Marion Leclair and Allan Ingram (Manchester University Press, forthcoming in 2017)].

Patrick Spedding, "Eliza Haywood’s last ('lost') work: The History of Miss Leonora Meadowson (1788)," Bibliographical Society of Australia and New Zealand Bulletin, vol. 23, no.3 (1999): 131–47. PDF (poor quality) online on BSANZ website.

Patrick Spedding, "Shameless Scribbler or Votary of Virtue? Eliza Haywood, Writing (and) Pornography in 1742," in Women Writing: 1550–1750, edited by Jo Wallwork and Paul Salzman (2001), 237–51. PDF on Monash Explore.

Patrick Spedding, "Measuring the Success of Haywood’s Female Spectator (1744–46)," in Fair Philosopher: Eliza Haywood and the Female Spectator, edited by Lynn Marie Wright and Donald J. Newman (2006), 193–211. PDF on Monash Explore; and on Academia.com.

Patrick Spedding, "Eliza Haywood at the Sign of Fame," 1650–1850: Ideas, Aesthetics and Inquiries in the Early Modern Era, vol. 18 (2011): 29–55. Copy on Monash Repository.

Patrick Spedding, "Eliza Haywood’s Eighteenth-Century Readers in Pennsylvania and New York," Australian Humanities Review, vol. 56 (May 2014): 69–120. Copy on publisher’s site; and on Academia.com.

Patrick Spedding, "Twice-Told Tales in Eliza Haywood's Leonora Meadowson," Notes and Queries, vol. 63, no. 4 (8 October 2016): 619–22. Available here.

LaShea Simmons Stuart, "The Arbitress of Passion and of Contract: Eliza Haywood and the Legality of Love" (PhD Thesis, Auburn University, 2006).

Shea Stuart, "Subversive Didacticism in Eliza Haywood's Betsy Thoughtless," on Academia.com. [also in SEL Studies in English Literature 1500–1900, vol. 42, no. 3 (2002): 559–75.]

Rivka Swenson, "Optics, Gender, and the Eighteenth-Century Gaze: Looking at Eliza Haywood's Anti-Pamela," on Academia.com. [also in The Eighteenth Century, vol. 51, no. 1 (2010): 27–43.]

Camelia Teglaş, "
The Complexity of the Self in Eliza Haywood's Adventures of Eovaai," on Academia.com. [also in Studia Universitatis Babes-Bolyai-Philologia, vol. 2 (2015): 157–67.]

Marina Estevão Tiago, "Eliza Haywood’s Love in Excess–figuring women, subverting conventions, in Studies in Identity (2009): 17–29.

Martin Wells, "The Hypocrisy of Moral Outrage in The Dunciad: Eliza Haywood’s Persecuted Virtue and Alexander Pope the Persecutor," Alfred: An undergraduate student journal 3 (2011): 19–24.

Lynn Marie Wright and Donald J. Newman, eds., Fair Philosopher: Eliza Haywood and The Female Spectator (2006).

Lynn Scarnati Zvara, "Eliza Haywood and Her Rebellious Pen in Early Modern England." (PhD thesis, Youngstown State University, 1999).

[last updated 6 November 2019]

Tuesday, 1 September 2020

My 2020 Siesta

Normally, after such a long break between posts I'd feel the need for a proportionately long explanation for my silence.

Instead, I'll just say "Covid" and start tidying up this mess by updating some of my more-frequently visited past posts.

But, just to make sure this new post is visible, below is my "state of disaster" and "Stage 4" lock-down recommendation: find a comfortable spot, and read.







As you can see (below), the artist of "La Siesta" or "The Siesta" is Luc Barbut-Davray (1863–1926), an artist who produced many "Boudoir" paintings of pensive female readers.



The Parisian publisher of this postcard is Armand Noyer, who was located at the Boulevard de Strasbourg in Paris from ca.1910 until post-1948. Noyer was a member of the Salon de Paris and photographed paintings for the Salon and other institutions.

The present whereabouts of this 1914 Salon painting is unknown, but a colour version of the postcard was produced at the time (below).