Archive for the 'Thesis' Category

22
Jul

A Post on Paper

I promised a post about the production of paper and its usefulness in bibliography. Here is a description, lifted from a draft of my thesis:

Before the advent of machinery in the 1800s, paper was a handmade object created by dipping a mould into a vat of pulp, known as stuff. The mould consists of an outer wooden frame with inner supporting ribs, running vertically along the shorter end of the mould. A fine wire mesh covers the mould, allowing water to drain out when removed from the vat of stuff. The mould has two identifiable sets of wires—wirelines, a fine mesh of thin wires that run horizontally across the length of the mould, and chainlines, thicker wires that tie the supporting ribs to the mould. [Try googling "paper mould" in google image search] When handmade paper is held up to light, the imprints of these wires are easily discernible. For purposes of bibliographic research, since the mould itself is a handmade object—no two are exactly alike—the ribs for each mould will bear a unique spacing pattern. Since this pattern is reflected in the chainline imprint on the paper, it is possible to measure the spaces between the chainlines in order to create a “fingerprint” for each mould. Moreover, because many moulds of the era bore a sewn-on wire design, creating a watermark, the combination of chainline spaces and watermark form a highly accurate description of any given mould. When describing paper, however, researchers must keep in mind Allan Stevenson’s remark: “Watermarks are twins.” The production of paper in the hand-press period was a two-man process involving a set of moulds. The vatman would dip the first mould into the stuff, give the mould a shake to lock the fibers, and pass the mould to the koucher, who would hand a second mould to the vatman. While the vatman was dipping the mould, the koucher would roll the paper off the mould using a sheet of felt, preparing the mould to be used again. In any given day, a paper-making team would be able to produce 2000 sheets of paper, each mould being dipped around 1000 times. Such constant strain on the moulds led to short lives—rarely more than a year; the sewn-on wires for the watermarks lasted six months (from Gaskell’s A New Introduction to Bibliography). Important to the description and identification of paper, then, is the idea that two moulds were in use to form one stock of paper—each sheet of paper has a twin. By looking at multiple copies of a work, it is possible to create a composite model for each mould and to accurately pair one mould with its twin.

Much of my thesis work included traveling to libraries that held copies of Returne in order to count the chainlines in the paper of each copy. The work itself sounds about as dry as its description; however, it proved especially useful in the case of Returne, as it demonstrated a shared paper stock between the first and second editions.

15
Jul

My Textual History, or, How I Became Involved in Research and Started Losing My Hair pt. V

I now move on to the main part of my research experience, which has consumed the past three years of my life. Beginning my sophomore year, I began working with a play entitled The Return from Parnassus (I often refer to it in its original form—The Returne from Pernassus, or just Returne). Two other students and I began editing the text in order to make it accessible for an undergraduate audience.* The most recent edition available was published in 1949, edited by J.B. Leishmam. Leishman was an Oxford scholar who, like many editors of the time, chose not to translate any of the Latin that appears in Returne, nor are his notes elucidating to anyone interested in a basic understanding of the text. Leishman already assumed his readers would have not only knowledge of Latin but also a firm grip on the entire Early Modern world. Needless to say, his editorial apparatus, though thorough, does little to help the modern reader.

For this project, I was the textual editor. Returne offers interesting problems for the editor, since three textual witnesses exist: two printed editions—both 1606—and a manuscript. Many major libraries in the UK and the US hold copies of the first and second editions of Returne; the unique manuscript (titled The Progresse to Pernassus) is housed in the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, DC. The two printed texts are quite similar, only varying in a small degree; the manuscript, however, contains significant changes in wording, scene headings, character names, and title. For this project—which would eventually turn into my thesis—I traveled to said libraries/institutions to examine their copies of the Returne. I also spent considerable time at the Folger, pouring over their manuscript copy.

With my examination of copies, I felt I had finally “arrived.” Here was I, a researcher in the humanities, looking at copies of books that no one else had handled in a long time. In my examination, I was particularly concerned with three things: 1) The paper (a subject of another post) 2) The text (using a collator to compare copies against a standard 3) The markings. Since I was going to be looking at over twenty copies of this play, I wanted to find out how readers and owners of this play had interacted with it as an object. What did they write in their copies? How did they bind their copies? What did they pay for their copies? It became quickly apparent that many owners highly valued their copies—having them bound in fine bindings by the top bookbinders of the era. Others read through the text, meticulously correcting misprints and wrong readings. Still others penciled in provenance information or pasted bookplates onto the inside front covers as a sign of ownership. Such is the nature of the play as object. Scans or other digital facsimiles would not provide this kind of information; each play copy is a unique object—the play copies must be touched, handled, and investigated in person. Thus the note that appeared in a copy of Returne in the Bodleian Library: “Not to be disposed of as a Duplicate”.       

 *An article in Teaching Bibliography, Textual Criticism and Book History has disparaging things to say about students editing obscure texts, but all in all I think our final product served its purpose well.

15
Jul

A Thesis in Search of an Adviser

All my plans were disrupted by my year abroad in China. I had taken the Junior Honors Seminar in spring 07, with a plan to write my thesis during the 07-08 school year. I had an adviser lined up who was interested in and knowledgeable about my project. But then China came and no thesis got written during the 07-08 school year. This wasn’t a problem, since I planned to write my thesis in summer 08, defend it in the fall, and then graduate in December 08/January 09. A snag: my adviser wouldn’t be at W&M the summer or fall of 08.

So those are the circumstances. I talked with the lovely people at the Charles Center, who suggested I find another adviser—they didn’t want a “rogue thesis” on their hands. After dragging my feet for some time in the hope that the situation would magically resolve itself, I eventually e-mailed another professor in the English department and asked if she would be willing to advise me. I’m waiting to hear back, so I’ll update the blog when I find out.

           Lessons to be learned:

1) Switching advisers is not the end of the world.

2) Your thesis will not magically finish itself; nor will it magically find a new adviser.