Going Rogue

The Open Access Companion to the Canterbury Tales (OACCT) is a featured textbook in Alex Mueller’s essay “Heading for the Open Rogue: The Open Access Companion to the Canterbury Tales” (with a nice tandem acknowledge of Global Chaucers) for the Open Library of Humanities (OLH).

empowoa-open-insights-twOLH is a publishing platform supporting “academic journals from across the humanities disciplines, as well as hosting its own multidisciplinary journal.” Launched in 2013, it works to bring scholars and librarians together to provide peer-reviewed academic articles and to showcase “some of the most dynamic research taking place in the humanities disciplines today – from classics, modern languages and cultures, philosophy, theology and history, to political theory, sociology, anthropology, film and new media studies, and digital humanities” (from the OLH “About” pages).

As Alex points out, OACCT is an important means for bringing Chaucer to a Global audience because “[p]ublished resources are difficult for many readers to obtain. While we’re all aware how book costs hamper students, we often forget what this can mean for libraries—and not just our libraries, the ones affiliated with research universities, well-endowed colleges, and strong high schools. Vast underfunding means public libraries, rural and urban high schools, community colleges, as well as colleges and universities outside the sphere of Anglophone privilege are limited (at best) to outdated publications.”  The OACCT is a vital mechanism for bringing current, approachable scholarship free to anyone with an internet connection.

If you haven’t already read Alex’s article, do.  It highlights the important ways that Open Access publication can revolutionize academic publishing  And if you haven’t already checked out the Open Access Companion to the Canterbury Tales, do–especially if you teach high school or undergraduate courses  The OACCT is designed for non-specialists, and this free resource just might be perfect for your students.

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Following Dante and Chaucer into Hell

DSC_2463
The Cathedral of St. John the Divine before Stripping of the Altars.

Thow oon and two and thre, eterne on lyve,

That regnest ay in thre and two and oon,

Uncircumscript, and al maist circumscrive,

Us from visible and invisible foon

Defende, and to thy mercye everichon,

So make us Jhesus, for thi mercy digne,

For love of mayde and moder thyn benigne. Amen.

(Troilus and Criseyde V.1863-1869)

For the twenty-fifth year, New York City’s Cathedral of St. John the Divine followed Maundy Thursday’s washing of feet and stripping of the altar with a host of poets reading from Dante’s Inferno as well as his Paradiso’s final, hopeful canto. The 2018 gathering, overseen by the cathedral’s current poet-in-residence, Marilyn Nelson (known to Chaucerians for The Cachoeira Tales [2005]), featured 29 poets (including my CCSU colleague, Leslie McGrath), translators, and other Danteazzi successively reading half cantos in the darkened, spare cathedral as Maundy Thursday night turned to Good Friday morning.

The fabulously unfinished cathedral, “chartered as a house of prayer for all people and a unifying center of intellectual light and leadership,” provided the perfect atmospherics. Overwhelmingly large yet gratifyingly peaceful and welcoming, the cathedral transformed everyone there, reducing everyone there to tiny specks and essential parts a larger communion.  The vaulted, elongated space meant each reader’s voice reacted differently to the sanctuary’s acoustics, some distorted and muffled by the reverberations, others ringing crystal clear. In these conditions, I found that the readings allowed—maybe forced—me to turn away from Dante’s underlying theology and politics, to surrender to the verse’s imagery.

Three or four half cantos were read in Italians.  The rest came from wide range of translators, including Dorothy Sayers, Mark Musa, Steve Ellis, Robert Pinsky, Michael Palma, and Mary Jo Bang. A few read their own translators. Others did not announce their source. I would love to compile an accurate list because hearing the lines made me think differently about some of the translations and some of the cantos than reading the lines.

The cantos chosen from the reading include some of the most poignant in the Inferno, where we watch Dante losing his way, encounter Virgil, approach the gates of Hell (a canto read in Italian, so I missed hearing “Abandon All Hope”), witness Francesca and Paolo blowing in the whirlwinds of desire, listen to the forest of suicides, stumble onto his former teacher, interrogate Ugolino, and absorb the horror of treachery.  After the deep darkness ending the Inferno, it was an inspired decision to counter it with the bright light overwhelming Dante at the end of Paradiso.

The event concluded with an organ “meditation” that was anything but quiet and inward. Its sound was massive, insisting on being heard and cancelling out all other thoughts. By this time, early morning had overtaken the night, and I faced a three-hour trip home. I was simultaneously overwhelmed and drained.

The evening made me think about the conditions under which Chaucer first encountered Dante’s Commedia.  Did he read it privately? Or did he hear it read aloud? Was it in a small gathering? Or was a situation akin to the public lectures Boccaccio delivered to Dante’s Florentine admirers, communal, learned, and rapturous? If the latter, then those gathered at St. John the Divine on Maundy Thursday drank from the same cup 650 years later.

 

Barbara Cooney’s Chanticleer

The December 2017 issue of The Atlantic features  Nathan Perl-Rosenthal’s lovely, timely essay on Barbara Cooney and her illustrated children’s books .  Cooney’s 1979 Caldecott-winning Ox-Cart Man, with its tender depictions of the countryside’s cycles of growth and loss was a favorite when our household had young ones to read to.  Perl-Rosenthal writes of Cooney’s transformation of Donald Hall’s text into a “meditation of love and loss,” which seems to me a perfect way to describe its impact and importance.

Cooney.ChanticleerHe opens his essay, though, discussing Cooney’s first picture book, Chanticleer and the Fox (1958), her first Caldecott winner and a work that stands in marked contrast to the usual late-50’s fare “of mild humor laced with bland moral guidance” targeting American childrenAfter reminding his audience that Chanticleer is based on the “salty Middle English of The Canterbury Tales” and recounting the  narrative Cooney adapted from Chaucer’s beast fable, Perl-Rosenthal goes on to provide Cooney’s perspective on her little book:

In her acceptance speech for the award, the small blond author, gesturing with her long hands, conceded the anomaly of her book. “Much of what I put into my pictures,” she admitted,” will not be understood.” But she had chosen to write it because she thought that the “children in this country need a more robust literary diet than they are getting.” “It does not hurt them,” Cooney insisted before her audience of senior librarians and educators, to hear about the real stuff of life, about “good and evil, love and hate, life and death.” … She vowed that she would never “talk down to–or draw down to–children.

We can see her refusal to condescend to young audiences in the book’s visual layout.  Though clearly a picture Cooney.Chanticleer2book, Chanticleer and the Fox balances the images with significant blocks of text.  This is not an oversimplified redaction of Chaucer’s text.  And neither the story nor the pictures rely on the comic silliness of talking chickens to create its appeal to children. Instead, it imagines a world of quiet duties, a place where, sometimes, the best of us make foolish mistakes.  If we’re lucky, friends and family will overlook our flaws and come to our rescue.

With its generous text from a canonical source, this picture book imagines itself as a book adults can read to pre-schoolers as well as a book that young readers can approach and engage with by themselves, finding new delights and new lessons in book designed to mature with its readers.

It was good to be reminded of this little book’s virtues by Perl-Rosenthal.

More Patience….

Agbabi.Vassar

Patience Agbabi’s East Coast speaking tour has an additional date and locale: Monday, 13 November 2017, at Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York. If you’re in the vicinity, we highly recommend you make the effort to attend–and bring your students.

Patience never disappoints.

 

A Postcard from the Beneicke’s Takamiya Collection

For a long while I’ve been intrigued by the large concentration of important Chaucerians in Japan.  Japanese scholars present at Anglophone medievalist conferences around the world, and their work appears regularly in monographs, collections, and journals.  No other non-Anglophone country produces more first-rate TakamiyaChaucerians. Where did their passionate interest in medieval European literature (in general) and Chaucer (in particular), originate? A forthcoming article by Koichi Kano traces the somewhat dispiriting publication history of the first Japanese translation of The Canterbury Tales in 1917; bringing Chaucer to a Japanese audience through prose translation was certainly an important step. I have my own ideas about the role played by Lafcadio Hearn, a Greco-American scholar, author, and translator at the end of the nineteenth-century. Perhaps, though, the best explanation for what I’ve observed during my own twenty-five-year career can be explained by the extraordinary influence of Professor Toshiyuki Takamiya.

Over a period of fifty years, Professor Takamiya became one of the preeminent private collectors of Middle English manuscripts. His passion for collecting Western books was sparked when he handled one with its thick pages and sturdy binding, creating a heft noticeably different from the Japanese books he knew growing up in post-war Japan.  This son and grandson of prosperous traders had recently received two degrees (in Economics and in English) from Keio University, and he soon became a knowledgeable scholar of medieval literature. With familial resources and deep knowledge, he transmuted his bibliophilic passion into shrewd manuscript purchases.

Two historical and academic circumstances allowed him to amass his distinctive collection. First, when he began purchasing manuscripts in the 1970s, many landed British families were divesting their book and art holdings in order to pay property taxes.  In this sense, the Takamiya collection’s shape (like that of any other collection) was determined by availability.  Moreover, the restrictions were looser for exporting these items, items that would eventually be covered by the Garvey Clause and prohibited from leaving the U.K. Thus, not only were the manuscripts on the market, but they could be removed from the U.K., a pair of historical circumstances not likely to be repeated.  This means that Takamiya’s 1970s purchases were the necessary route for a non-U.K. institution (such as Yale’s Beinecke Library) to acquire significant manuscripts in the 2010s.

Anyone with the necessary financial ability and bibiographic acumen could have taken advantage of these circumstances and purchased the manuscripts now comprising the Takamiya Collection. One reason Takamiya was able to acquire these manuscripts with little competition can be understood as the consequence of mid-twentieth-century academic fashions. At that time, institutional collections (the competitors who could match his resources) such as the Folger Library, the Huntington Library, and research university libraries were primarily attracted to illuminated deluxe manuscripts, most often Italian humanist and other Latin texts. These collectors passed on the more modest Middle English codices, rolls, and fragments with minimal ornamentation that Takamiya quietly slipped into his library and generously shared with colleagues and students around the world.

His three Canterbury Tales manuscripts, however, take advantage of an academic fashion peculiar to Chaucer Studies. When Takamiya purchased the Devonshire and Delamere manuscripts, codicological studies focused on a handful of essential texts. Chaucerians sought to recreate a text that matched medieval author’s intention by identifying the earliest examples. Two manuscripts, the Ellesmere and the Hengwrt, were identified as the earliest sources and thus the texts that should form the basis of Chaucer scholarship. Once scholars had noted the gaps, textual variants, and idiosyncratic ordering of the tales found in the other manuscripts, Chaucerians generally overlooked these “lesser” manuscripts.  With libraries and museums not interested in them for their aesthetic beauty, and university research libraries not interested in them for their contents, these seemingly prosaic, even debased, manuscripts were available to the young Japanese bibliophile with the foresight to see what others overlooked.

For decades, Takamiya’s medieval library was a resource to scholars, whether they studied in his class at Keio University, made a pilgrimage to Tokyo, or participated in conferences from around the world. His carefully curated collection—filled with texts chosen to satisfy both the collector’s enthusiasms and the pedagogue’s and scholar’s needs—provides an epitome of the period’s extant text. The quality of the Takamiya collection resides in the collector’s drive towards completion, his financial resources, his knowledge of medieval texts, and his intuition about which manuscripts were currently undervalued.

In 2013, the collection’s residency in Tokyo came to an end but not its availability to scholars, for its transfer to Yale’s Beinecke Library ensured a safe and accessible repository.

When the crates of medieval manuscripts began arriving in New Haven from Tokyo, they held of one the most significant acquisitions by a North American library in half a century. As the 143 codices, roles, and fragments were unpacked, cataloged and made ready for their new home in New Haven, Connecticut, the staff noticed that, here and there, Professor Takamiya had inserted used envelopes and business cards, marking both his place and (it turns out) his temporary custodianship of the books.  Beyond the assigned accession numbers prefixed with “Takamiya ms,” nothing else about the books seems to betray the five decades they spent in his care, both in the temperature-controlled library of his Tokyo home and his international travels when he gleefully pulled from his bag a valuable manuscript that formed the cornerstone of his talk’s analysis.

Among the 143 manuscripts in the Takamiya Collection are Chaucer’s Treatise on the Astrolabe as well as three containing The Canterbury Tales, including the Delamere Chaucer and the Devonshire Chaucer.  Before acquiring these manuscripts, the Beinecke had no manuscript copy of the Tales; now it has three as well as the Treatise ms, Takamiya ms 9, 22, 24, and 32.  With their travels from England to Japan and now to the U.S., these four manuscripts add a new dimension to the term “Global Chaucers.”

The Beinecke celebrated its acquisition of this transformative collection with Making the English Book, an intimate conference featuring eminent scholars of medieval manuscripts, book collectors associated with Toshi Takamiya, and Professor Takamiya himself. In all ways, the conference reflected Takamiya’s generous spirit, his warm sense of friendship, and his passion for collecting Middle English manuscripts.  I attended the conference not only as a medievalist fascinated by the manuscripts themselves but also as a Chaucerian curious about what it means that such a significant mss collection (with 4 Chaucerian mss) was amassed in Japan: what it tells us about Chaucer Studies in Japan, what it tells us about ourselves, and what it tells us about Chaucer and his works that we might otherwise overlook.

I came closer to some answers. Some Japanese medievalists at the conference see a commonality between European feudalism and Japanese feudalism, and hence Japanese scholars have a natural interest in that European period.  They also credited Japanese interest in Chaucer to the three good translations now available.  They explained the nature of Japanese scholarship, with its intense emphasis on phonology and textual variants, as a function of the way English is taught in Japanese schools; Middle English is part of the teaching of English, since their approach includes the language’s history. They tend toward that approach because, as one scholar wryly admitted, that approach was most likely to receive (grant) funding. Takamiya’s collection, with its wide range of Middle English texts helped to feed those interests.

Repeatedly, the conference presentations reminded us that the provenance of a manuscript is important, reminding how ownership shapes the reception and how reception shapes ownership.  Ownership marks are carefully preserved and noted in all discussions of the manuscripts.  That fact that Prof. Takamiya seems to have left no similar marks recording his possession of this significant collection seems out of step with the delight he and other bibliophiles take in tracing provenance.  His apparent failure to leave his mark in his books reminded me of certain attitudes towards conservation I observed in Japan. At many shrines and pilgrimage routes, “conservation” did not mean “restoration.” Instead, “conservation” meant careful, respectful, and continued use of an object or place, leaving as little trace of one’s presence as possible, neither mourning when use wore away a stone step nor replacing a wooden beam deteriorated by weather.  I see something akin to this in Takamiya’s habits as an academic collector who did not see himself as an owner but as a guardian: he cared for the manuscripts without turning them into museum objects. He used them as a scholar and teacher who left the faintest trace, just a stray envelope or extra business card left behind, waiting for his return. Nevertheless, his name is permanently associated with these manuscripts, if not with owner’s marks on the flyleaf or doodles in the end pages or annotations in the margins, then with their accession number.

Perhaps, though, he had a bit more in common with many of the books’ previous owners because, after confessing that he never inserted the bookplates he had had specially designed for his collection, he whispered that there might be some very small TTs penciled in the gutters.  With this tantalizing clue, we should all keep a watchful eye open for these hidden monograms whenever we open a Takamiya manuscript.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Patience Agbabi in Boston, 25 November!

Flyer-Lowell-Agbabi

Patience Agbabi will be making one of her few U.S. appearances on 25 November 2017, 7pm, at Boston College.  Her readings and performances are unparalleled, as those of us  at NCS 2016 in London witnessed. If you’re in the area, don’t miss this opportunity.

For more details, see the Lowell Humanities Lecture Series website.

The Wife of Bath Spurs Her Way onto the Brazilian Stage!

A Mulher de Bath.102417This week features the premiere of A Mulher de Bath, a stage production based on José Francisco Botelho’s 2013 translation of The Canterbury Tales and starring Maitê Proença.  This Brazilian actor, known for her extensive filmography and her outspokenness, commissioned the play and seems the perfect embodiment for Chaucer’s Wife of Bath, a woman the promotional material identifies as “uma mulher de vasta experiência e de ardorosa oratória” (a woman of vast experience and ardent oratory).

O que quer esta muhler?

The opening performances are this weekend, 28 and 29 October 2017, in Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais, north of Rio de Janiero.