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Dark Archives: A Librarian's Investigation into the Science and History of Books Bound in Human Skin
On bookshelves around the world, surrounded by ordinary books bound in paper and leather, rest other volumes of a distinctly strange and grisly sort: those bound in human skin. Would you know one if you held it in your hand?
In Dark Archives, Megan Rosenbloom seeks out the historic and scientific truths behind anthropodermic bibliopegy--the practice of binding books in this most intimate covering. Dozens of such books live on in the world's most famous libraries and museums. Dark Archives exhumes their origins and brings to life the doctors, murderers, innocents, and indigents whose lives are sewn together in this disquieting collection. Along the way, Rosenbloom tells the story of how her team of scientists, curators, and librarians test rumored anthropodermic books, untangling the myths around their creation and reckoning with the ethics of their custodianship.
A librarian and journalist, Rosenbloom is a member of The Order of the Good Death and a cofounder of their Death Salon, a community that encourages conversations, scholarship, and art about mortality and mourning. In Dark Archives--captivating and macabre in all the right ways--she has crafted a narrative that is equal parts detective work, academic intrigue, history, and medical curiosity: a book as rare and thrilling as its subject.
In Dark Archives, Megan Rosenbloom seeks out the historic and scientific truths behind anthropodermic bibliopegy--the practice of binding books in this most intimate covering. Dozens of such books live on in the world's most famous libraries and museums. Dark Archives exhumes their origins and brings to life the doctors, murderers, innocents, and indigents whose lives are sewn together in this disquieting collection. Along the way, Rosenbloom tells the story of how her team of scientists, curators, and librarians test rumored anthropodermic books, untangling the myths around their creation and reckoning with the ethics of their custodianship.
A librarian and journalist, Rosenbloom is a member of The Order of the Good Death and a cofounder of their Death Salon, a community that encourages conversations, scholarship, and art about mortality and mourning. In Dark Archives--captivating and macabre in all the right ways--she has crafted a narrative that is equal parts detective work, academic intrigue, history, and medical curiosity: a book as rare and thrilling as its subject.
275 pages, Hardcover
First published October 20, 2020
About the author
Megan Rosenbloom
1 book329 followersMegan Curran Rosenbloom is a medical librarian at the Norris Medical Library of the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. Megan has a keen interest in the history of medicine and rare books. She is President of the Southern California Society for the History of Medicine and co-founder and director of Death Salon, the event arm of The Order of the Good Death, and a leader in the Death Positive movement. She is on a research team called The Anthropodermic Book Project to find the historic and scientific truths behind the world’s alleged books bound in human skin, or anthropodermic bibliopegy, and has a non-fiction book about the history and ethical implications of this practice, titled Dark Archives: A Librarian’s Investigation into the Science and History of Books Bound in Human Skin. In a former life she was a radio and print journalist in Philadelphia and continues to write for both academic and non-academic publications.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 998 reviews
December 17, 2020
If I had to pick only one word to describe this book, that word would be "defensive."
Each of the disjointed, overly precious chapters get about 80% of the way toward making a point when Rosebloom halts in her tracks to say, basically, "but regardless of all that, I think human skin books are neat!" She makes some vague gestures toward acknowledging the power imbalances that result in people binding their books in the skin of other people before refusing to call the process racist or sexist or violent. She says that there's no evidence of violent or psychosexual intentions on the part of the universally white, wealthy male collectors that bound books in human skin, while simultaneously proceeding to describe every single book as either bound in the skin of poor, or Black, or female people; or written by or about poor, Black or female people. Seriously? You don't see a theme here?
As a fellow librarian, it was interesting to read the work of someone in my field with whom I almost completely disagree. Rosenbloom seems completely enthralled by antiquity; she loves old books merely because they're old, and that takes over every other impulse. I agree far more with the academic she debates in Chapter 5, Paul Needham, who believes that human skin bindings should be treated like the human remains they are. Rosenbloom seems to think there's some academic merit behind keeping the books intact, despite the fact that all she and everyone else does is go look at them to say "neat!" and then put them back in storage, and they've all been digitized and documented to death (no pun intended).
God, I really hated this book. I hated how she writes fawningly about wealthy white male doctors who cut off their patients' skin to bind books. I hated how constantly she defends her position that literally cutting off the skin of marginalized people doesn't have some foundational roots in hegemonic ideas of race and gender. I learned things, yeah, but mostly about tanning leather and 1800s midwives, facts that were cool but mostly unrelated to the subjects at hand. But I also hope other people, especially librarians, read it so we can all have a big talk about how an obsession with old books can lead to callousness towards human beings.
Each of the disjointed, overly precious chapters get about 80% of the way toward making a point when Rosebloom halts in her tracks to say, basically, "but regardless of all that, I think human skin books are neat!" She makes some vague gestures toward acknowledging the power imbalances that result in people binding their books in the skin of other people before refusing to call the process racist or sexist or violent. She says that there's no evidence of violent or psychosexual intentions on the part of the universally white, wealthy male collectors that bound books in human skin, while simultaneously proceeding to describe every single book as either bound in the skin of poor, or Black, or female people; or written by or about poor, Black or female people. Seriously? You don't see a theme here?
As a fellow librarian, it was interesting to read the work of someone in my field with whom I almost completely disagree. Rosenbloom seems completely enthralled by antiquity; she loves old books merely because they're old, and that takes over every other impulse. I agree far more with the academic she debates in Chapter 5, Paul Needham, who believes that human skin bindings should be treated like the human remains they are. Rosenbloom seems to think there's some academic merit behind keeping the books intact, despite the fact that all she and everyone else does is go look at them to say "neat!" and then put them back in storage, and they've all been digitized and documented to death (no pun intended).
God, I really hated this book. I hated how she writes fawningly about wealthy white male doctors who cut off their patients' skin to bind books. I hated how constantly she defends her position that literally cutting off the skin of marginalized people doesn't have some foundational roots in hegemonic ideas of race and gender. I learned things, yeah, but mostly about tanning leather and 1800s midwives, facts that were cool but mostly unrelated to the subjects at hand. But I also hope other people, especially librarians, read it so we can all have a big talk about how an obsession with old books can lead to callousness towards human beings.
October 28, 2020
Finished it in one day and immediately picked it for my Fantastic Strangelings book club. SO GOOD.
January 12, 2021
In her Author’s Note, Megan Rosenbloom notes that “… real human skin books do not usually immediately announce themselves with a ghoulish appearance. They do not look much different from any other antiquarian book you would find on the shelf. It’s likely some are quietly resting in library stacks, hiding in plain sight. Even if you were holding one right now, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell.”
Having said that, there are only about 50 human skin books in the world, as verified and authenticated by the Anthropodermic Book Project. Rosenbloom includes a single pic as an example. This is ‘The Dance of Death’ by Hans Holbei, courtesy of John Hay Library at Brown University, which is a medieval memento mori featuring dancing skeletons.
The proper term for making human skin books is ‘anthropodermic bibliopegy’, a conflation of the Greek ‘anthropos’ for human, ‘derma’ for skin, ‘biblion’ for book and ‘pegia’ for fasten. Rosenbloom quotes critic Paul Needham as stating that this term is ‘sanitising’: “They’re ‘books bound in human skin’ and anything else is trying to euphemise and therefore deflect from the central fact.”
The two main standpoints are (1) that these books are important cultural artefacts that need to be contextualised and understood and (2) that they represent a sorry end for some poor people, and therefore need to be dismantled and the human remains properly interred as a sign of respect. While Rosenbloom is clearly in the former camp, she is careful to articulate both sides of what is an emotive and forceful debate.
While little is known about these books, or even how many there actually are, she argues that they tell “a complicated and uncomfortable tale about the development of clinical medicine and the doctoring class, and the worst of what can come from the collision of acquisitiveness and a distanced clinical gaze.” This ‘clinical gaze’ is, of course, the “distanced view of patients” as described by Foucault in ‘The Birth of the Clinic’. The approach resulted in the Paris School, which became the basis for modern medicine.
Rosenbloom dispels many myths and misconceptions about such books, including the notion that it must be “a Nazi thing”. Her immediate retort to this is: “No, Nazis burned books. They didn’t prize and collect them the way that those who created anthropodermic books did.” And if like me you have a vague memory of the notorious Buchenwald lampshade made from human skin, Rosenbloom gives a fascinating account of its true provenance.
Despite the ghoulish subject matter, this book is more about intellectual curiosity than anything else. How do you overcome your innate revulsion and repugnance to achieve any kind of empathy with its practitioners – who invariably are not stereotypical Mad Scientists, but often highly revered medical doctors of impeccable character and social standing?
Rosenbloom takes the reader on various dizzying quests into the origin stories of some well-known anthropodermic books, focusing on the people whose skin ended up being processed as book-binding leather. This includes a clear-eyed account of what is exactly involved in such a process, what the difference is between materials as diverse as horse and rabbit, and the testing process to determine if a book cover has indeed been made from that most macabre of materials.
Rosenbloom’s enthusiasm for her subject matter (and source material) shines from every page of this wonderful book. It is a journey of discovery and of humility, of acknowledging that “There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
“As I hunt down the stories that attach themselves over time to these most mysterious of books, I see them less as objects and more as vessels for stories – the stories contained within the pages, of course, but also the stories of the people whose skin may bind the covers.”
Having said that, there are only about 50 human skin books in the world, as verified and authenticated by the Anthropodermic Book Project. Rosenbloom includes a single pic as an example. This is ‘The Dance of Death’ by Hans Holbei, courtesy of John Hay Library at Brown University, which is a medieval memento mori featuring dancing skeletons.
The proper term for making human skin books is ‘anthropodermic bibliopegy’, a conflation of the Greek ‘anthropos’ for human, ‘derma’ for skin, ‘biblion’ for book and ‘pegia’ for fasten. Rosenbloom quotes critic Paul Needham as stating that this term is ‘sanitising’: “They’re ‘books bound in human skin’ and anything else is trying to euphemise and therefore deflect from the central fact.”
The two main standpoints are (1) that these books are important cultural artefacts that need to be contextualised and understood and (2) that they represent a sorry end for some poor people, and therefore need to be dismantled and the human remains properly interred as a sign of respect. While Rosenbloom is clearly in the former camp, she is careful to articulate both sides of what is an emotive and forceful debate.
While little is known about these books, or even how many there actually are, she argues that they tell “a complicated and uncomfortable tale about the development of clinical medicine and the doctoring class, and the worst of what can come from the collision of acquisitiveness and a distanced clinical gaze.” This ‘clinical gaze’ is, of course, the “distanced view of patients” as described by Foucault in ‘The Birth of the Clinic’. The approach resulted in the Paris School, which became the basis for modern medicine.
Rosenbloom dispels many myths and misconceptions about such books, including the notion that it must be “a Nazi thing”. Her immediate retort to this is: “No, Nazis burned books. They didn’t prize and collect them the way that those who created anthropodermic books did.” And if like me you have a vague memory of the notorious Buchenwald lampshade made from human skin, Rosenbloom gives a fascinating account of its true provenance.
Despite the ghoulish subject matter, this book is more about intellectual curiosity than anything else. How do you overcome your innate revulsion and repugnance to achieve any kind of empathy with its practitioners – who invariably are not stereotypical Mad Scientists, but often highly revered medical doctors of impeccable character and social standing?
Rosenbloom takes the reader on various dizzying quests into the origin stories of some well-known anthropodermic books, focusing on the people whose skin ended up being processed as book-binding leather. This includes a clear-eyed account of what is exactly involved in such a process, what the difference is between materials as diverse as horse and rabbit, and the testing process to determine if a book cover has indeed been made from that most macabre of materials.
Rosenbloom’s enthusiasm for her subject matter (and source material) shines from every page of this wonderful book. It is a journey of discovery and of humility, of acknowledging that “There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
“As I hunt down the stories that attach themselves over time to these most mysterious of books, I see them less as objects and more as vessels for stories – the stories contained within the pages, of course, but also the stories of the people whose skin may bind the covers.”
Read
February 14, 2024Obviously I could not resist a history of books bound in human skin: have you met me?
It turns out there's just not a great deal to say about them. The author does her best but in truth, the fact that someone decided to bind two copies of Phillis Wheatley's poems in human skin doesn't really tell us much about Wheatley, or bibliophily, or human skin binding, or anything else. I quite believe there isn't the information out there, no fault to the author, but it ends up feeling a bit like, yup, some people did this.
Hence, lots of digressions, many of which track down the path of discussing consent, body ownership, and the history of medical experimentation and research vs consent. This is a very interesting subject in itself, but not really about human skin book binding. And I have to say, I started to get a bit exasperated at what felt like rather performative outrage. Yes, in the heyday of colonialism, slavery, the Bloody Code, total absence of human rights, living exhibits et cetera ad nauseam people felt entitled to use other people's bodies for leather. Are we really shocked or surprised?
Put it another way: there are a handful of books that we know for a fact are bound in human skin, none of them are Nazi / de Sade / occult, most of them are anatomy or crime related, and two of them are Phillis Wheatley, and I just don't feel like there's much of a thesis here.
It turns out there's just not a great deal to say about them. The author does her best but in truth, the fact that someone decided to bind two copies of Phillis Wheatley's poems in human skin doesn't really tell us much about Wheatley, or bibliophily, or human skin binding, or anything else. I quite believe there isn't the information out there, no fault to the author, but it ends up feeling a bit like, yup, some people did this.
Hence, lots of digressions, many of which track down the path of discussing consent, body ownership, and the history of medical experimentation and research vs consent. This is a very interesting subject in itself, but not really about human skin book binding. And I have to say, I started to get a bit exasperated at what felt like rather performative outrage. Yes, in the heyday of colonialism, slavery, the Bloody Code, total absence of human rights, living exhibits et cetera ad nauseam people felt entitled to use other people's bodies for leather. Are we really shocked or surprised?
Put it another way: there are a handful of books that we know for a fact are bound in human skin, none of them are Nazi / de Sade / occult, most of them are anatomy or crime related, and two of them are Phillis Wheatley, and I just don't feel like there's much of a thesis here.
July 19, 2020
This is one of those books you read out of morbid curiosity, because that was the reason for selecting it. And although it’s quite gruesome in its details, it was an engrossing one.
You would think that only a murderer or another deranged person would bound a book in human skin. Turned out quite the opposite:
There are not many details about most of these books but for some of them which turned out to be indeed bound in human skin *, the willingly or not donors, are now known. The author did an extensive research and I must acknowledge her dedication in trying to uncover the truth behind.
Many turned out to be bound in animal skin: pig’s, horse’s, even rabbit’s in one case. As for the reasons why would anyone want such a book, there are only suppositions.
Intertwined with the history of these books, there are many details also about the doctors and medicine practice of those times, not only from United Stated, from where she is native, but also from England, Scotland, and France.
Another interesting thing is that, if you have a tattoo and you want it preserved for your future generations, you can do that nowadays. That really gave me the creeps, for as much as I love my tattoo, I really can't think of it ending up framed on a wall… **
Bottom line is, it was a morbidly captivating read, but my first and last on this subject. The 4 stars rating is for the book only, the info provided, structure and quality of writing, because I can’t say it was an enjoyable one.
* https://anthropodermicbooks.org/
** https://savemyink.tattoo/
PS: Details on Anthropodermic bibliopegy here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anthrop...
>>> ARC received thanks to Farrar, Straus and Giroux via NetGalley <<<
You would think that only a murderer or another deranged person would bound a book in human skin. Turned out quite the opposite:
There are not many details about most of these books but for some of them which turned out to be indeed bound in human skin *, the willingly or not donors, are now known. The author did an extensive research and I must acknowledge her dedication in trying to uncover the truth behind.
Many turned out to be bound in animal skin: pig’s, horse’s, even rabbit’s in one case. As for the reasons why would anyone want such a book, there are only suppositions.
Intertwined with the history of these books, there are many details also about the doctors and medicine practice of those times, not only from United Stated, from where she is native, but also from England, Scotland, and France.
Another interesting thing is that, if you have a tattoo and you want it preserved for your future generations, you can do that nowadays. That really gave me the creeps, for as much as I love my tattoo, I really can't think of it ending up framed on a wall… **
Bottom line is, it was a morbidly captivating read, but my first and last on this subject. The 4 stars rating is for the book only, the info provided, structure and quality of writing, because I can’t say it was an enjoyable one.
* https://anthropodermicbooks.org/
** https://savemyink.tattoo/
PS: Details on Anthropodermic bibliopegy here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anthrop...
>>> ARC received thanks to Farrar, Straus and Giroux via NetGalley <<<
October 25, 2021
This book’s subject is both fascinating and very weird, and I wonder if one’s enjoyment of it doesn’t hinge entirely on how one reacts to the idea that there are such objects as books bound in human skin (anthropodermic bibliopegy is the standardized formula regarding this… practice). My curiosity towards bizarre and, let’s face it, morbid subject matters made this book kind of irresistible, though I must say it didn’t turn out how I expected!
This horror story loving gal was hoping for a book about cultists who bind their grimoires in the skin of their sacrificial victims under gibbous moons… No such luck! Lovecraft, “Hocus Pocus” and “Supernatural” greatly exaggerated the prevalence of books bound in human skin – and got the context in which such books ended up being made all wrong – as it turns out (why am I surprised/disappointed by this?). As we soon learn following Megan Rosenbloom, a medical archivist who works with a group devoted to testing alleged anthropodermic books for authenticity and working to understand their stories – these books generally seem to have a direct relationship with the medical establishment rather than Hannibal Lecter types.
First of all, Rosenbloom’s writing is both very clear and engaging, making this book a breeze to read. She is clearly passionate about her topic, and wants to make accessible to anyone curious enough – and I think she succeeds in doing that! She also wants to get rid of the common misconceptions that exist regarding anthropodermic books: rumours about French Revolution and Nazi death camp human books manufactures turn out to be just that – rumors. The real stuff has much stranger and more complicated stories than one could expect.
It must also be noted that she navigates an ethically tricky terrain: of course, the idea that some people would use human skin to bind books is horrifying, and she takes great pain to gives us context, not to exonerate the doctors who did (whatever their motives), but to illustrate the value of such books as artefacts and important learning opportunities in regard to how medical science treats humans. I learned a few things reading her summary of the birth of modern medical training and how it resulted in what is commonly known as the clinical gaze.
As a very tattooed lady, I also found her chapter on tattoo preservation and the interesting work being done with this aim, quite interesting. I’m not sure what I’d like done with my ink once I’ve kicked the bucket, but now I certainly have stuff to think about and add to my death-plan (more paperwork, yay!).
Book and history nerds with a penchant for the creepy will certainly find this a fascinating little book: I only wished she would have dwelled more on other rumored anthropodermic books in her final chapters on the French “market” of occult book collectors.
This horror story loving gal was hoping for a book about cultists who bind their grimoires in the skin of their sacrificial victims under gibbous moons… No such luck! Lovecraft, “Hocus Pocus” and “Supernatural” greatly exaggerated the prevalence of books bound in human skin – and got the context in which such books ended up being made all wrong – as it turns out (why am I surprised/disappointed by this?). As we soon learn following Megan Rosenbloom, a medical archivist who works with a group devoted to testing alleged anthropodermic books for authenticity and working to understand their stories – these books generally seem to have a direct relationship with the medical establishment rather than Hannibal Lecter types.
First of all, Rosenbloom’s writing is both very clear and engaging, making this book a breeze to read. She is clearly passionate about her topic, and wants to make accessible to anyone curious enough – and I think she succeeds in doing that! She also wants to get rid of the common misconceptions that exist regarding anthropodermic books: rumours about French Revolution and Nazi death camp human books manufactures turn out to be just that – rumors. The real stuff has much stranger and more complicated stories than one could expect.
It must also be noted that she navigates an ethically tricky terrain: of course, the idea that some people would use human skin to bind books is horrifying, and she takes great pain to gives us context, not to exonerate the doctors who did (whatever their motives), but to illustrate the value of such books as artefacts and important learning opportunities in regard to how medical science treats humans. I learned a few things reading her summary of the birth of modern medical training and how it resulted in what is commonly known as the clinical gaze.
As a very tattooed lady, I also found her chapter on tattoo preservation and the interesting work being done with this aim, quite interesting. I’m not sure what I’d like done with my ink once I’ve kicked the bucket, but now I certainly have stuff to think about and add to my death-plan (more paperwork, yay!).
Book and history nerds with a penchant for the creepy will certainly find this a fascinating little book: I only wished she would have dwelled more on other rumored anthropodermic books in her final chapters on the French “market” of occult book collectors.
November 5, 2020
I really, really wanted to love this book. I pre-ordered it and everything! Unfortunately, Dark Archives suffers from the same tendency to center the (white, able, thin, instagram-approved) self in discussions about uncomfortable topics like systemic racism and misogyny that I see in my and the author's profession, academic librarianship.
I work at an institution that is home to four books bound in human skin. [this review does not reflect the views of or is endorsed by my employer] I've handled two of them, brought out for an orientation to the Special Collections for undergraduates held every fall semester. It's really fucking weird to me that we continue to show them off to students like a sideshow; I found myself agreeing with Needham in chapter 5, rather than the author's clinical take on their value as research objects.
Flipping through the book, I found that I had scrawled "ew", "wtf", "bad opinion" next to nearly every section in which Rosenbloom centered herself in a discussion of race, ethics, or consent. It's not that I don't like the genre of journalistic nonfiction, it's just that Rosenbloom is definitely more interested in 'anthropodermic bibliopegy' than humanity, which feels extremely out-of-touch at the moment. I do give her credit for writing an accessible book about the weird, horrifying history of anatomy and clinical medicine. I just wish she would take a stand against it, rather than revering the doctors who created these bindings from human skin.
I would also like to note that my cat threw up on my copy while I was writing this review. 1 star from Lemon
I work at an institution that is home to four books bound in human skin. [this review does not reflect the views of or is endorsed by my employer] I've handled two of them, brought out for an orientation to the Special Collections for undergraduates held every fall semester. It's really fucking weird to me that we continue to show them off to students like a sideshow; I found myself agreeing with Needham in chapter 5, rather than the author's clinical take on their value as research objects.
Flipping through the book, I found that I had scrawled "ew", "wtf", "bad opinion" next to nearly every section in which Rosenbloom centered herself in a discussion of race, ethics, or consent. It's not that I don't like the genre of journalistic nonfiction, it's just that Rosenbloom is definitely more interested in 'anthropodermic bibliopegy' than humanity, which feels extremely out-of-touch at the moment. I do give her credit for writing an accessible book about the weird, horrifying history of anatomy and clinical medicine. I just wish she would take a stand against it, rather than revering the doctors who created these bindings from human skin.
I would also like to note that my cat threw up on my copy while I was writing this review. 1 star from Lemon
October 5, 2023
I could read a 1600 page book on any topic written by this author and I think I'd continue to be engaged. FANTASTIC.
May 13, 2022
A book about books possibly bound in human skin, written by a librarian?
Is there anything that could appeal to me more?
Well, yes, but this is right up there in the Things That Interest Me category.
Unfortunately, my strong feelings for this book were not as I had expected.
I ranted for 5+ pages of notes and was full of ire by the time I finished.
My short take:
The author is too interested in books as treasures to appreciate people as humans and her shortsighted view that preservation is more important than human dignity is a tad gauche, as the snobs like to say.
Me. I am the snobs.
My longass ranty thoughts (culled from my longerass ranty notes):
One day, during her time in library school, Rosenbloom visited the Mutter Museum and found the bookcase of books bound in human skin (anthropodermic bibliopegy) which led her down a rabbit hole.
In her introduction, she says, Human skin books, mostly made by doctor-bibliophiles, are the only books that are controversial not for the ideas they contain but for the physical makeup of the object, itself. They repel and fascinate and their very ordinary appearances mask the horror inherent in their creation. Anthropodermic books tell a complicated and uncomfortable tale about the development of clinical medicine in the doctoring class and the worst of what can come from the collision of acquisitiveness and a distanced clinical gaze.
So she's starting out with her (biased) thesis, which could be translated as such: The idea of books bound in human skin is morbidly fascinating but preserved human skin, itself, is gross, and rich, white doctors of yore made great strides in medicine but became blind to humanity which led them to hubris.
re: the biased part of said thesis:
Why "horror inherent?"
It's got to be the way these particular skins were harvested, right? From people who could in no way bequeath their largest organ to library, whose skin was literally taken from them to make an artifact. That's horrible.
The first half of this book examines the men who elevated doctors from barbers yanking out teeth to an elite class of medical professionals and how they used their elite power to get away with things like using the skin of deceased patients, often women, many of whom were poor, to bind books because the best way to show you’re smart is to own a lot of books and the best way to show you’re rich is to own books that no one else owns, like the ones bound in the skin of your dead female patients.
To answer my earlier question, no, the horror inherent does not come from the unethical practices of taking people's skin. Yes, there’s the ethical question of whether or not the skin was used with permission (most-likely not) in these particular cases but beyond that, it's the skin, itself, that is considered horrible.
There is nothing inherently horrible about making leather with human skin if the human who owned the skin is fine with it. How many authors or book lovers or people with skin art or people who are all of those would want to be remembered via their skin adorning a favorite book or their memoir or something? How many people would want to memorialize a loved one by keeping some of their skin? We have hair art, how is skin art any different? If this narrative of skin leather being weird and gross ended, we’d probably see more of human skin preservation in the future. Spoiler: There is a segment about SaveMyInk, later on, and you’ll be happy to know their products were deemed beautiful and not icky.
I had expected a more neutral stance toward the actual human skin portion of this story, possibly an examination of why human skin is considered “horror inherent” and thoughts about what preserved skin may mean to people who are not rich doctor thieves. I did not expect "Ewww, skin is yucky." The introduction, alone, had me feeling pretty skeptical for what was to come.
What came was more of the same plus a bunch of making excuses for certain types of people and a lot of championing the role of libraries and archives and librarians and archivists.
Upon finding a preserved tattoo in an envelope waiting for her at the research desk because someone thought she would find it interesting given the scope and subject of her work: ...sometimes this work is creepy. I have a higher threshold for this stuff than a lot of people but I’m not immune…’well that was gross, even for me.’
The whole “This is so gross” thing isn’t cute and it’s also not professional if this is your actual profession.
After establishing her view on the gross, but fascinating, nature of preserved skin, she makes the argument that while other people think human skin-bound books should be interred or cremated out of respect for the people whose skins were stolen, she does not think they should be interred or cremated because the books are too important as objects and artifacts. Furthermore, it is the job of librarians and archivists to protect these and all books.
*record scratch*
As a librarian, I would like to say, unequivocally, that that is not a librarian’s job. If something is wrong with a book, you get rid of the book. We do it all the time for a multitude of reasons, many of which would be alarming to the non-library populace.
While I personally believe the idea of giving preserved human skin a proper burial or cremation is not something we should be doing, I understand the argument although I also think said argument is based on our current morals and our current morals are very afraid of death. Rather, I do not believe these items should be interred/cremated because that just hides these men’s transgressions and lets us rewrite history, allowing more people like this author to talk about these doctors in Rich Men Will Be Rich Men ways. However, I also don’t think these books should be showpieces or treasures and I do agree they should be memorialized, honored, and acknowledged for what they are, not as artifacts or collector's items. Can we build a mausoleum for items made of human skin and if anyone thinks they need to see the remains, they have to go through the same processes anyone else has to go through to exhume a body?
In addition to furthering the “Yuck! Skin” viewpoint, the author often discusses then dismisses the racist and misogynistic origins of the skin pieces she tracked down. I appreciate that she gathers viewpoints from other professionals in her or related fields but do not appreciate that she continues to focus on items as historical artifact over everything else.
She says, at one point, that in her experience, books purported to be bound in black or brown skin are usually frauds. Throughout, she remains confused as to why fake skin leather would be attributed to specific races, much like she doesn’t understand how a dude bragging about using female skin makes him a misogynist. She figures no one ever specifies white skin so there’s no reason to do so with black skin. It’s all so puzzling.
Her attempt to find out why so many books are said to be bound in black skin revealed to her the extent to which the medical profession has demonized people of color but worse, it made her question her faith in the historical written record. IT MADE HER QUESTION HER FAITH IN HISTORICAL ACCURACY. No link is made between the medical profession’s mistreatment of people of color and historical accuracy as penned by white people.
There’s so much more I could bitch about. As you can see, reading this was quite stimulating to my brain’s debate glands. Normally, that would have warranted at least three stars but also normally, the information presented would not have been so biased and so equally clueless.
But that’s not all!
Rosenbloom writes in a click-baity fashion. Lots of “No one could have been prepared for…” and such. The chapters lack focus and she often ends up talking about herself and her love of her profession and her project more than the actual books she’s researching.
Despite the years of impressive research that went into this work, it winds up being more of a giggly “I love my superhero job where I get to look at icky skin treasures made by evil doctors who were just a product of their times but thank goodness we can now verify which skin leathers are human skin and which are fake and I will make sure nothing bad ever happens to them, the end” piece than a serious study of anthropodermic bibliopegy, its historical significance, how and why it has been employed, and what the value of such items may or may not be in our current culture as well as in the future.
Here’s a line of thought I would have liked to see explored: Most of the books examined originally came from doctors who liked to use skin of dead patients to bind books, thereby making the books more valuable which, in turn, made them collector’s items. Because there are so few of these in both public and private collections, it makes it seem like there aren’t a lot of skin bound books. But what if the common tanner covered his beloved grandmother’s bible with her skin after she died because he couldn’t bear to let her go but it’s not in any private collection because he wasn’t rich? It’s just some odd heirloom passed down through the family. How many times has something like that happened? Has there been any investigation into common people preserving bits of their loved ones after death? We have many of examples of hair mementos fashioned by people across social stratum, it seems reasonable there would be other preserved mementos, as well. Is anyone looking into that?
She finally wraps up by contradicting half of what she’s said previously with Several of my friends own and even sell human remains and it has taken me some time to determine where I stand on the subject. But I have a caveat: If someone donated an anthropodermic book to an institution where I worked, I would gladly care for it and would see it as an opportunity to teach people about all of the ethical issues wrapped up in its existence. I feel I would be a better steward of such an object than most.
From what I’ve seen, most reviews have good things to say about the author’s endeavors and there’s not much criticism about her odd biases, the elevation of her profession, and her insistence that artifacts are more important than reparations.
In fact, Connor Goodwin, via NPR, says exactly the opposite in his review: “A species of reparative writing, Dark Archives excavates the hidden stories stitched into the binding of anthropodermic books and, in doing so, restores some humanity to victims of medical exploitation. Delightful and propulsive, Rosenbloom's measured balance of bloody thrills with historical fact and ethical nuance makes Dark Archives a titillating Halloween read.”
Obviously, there’s a chance I have misread this book terribly.
I also could have used my inside knowledge to understand that preserving white history needs to stop being the goal of libraries and archives and that human skin isn’t gross unless it's procured through nefarious means. And even then, it’s not the skin that’s gross, it’s the people who harvested and preserved the skin. Nefariously.
Is there anything that could appeal to me more?
Well, yes, but this is right up there in the Things That Interest Me category.
Unfortunately, my strong feelings for this book were not as I had expected.
I ranted for 5+ pages of notes and was full of ire by the time I finished.
My short take:
The author is too interested in books as treasures to appreciate people as humans and her shortsighted view that preservation is more important than human dignity is a tad gauche, as the snobs like to say.
Me. I am the snobs.
My longass ranty thoughts (culled from my longerass ranty notes):
One day, during her time in library school, Rosenbloom visited the Mutter Museum and found the bookcase of books bound in human skin (anthropodermic bibliopegy) which led her down a rabbit hole.
In her introduction, she says, Human skin books, mostly made by doctor-bibliophiles, are the only books that are controversial not for the ideas they contain but for the physical makeup of the object, itself. They repel and fascinate and their very ordinary appearances mask the horror inherent in their creation. Anthropodermic books tell a complicated and uncomfortable tale about the development of clinical medicine in the doctoring class and the worst of what can come from the collision of acquisitiveness and a distanced clinical gaze.
So she's starting out with her (biased) thesis, which could be translated as such: The idea of books bound in human skin is morbidly fascinating but preserved human skin, itself, is gross, and rich, white doctors of yore made great strides in medicine but became blind to humanity which led them to hubris.
re: the biased part of said thesis:
Why "horror inherent?"
It's got to be the way these particular skins were harvested, right? From people who could in no way bequeath their largest organ to library, whose skin was literally taken from them to make an artifact. That's horrible.
The first half of this book examines the men who elevated doctors from barbers yanking out teeth to an elite class of medical professionals and how they used their elite power to get away with things like using the skin of deceased patients, often women, many of whom were poor, to bind books because the best way to show you’re smart is to own a lot of books and the best way to show you’re rich is to own books that no one else owns, like the ones bound in the skin of your dead female patients.
To answer my earlier question, no, the horror inherent does not come from the unethical practices of taking people's skin. Yes, there’s the ethical question of whether or not the skin was used with permission (most-likely not) in these particular cases but beyond that, it's the skin, itself, that is considered horrible.
There is nothing inherently horrible about making leather with human skin if the human who owned the skin is fine with it. How many authors or book lovers or people with skin art or people who are all of those would want to be remembered via their skin adorning a favorite book or their memoir or something? How many people would want to memorialize a loved one by keeping some of their skin? We have hair art, how is skin art any different? If this narrative of skin leather being weird and gross ended, we’d probably see more of human skin preservation in the future. Spoiler: There is a segment about SaveMyInk, later on, and you’ll be happy to know their products were deemed beautiful and not icky.
I had expected a more neutral stance toward the actual human skin portion of this story, possibly an examination of why human skin is considered “horror inherent” and thoughts about what preserved skin may mean to people who are not rich doctor thieves. I did not expect "Ewww, skin is yucky." The introduction, alone, had me feeling pretty skeptical for what was to come.
What came was more of the same plus a bunch of making excuses for certain types of people and a lot of championing the role of libraries and archives and librarians and archivists.
Upon finding a preserved tattoo in an envelope waiting for her at the research desk because someone thought she would find it interesting given the scope and subject of her work: ...sometimes this work is creepy. I have a higher threshold for this stuff than a lot of people but I’m not immune…’well that was gross, even for me.’
The whole “This is so gross” thing isn’t cute and it’s also not professional if this is your actual profession.
After establishing her view on the gross, but fascinating, nature of preserved skin, she makes the argument that while other people think human skin-bound books should be interred or cremated out of respect for the people whose skins were stolen, she does not think they should be interred or cremated because the books are too important as objects and artifacts. Furthermore, it is the job of librarians and archivists to protect these and all books.
*record scratch*
As a librarian, I would like to say, unequivocally, that that is not a librarian’s job. If something is wrong with a book, you get rid of the book. We do it all the time for a multitude of reasons, many of which would be alarming to the non-library populace.
While I personally believe the idea of giving preserved human skin a proper burial or cremation is not something we should be doing, I understand the argument although I also think said argument is based on our current morals and our current morals are very afraid of death. Rather, I do not believe these items should be interred/cremated because that just hides these men’s transgressions and lets us rewrite history, allowing more people like this author to talk about these doctors in Rich Men Will Be Rich Men ways. However, I also don’t think these books should be showpieces or treasures and I do agree they should be memorialized, honored, and acknowledged for what they are, not as artifacts or collector's items. Can we build a mausoleum for items made of human skin and if anyone thinks they need to see the remains, they have to go through the same processes anyone else has to go through to exhume a body?
In addition to furthering the “Yuck! Skin” viewpoint, the author often discusses then dismisses the racist and misogynistic origins of the skin pieces she tracked down. I appreciate that she gathers viewpoints from other professionals in her or related fields but do not appreciate that she continues to focus on items as historical artifact over everything else.
She says, at one point, that in her experience, books purported to be bound in black or brown skin are usually frauds. Throughout, she remains confused as to why fake skin leather would be attributed to specific races, much like she doesn’t understand how a dude bragging about using female skin makes him a misogynist. She figures no one ever specifies white skin so there’s no reason to do so with black skin. It’s all so puzzling.
Her attempt to find out why so many books are said to be bound in black skin revealed to her the extent to which the medical profession has demonized people of color but worse, it made her question her faith in the historical written record. IT MADE HER QUESTION HER FAITH IN HISTORICAL ACCURACY. No link is made between the medical profession’s mistreatment of people of color and historical accuracy as penned by white people.
There’s so much more I could bitch about. As you can see, reading this was quite stimulating to my brain’s debate glands. Normally, that would have warranted at least three stars but also normally, the information presented would not have been so biased and so equally clueless.
But that’s not all!
Rosenbloom writes in a click-baity fashion. Lots of “No one could have been prepared for…” and such. The chapters lack focus and she often ends up talking about herself and her love of her profession and her project more than the actual books she’s researching.
Despite the years of impressive research that went into this work, it winds up being more of a giggly “I love my superhero job where I get to look at icky skin treasures made by evil doctors who were just a product of their times but thank goodness we can now verify which skin leathers are human skin and which are fake and I will make sure nothing bad ever happens to them, the end” piece than a serious study of anthropodermic bibliopegy, its historical significance, how and why it has been employed, and what the value of such items may or may not be in our current culture as well as in the future.
Here’s a line of thought I would have liked to see explored: Most of the books examined originally came from doctors who liked to use skin of dead patients to bind books, thereby making the books more valuable which, in turn, made them collector’s items. Because there are so few of these in both public and private collections, it makes it seem like there aren’t a lot of skin bound books. But what if the common tanner covered his beloved grandmother’s bible with her skin after she died because he couldn’t bear to let her go but it’s not in any private collection because he wasn’t rich? It’s just some odd heirloom passed down through the family. How many times has something like that happened? Has there been any investigation into common people preserving bits of their loved ones after death? We have many of examples of hair mementos fashioned by people across social stratum, it seems reasonable there would be other preserved mementos, as well. Is anyone looking into that?
She finally wraps up by contradicting half of what she’s said previously with Several of my friends own and even sell human remains and it has taken me some time to determine where I stand on the subject. But I have a caveat: If someone donated an anthropodermic book to an institution where I worked, I would gladly care for it and would see it as an opportunity to teach people about all of the ethical issues wrapped up in its existence. I feel I would be a better steward of such an object than most.
From what I’ve seen, most reviews have good things to say about the author’s endeavors and there’s not much criticism about her odd biases, the elevation of her profession, and her insistence that artifacts are more important than reparations.
In fact, Connor Goodwin, via NPR, says exactly the opposite in his review: “A species of reparative writing, Dark Archives excavates the hidden stories stitched into the binding of anthropodermic books and, in doing so, restores some humanity to victims of medical exploitation. Delightful and propulsive, Rosenbloom's measured balance of bloody thrills with historical fact and ethical nuance makes Dark Archives a titillating Halloween read.”
Obviously, there’s a chance I have misread this book terribly.
I also could have used my inside knowledge to understand that preserving white history needs to stop being the goal of libraries and archives and that human skin isn’t gross unless it's procured through nefarious means. And even then, it’s not the skin that’s gross, it’s the people who harvested and preserved the skin. Nefariously.
October 26, 2020
In one Supernatural plot arc, Sam and Dean Winchester are on the hunt for a tome called The Book of the Damned. Discovered by Charlie Bradbury in a monastery in Spain, it is a 700 year old dark magic book penned by a nun who, after having "visions of darkness," locked herself away and emerged decades later with the book, having written it all on slices of her own skin, using her own blood.
That's the sort of thing I thought Dark Archives was gonna get into, but sadly, the reality of human skin books is disappointing and banal. That's not a criticism of the book; that's on me for having expectations influenced by a CW urban fantasy show.
In reality, books bound in human skin don't really have very gruesome histories, just ones that are kind of vaguely sad and unfair, in the way that life is often unfair to the poor and marginalized. I would say that Dark Archives is a book more about the history of medical ethics than it is about human skin books, because most human skin books were made by doctors, or were found in doctors' collections. Not particularly surprising, given the medical profession's history.
As a librarian myself, I really enjoyed seeing how the author went about doing her research at various libraries, and I was fascinated by the random details she included about preservation and book binding. And I just really liked reading about another librarian, who is clearly super passionate about books, going about this project. However, the book overall did feel somewhat scattered and bloated, and uneven, too: some parts I found utterly fascinating, while others were just okay.
I guess I just wanted something a bit more sensational and gruesome; as it is, I kind of hate this book for disabusing me of the very lurid notions I had about books bound in human skin. The reality of it all is just so...mundane. Alas.
That's the sort of thing I thought Dark Archives was gonna get into, but sadly, the reality of human skin books is disappointing and banal. That's not a criticism of the book; that's on me for having expectations influenced by a CW urban fantasy show.
In reality, books bound in human skin don't really have very gruesome histories, just ones that are kind of vaguely sad and unfair, in the way that life is often unfair to the poor and marginalized. I would say that Dark Archives is a book more about the history of medical ethics than it is about human skin books, because most human skin books were made by doctors, or were found in doctors' collections. Not particularly surprising, given the medical profession's history.
As a librarian myself, I really enjoyed seeing how the author went about doing her research at various libraries, and I was fascinated by the random details she included about preservation and book binding. And I just really liked reading about another librarian, who is clearly super passionate about books, going about this project. However, the book overall did feel somewhat scattered and bloated, and uneven, too: some parts I found utterly fascinating, while others were just okay.
I guess I just wanted something a bit more sensational and gruesome; as it is, I kind of hate this book for disabusing me of the very lurid notions I had about books bound in human skin. The reality of it all is just so...mundane. Alas.
December 30, 2021
2021 Best Books of the Year [#02 of 11]
By no means a flawless book, but it’s nonetheless a morbidly fascinating read.
By no means a flawless book, but it’s nonetheless a morbidly fascinating read.
November 11, 2021
Could have really done without the white woman narrator giving accents to every non American 🙄 Not all Asians speak English like that...
Also this book is 15% human skin books 85% of filler because frankly there isn't very many of these books and the whole point of the author's mission is to test their covers.
Also this book is 15% human skin books 85% of filler because frankly there isn't very many of these books and the whole point of the author's mission is to test their covers.
![Profile Image for laurel [the suspected bibliophile].](https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/users/1645808644i/7494844._UX200_CR0,6,200,200_.jpg)
October 27, 2021
An interesting and engrossing book about binding books in human skin.
Despite my mind going immediately to all things occult (grimoires, etc) and then to the Nazis, both of my immediate thoughts of who might have bound books in the most taboo of leathers was disproved through a series of incredibly thorough sets of evidence. The sheer excitement of the French collectors in testing their macabre books was a thrill ride, and I wish more time had been spent on why and how the occult books were created (this seemed more like an afterthought than the rest of the book).
The majority of books that have been tested and proved to be bound in actual leather of man were mostly bound in the late 18th through early 20th centuries by highly educated, well respected doctors who were used to playing a little fast and loose with ethics (Rosenbloom notes that ethics and consent with regards to literally anything medical were developed relatively recently). I did like that she spent much of the book discussing the people who were possibly turned into an object, rehumanizing the literally dehumanized, and talking about the responsibilities of respecting the dead, educating the present and contextualizing the past (contextualizing, not excusing).
However, I was annoyed by how often the book seemed like a log of Rosenbloom's travels to various places. At first it was cool, and I appreciated the amount of research, passion and dedication she has put into demystifying this gruesome (and rare) practice, but after a while the "I went here to talk to this person, and walked around the beautiful building/grounds/museum/library/center/etc" felt repetitive and more of a way to increase word count instead of add value.
But perhaps I wanted more macabre, more occult, more weird!
Overall, it's well worth a look at how ethics in medical practice has changed, and who suffers and is exploited by systems riddled with inequality and injustice.
I received this ARC from NetGalley for an honest review, although I ended up checking the book out from the library because I'd forgotten I'd requested it as an ARC a couple years ago!
Despite my mind going immediately to all things occult (grimoires, etc) and then to the Nazis, both of my immediate thoughts of who might have bound books in the most taboo of leathers was disproved through a series of incredibly thorough sets of evidence. The sheer excitement of the French collectors in testing their macabre books was a thrill ride, and I wish more time had been spent on why and how the occult books were created (this seemed more like an afterthought than the rest of the book).
The majority of books that have been tested and proved to be bound in actual leather of man were mostly bound in the late 18th through early 20th centuries by highly educated, well respected doctors who were used to playing a little fast and loose with ethics (Rosenbloom notes that ethics and consent with regards to literally anything medical were developed relatively recently). I did like that she spent much of the book discussing the people who were possibly turned into an object, rehumanizing the literally dehumanized, and talking about the responsibilities of respecting the dead, educating the present and contextualizing the past (contextualizing, not excusing).
However, I was annoyed by how often the book seemed like a log of Rosenbloom's travels to various places. At first it was cool, and I appreciated the amount of research, passion and dedication she has put into demystifying this gruesome (and rare) practice, but after a while the "I went here to talk to this person, and walked around the beautiful building/grounds/museum/library/center/etc" felt repetitive and more of a way to increase word count instead of add value.
But perhaps I wanted more macabre, more occult, more weird!
Overall, it's well worth a look at how ethics in medical practice has changed, and who suffers and is exploited by systems riddled with inequality and injustice.
I received this ARC from NetGalley for an honest review, although I ended up checking the book out from the library because I'd forgotten I'd requested it as an ARC a couple years ago!
January 1, 2021
It’s everything I want from nonfiction: weirdly specific topic, good writing, lots of history and interactions with various experts, fascinating and a bit macabre. I wouldn’t recommend it for anyone who is extremely squeamish, but the macabre topic is very tactically handled and buttressed by histories and issues of medical ethics and histories.
February 12, 2021
It must be nice to completely disregard the history of abuse at the hands of white men against women and people of color. I honestly hate this author. I can't (but I can) believe that she had the audacity to disregard the story of a black man's skin being used in this way because "who would do that? doesn't sound believable to my white self." I don't know Megan maybe it is the centuries of sadistic abuse and evil at the hands of while people against black people maybe? The centuries of violent racism maybe? I can get being morbidly curious (when one owns up to it) and I'm not one to attack authors but her casual dismissal of the clear misogyny and racism of this practice angers me and it gives insight in my opinion into Rosenbloom's character. There are a lot interesting and "fun" facts but it is not worth reading from the perspective of a person like this. And I am side eying all the uncritical reviews from white readers praising this book.
December 19, 2021
this book was really interesting but it was hindered by the author's inability to disclose information about the books her organization studied and she ended up relying on a lot of anecdote and personal narrative. maybe it's just me but i wanted way more about the history of human-skin bookbinding, more information on why certain books were suspected to be bound that way, etc etc. megan rosenbloom is a delightful narrator i just didnt expect so much narrative from a book with this title/subtitle. cool read for book nerds and medical history nerds though!
May 18, 2023
2.8⭐
Like the leather used for book binding ( human or otherwise), this work of popular science and history is stretched thin. It's subject is anthropodermic books, those bound with human skin, bizarre and inhumane relics of times gone by (although not all that bygone, as the latest such book Rosenbloom records was made in 1934). It's less of a history of these books, as it is a memoir of the author's interest and involvement with them. That's where the padding comes in, because the facts are few and quickly summarized.
Yes, books bound with human skin exist, having been verified by the Anthropodermic Book Project of which Rosenbloom, a medical librarian, is a member. They are very rare, with less than 20 confirmed in the U.S. and a like number suspected in other countries, at the time of the book's publication. A little less than half of the books or parchment tested were fakes. They were largely created in the 18th and 19th centuries, mostly by doctors who were also book fanciers, looking for something unusual for their collection. Most are early antiquarian medical texts, rebound years later, with human skin. All the purported anthropodermic books on occult subjects tested were fakes.
There are many digressions, like a brief history of tanning ( which was interesting) and Rosenbloom's deliberation over whether to leave her body to science (which isn't). Mostly chapters deal with investigations of indivdual American anthropodermic books or of purported examples in other countries ( Britain and France). And there's much handwringing about the motivation for and morality of creating these objects in the first place and discussion of the argument over whether to respectfully inter the books as human remains or to preserve them as historical and research artifacts.
Clearly there's some fascinating, if macabre, history in the book but the author's long and winding road in recounting it takes away some of the enjoyment. It would have benefited from a ruthless editor. Even with the padding, it's relatively short, so there's that. A skinny read, indeed. -30-
Like the leather used for book binding ( human or otherwise), this work of popular science and history is stretched thin. It's subject is anthropodermic books, those bound with human skin, bizarre and inhumane relics of times gone by (although not all that bygone, as the latest such book Rosenbloom records was made in 1934). It's less of a history of these books, as it is a memoir of the author's interest and involvement with them. That's where the padding comes in, because the facts are few and quickly summarized.
Yes, books bound with human skin exist, having been verified by the Anthropodermic Book Project of which Rosenbloom, a medical librarian, is a member. They are very rare, with less than 20 confirmed in the U.S. and a like number suspected in other countries, at the time of the book's publication. A little less than half of the books or parchment tested were fakes. They were largely created in the 18th and 19th centuries, mostly by doctors who were also book fanciers, looking for something unusual for their collection. Most are early antiquarian medical texts, rebound years later, with human skin. All the purported anthropodermic books on occult subjects tested were fakes.
There are many digressions, like a brief history of tanning ( which was interesting) and Rosenbloom's deliberation over whether to leave her body to science (which isn't). Mostly chapters deal with investigations of indivdual American anthropodermic books or of purported examples in other countries ( Britain and France). And there's much handwringing about the motivation for and morality of creating these objects in the first place and discussion of the argument over whether to respectfully inter the books as human remains or to preserve them as historical and research artifacts.
Clearly there's some fascinating, if macabre, history in the book but the author's long and winding road in recounting it takes away some of the enjoyment. It would have benefited from a ruthless editor. Even with the padding, it's relatively short, so there's that. A skinny read, indeed. -30-
February 1, 2023
I was very excited to read this book. The subject fascinated me. Unfortunately, I really had a hard time sticking with it and was quite disappointed in the end. It seems like I am a minority on this because even the people who gave it poor reviews did so for different reasons than I am about to.
When I read a book about a certain subject, it is because I want to learn about that subject and not everything else. In this case I felt the author did a lot of veering on each chapter that was quite unnecessary. She would start off telling you about the day or how she came across the book. Then she would talk a bit about it which would veer it to something in history, that would go to the owner and their history and then even more history and so on and so on until the end of the chapter we get back to the book and then it is over. I don't mind extra learning material spattered throughout but I felt that I got a lot more history than I cared to know. Almost like the author was trying to show how smart she is. I think I would've loved this better if it was just about the books (both the human skinned ones and the ones that they found were not human) and the basic history behind them. Sadly, I was mostly bored with a bit of excitement here and there.
When I read a book about a certain subject, it is because I want to learn about that subject and not everything else. In this case I felt the author did a lot of veering on each chapter that was quite unnecessary. She would start off telling you about the day or how she came across the book. Then she would talk a bit about it which would veer it to something in history, that would go to the owner and their history and then even more history and so on and so on until the end of the chapter we get back to the book and then it is over. I don't mind extra learning material spattered throughout but I felt that I got a lot more history than I cared to know. Almost like the author was trying to show how smart she is. I think I would've loved this better if it was just about the books (both the human skinned ones and the ones that they found were not human) and the basic history behind them. Sadly, I was mostly bored with a bit of excitement here and there.
December 31, 2020
Mariaus Jonučio raižinys
Knyga apie knygas, su viršeliais iš žmonių odos. Gal būtų buvęs neblogas skaitinėlis, jei ne autorės, beje bibliotekininkės, susireikšminęs tonas, gėrėjimasis savimi. O jau kai vienoje vietoje pasijuto, kad autorė įsivaizduoja save lyg Clarice'ę iš Avinėlių tylejimo, jau norėjau mest nebaigus skaityt. Tačiau smalsumas nugalėjo. Nors nepasakyčiau, kad labai vertėjo.
Knygos, įrištos žmogaus oda, dažniausiai buvo randamos gydytojų asmeninėse bibliotekose. Autorė daro išvadas, kad būtent jie ir buvo didžiausi tokių knygų mėgėjai. Taip garsiai paantraštėje įvardintas tyrimas (A Librarian's Investigation Into the Science and History of Books Bound in Human Skin) man pasirodė skystokas. Akivaizdžiai nesurinkus pakankamai medžiagos pagrindiniu topiku, autorė pridėjo pasakojimų apie tuometinės medicinos istoriją, ar labiau medicinos etikos istoriją. Beje, odos donorais dažniausiai tapdavo vargingieji patekę į ligonines.
Įdomesnės mqn buvo autorės aprašytos kai kurių knygų viršelių odos savininkų istorijas. Kaip pavyzdžiui, viena knyga apie Anglijos mažame miestelyje įvykdyta brutalią žmonos žmogžudystę, įrišta į tą nusikaltimą padariusio vyro odą.
Dar apie tatuiruotes. Jau seniai jos, įrėmintos, turi savo garbingą vietą ant tokio meno gerbėjų sienų, bet šiandien jų savininkams(-ėms) yra teikiama paslauga (bent jau JAV), kuomet po jų mirties tattoo bus iškirptos ir atiduodamos vaikams ir vaikaičiams įsirėminimui.
2,5*
December 4, 2020
Gosh, I loved this. Books bound in human skin had long been a macabre claim in rare book collections, but their existence couldn’t be definitively confirmed until 2014. Rosenbloom explores the science behind confirming these pieces and the historical context of the creation of several of them. Why would anyone create something so gruesome? Or lie about having done so? Why were these books chosen for anthropodermic binding? The reasons are often surprising and often not (ahem, detached white male privilege), but Rosenbloom weaves it all into an unputdownable book.
November 24, 2020
Who knew a book about books bound in human skin could be so boring!? I didn’t and was unpleasantly surprised by this lengthy advertorial for Peptide Mass Fingerprint testing and the Anthropodermic Book Project.
February 20, 2024
Horror fans turn back, there is no Necronomicon here. Everyone else continue.
After the author witnessed books bound in human skin for the first time at the exhibition in the Mütter Museum of the College of Physicians of Philadelphia she succumbed to her morbid curiosity and led us with her down this macabre rabbit hole. She wanted to know more about these artifacts and as she got the chance she joined the Anthropodermic Book project to confirm if a suspected book really is made of human skin or not and to possibly find motives for creating such grizzly objects. Making the situation worse if you were to hold a book bound in human skin you wouldn't be able to tell because these books look and feel like any other leather bound book. Luckily many books suspected of being bound in human skin turned out to be fakes.
Beside trying to find out who made these books and why, she wanted to address some myths about this practice. So it is good to know that this particular practice was not a creepy Nazi thing it was a creepy Doctor thing. Apparently bibliophile doctors as a byproduct of dissections would use the skin they had access to to bound their most precious tomes in order to make them more valuable. Again these doctors predate the Nazis by quite a margin.
If you know a thing or two about the history of medicine you wouldn't be so surprised with this practice, but it does raise many questions of ethics, especially informed consent. This prompted her to take us through the history of the medical profession and the evolution of medical code of conduct, especially informed consent, form the beginnings of serious study of anatomy to todays' standards for medical students. I agree with the author that as these doctors had to already break many taboos just to study anatomy in that time period. For one they had to cut into the human body, two they often had to resort to the criminal means to acquire bodies for dissection and without the need to ask for permission it was easy for them to take it that one more step too far. Of course without further written records or even better confessions we can't know more of their motivations beside the disregard for people after death.
This neatly leads in to the final topics the author wanted to address. First she was making the case for preserving these books because the science only now has caught up with our needs to even check if these books are real. Who knows what else will have to be done to find out more about the victims. Only reason we know the identities of three of them is thanks to written records. Two of them were convicted criminals. Beside trying to find out who the victims were it is also important to keep these books around as a grim reminder of just how wrong things can get.
Also the author talked about the death positivity movement which I didn't see as necessary, but sure it works here thematically to some extent.
This isn't a book you look for, this is a book you stumble upon and let your morbid curiosity compel you to read it.
After the author witnessed books bound in human skin for the first time at the exhibition in the Mütter Museum of the College of Physicians of Philadelphia she succumbed to her morbid curiosity and led us with her down this macabre rabbit hole. She wanted to know more about these artifacts and as she got the chance she joined the Anthropodermic Book project to confirm if a suspected book really is made of human skin or not and to possibly find motives for creating such grizzly objects. Making the situation worse if you were to hold a book bound in human skin you wouldn't be able to tell because these books look and feel like any other leather bound book. Luckily many books suspected of being bound in human skin turned out to be fakes.
Beside trying to find out who made these books and why, she wanted to address some myths about this practice. So it is good to know that this particular practice was not a creepy Nazi thing it was a creepy Doctor thing. Apparently bibliophile doctors as a byproduct of dissections would use the skin they had access to to bound their most precious tomes in order to make them more valuable. Again these doctors predate the Nazis by quite a margin.
If you know a thing or two about the history of medicine you wouldn't be so surprised with this practice, but it does raise many questions of ethics, especially informed consent. This prompted her to take us through the history of the medical profession and the evolution of medical code of conduct, especially informed consent, form the beginnings of serious study of anatomy to todays' standards for medical students. I agree with the author that as these doctors had to already break many taboos just to study anatomy in that time period. For one they had to cut into the human body, two they often had to resort to the criminal means to acquire bodies for dissection and without the need to ask for permission it was easy for them to take it that one more step too far. Of course without further written records or even better confessions we can't know more of their motivations beside the disregard for people after death.
This neatly leads in to the final topics the author wanted to address. First she was making the case for preserving these books because the science only now has caught up with our needs to even check if these books are real. Who knows what else will have to be done to find out more about the victims. Only reason we know the identities of three of them is thanks to written records. Two of them were convicted criminals. Beside trying to find out who the victims were it is also important to keep these books around as a grim reminder of just how wrong things can get.
Also the author talked about the death positivity movement which I didn't see as necessary, but sure it works here thematically to some extent.
This isn't a book you look for, this is a book you stumble upon and let your morbid curiosity compel you to read it.
January 19, 2021
RTC. I loved all of the parts of this book- the doctors, the history, and Rosenbloom's death positive outlook, but I do feel that it was a little disjointed organizationally.
Update: Full review at Sam's Beach Reads.
What I Loved:
What I loved most, and what was the overarching theme of Dark Archives, was the diverse historical context. Rosenbloom has spent her career studying and looking for anthropodermic books, and her body of research shows. We get to learn about the French Revolution, Nazi-era Germany, Civil War-era USA, and 19th-20th century medical culture in the UK, and while it is all through the lens of human cruelty and medical knowledge, it is history I never learned in school. We learn that at one point, human dissection via donation to science wasn’t a thing, and the only way medical students learned about the human body was through dissecting murderers’ bodies or by buying corpses from grave robbers. We learn that the Nazis destroyed a lot of their macabre “trophies” like a lampshade bound in human tattooed skin, so there has not as yet been proof of this particular kind of atrocity.
What I think is most shocking about Rosenbloom’s conclusions is that it wasn’t “monsters” who bound books in skin, but rather mostly by doctors of decent renown in their communities. Prior to the international ethical standards that were established for how doctors interacted with the general public, doctors would regularly create their own trophies, such as medical treatises bound in human skin or skulls on their desks. To get to that conclusion, however, Rosenbloom extensively explores the darkest rumors of human bound books throughout history.
Through Rosenbloom’s’ exploration of the history, she did a great job of highlighting racism and sexism in the intellectual fields. For reasons unknown, many people (specifically white people) have claimed to own books specifically bound in POC skin, whether it be Native American, black, or other, and the claims have largely been unproven. Similarly, one of the most “valued” medical treatises regarding female anatomy was bound in an unnamed woman’s skin, and the doctor showed a callous disregard of the woman involved. Rosenbloom highlights this specific problem so well; both the lack of autonomy presented in these human bound books, and the perverse glee that white men took in owning books purported to be bound in women/POC skin.
Lastly, on a personal note, as someone who has spent a lot of time recently wishing they’d become a librarian instead of an attorney, Rosenbloom is a wonderful advocate for the profession. Rosenbloom experienced hardship and medical problems of a loved one, she persevered, and is now one of the coolest librarians I have ever heard of (except maybe Evelyn from The Mummy).
What Didn’t Work *as Well*
Honestly, I found this book to be near flawless. My only major issue (which proved to be a bit of a boon) was the unorganized structure the information was presented. Rosenbloom, I believe, presented Dark Archives in chronological order from when she found the books or was searching for them, so the chapters on Nazism are before the French Revolution and the late 1800s was at the beginning. The reason why this worked for me specifically was because I read Dark Archives at a ridiculously leisurely pace, picking it up and putting it down for about two months. The disjointed nature of the chapters really didn’t bother me because I wasn’t reading this in one sitting at the edge of my seat.
What didn’t bother me at all, but seemed to bother other readers on Goodreads, was how not morbid Dark Archives was. This was a mostly historical book that presented anthropodermic books as a human moral failing, if anything, rather than a gruesome tale of horror and depravity. Personally, I liked it. It took a topic that I didn’t know much about, gave me a lot of knowledge about it, and made it interesting. However, horror seekers may want to look elsewhere.
Update: Full review at Sam's Beach Reads.
What I Loved:
What I loved most, and what was the overarching theme of Dark Archives, was the diverse historical context. Rosenbloom has spent her career studying and looking for anthropodermic books, and her body of research shows. We get to learn about the French Revolution, Nazi-era Germany, Civil War-era USA, and 19th-20th century medical culture in the UK, and while it is all through the lens of human cruelty and medical knowledge, it is history I never learned in school. We learn that at one point, human dissection via donation to science wasn’t a thing, and the only way medical students learned about the human body was through dissecting murderers’ bodies or by buying corpses from grave robbers. We learn that the Nazis destroyed a lot of their macabre “trophies” like a lampshade bound in human tattooed skin, so there has not as yet been proof of this particular kind of atrocity.
What I think is most shocking about Rosenbloom’s conclusions is that it wasn’t “monsters” who bound books in skin, but rather mostly by doctors of decent renown in their communities. Prior to the international ethical standards that were established for how doctors interacted with the general public, doctors would regularly create their own trophies, such as medical treatises bound in human skin or skulls on their desks. To get to that conclusion, however, Rosenbloom extensively explores the darkest rumors of human bound books throughout history.
Through Rosenbloom’s’ exploration of the history, she did a great job of highlighting racism and sexism in the intellectual fields. For reasons unknown, many people (specifically white people) have claimed to own books specifically bound in POC skin, whether it be Native American, black, or other, and the claims have largely been unproven. Similarly, one of the most “valued” medical treatises regarding female anatomy was bound in an unnamed woman’s skin, and the doctor showed a callous disregard of the woman involved. Rosenbloom highlights this specific problem so well; both the lack of autonomy presented in these human bound books, and the perverse glee that white men took in owning books purported to be bound in women/POC skin.
Lastly, on a personal note, as someone who has spent a lot of time recently wishing they’d become a librarian instead of an attorney, Rosenbloom is a wonderful advocate for the profession. Rosenbloom experienced hardship and medical problems of a loved one, she persevered, and is now one of the coolest librarians I have ever heard of (except maybe Evelyn from The Mummy).
What Didn’t Work *as Well*
Honestly, I found this book to be near flawless. My only major issue (which proved to be a bit of a boon) was the unorganized structure the information was presented. Rosenbloom, I believe, presented Dark Archives in chronological order from when she found the books or was searching for them, so the chapters on Nazism are before the French Revolution and the late 1800s was at the beginning. The reason why this worked for me specifically was because I read Dark Archives at a ridiculously leisurely pace, picking it up and putting it down for about two months. The disjointed nature of the chapters really didn’t bother me because I wasn’t reading this in one sitting at the edge of my seat.
What didn’t bother me at all, but seemed to bother other readers on Goodreads, was how not morbid Dark Archives was. This was a mostly historical book that presented anthropodermic books as a human moral failing, if anything, rather than a gruesome tale of horror and depravity. Personally, I liked it. It took a topic that I didn’t know much about, gave me a lot of knowledge about it, and made it interesting. However, horror seekers may want to look elsewhere.
November 9, 2020
Dark Archives: A Librarian's Investigation into the Science and History of Books Bound in Human Skin, by Megan Rosenbloom, is a well titled book, as it is about the science and history of books bound in human skin. This book covers how the books are tested, the frequency of a successful test (60% are confirmed real, but about 40% are fake), issues of consent, book collection eccentricities, and rumours. Some interesting information abounds - the largest number of books bound in human skin seem to be created by Anglo-Saxon gentlemen doctors and bibliophiles from the 19th century. Rumours abounded about Nazi and French revolutionary atrocities with books and lampshades created out of human skin, but no known artifacts have yet been found to prove this (not an indication either way, of course). An interesting chapter on consent is contained, discussing this issue from various perspectives.
All told though, this is some macabre and eccentric stuff, and Rosenbloom is looking at a very niche, but interesting and often under studied topic. Numerous books that claimed to be made of human skin were kept in collections across the United States (and the world). Rosenbloom is working with an interesting method of measuring the DNA structure of the books cover to discover what animal the book is made from, or if it is truly a anthropodermic book. Many of the books tested from the French Revolution era, for example, are made from horse skin, and the rumours about there creation may have been done so for propaganda purposes by Royalists. An interesting and quick read, and certainly worth a go for those interested in library sciences and a unique book on books.
All told though, this is some macabre and eccentric stuff, and Rosenbloom is looking at a very niche, but interesting and often under studied topic. Numerous books that claimed to be made of human skin were kept in collections across the United States (and the world). Rosenbloom is working with an interesting method of measuring the DNA structure of the books cover to discover what animal the book is made from, or if it is truly a anthropodermic book. Many of the books tested from the French Revolution era, for example, are made from horse skin, and the rumours about there creation may have been done so for propaganda purposes by Royalists. An interesting and quick read, and certainly worth a go for those interested in library sciences and a unique book on books.
March 19, 2024
Dark Archives is a unique read that delves into the history of binding books in human skin, otherwise known as anthropodermic bibliopegy. I was expecting some real macabre tale about why books were bound in human skin, but in reality about 18 known books have been bound in human skin and were often done so by doctor bibliophiles. These 19th century doctors would bound their most prized books in human skin. Logically, it makes sense that doctors would be the ones to have these books in their possession, since they would have had easy access to human skin back then.
While the history of anthropodermic bibliopegy isn’t as macabre as I imagined, it does raise a lot of questions about medical ethics and the clinical gaze. Unfortunately, these discussions on ethics were my least favorite part of the book and became repetitive at times. I also didn’t care for some of the more technical aspects either. What I enjoyed most were the stories behind the books bound in human skin. Whose skin was it and what was the circumstances surrounding their life and eventual death? I could have done with less philosophical and ethical discussion although I understand it’s an important discussion to have in light of these discoveries. Overall, Dark Archives is an interesting read but something that could have also been condensed into a scholarly article.
While the history of anthropodermic bibliopegy isn’t as macabre as I imagined, it does raise a lot of questions about medical ethics and the clinical gaze. Unfortunately, these discussions on ethics were my least favorite part of the book and became repetitive at times. I also didn’t care for some of the more technical aspects either. What I enjoyed most were the stories behind the books bound in human skin. Whose skin was it and what was the circumstances surrounding their life and eventual death? I could have done with less philosophical and ethical discussion although I understand it’s an important discussion to have in light of these discoveries. Overall, Dark Archives is an interesting read but something that could have also been condensed into a scholarly article.
May 17, 2021
Anatol Girs był zapalonym bibliofilem, drukarzem, wydawcą i typografem. Był Polakiem o szwedzkich korzeniach, a urodził się na Krymie na początku XX wieku. “Żydzi uważali mnie za antysemitę, endecy za Żyda albo masona” - mawiał. W 1938 roku założył własne wydawnictwo - Oficynę Warszawską. Poza pojedynczymi pocztówkami Girsowi nie udało się opublikować żadnej książki przed wojną, zapewne firma wciąż pracowała na zleceniach przygotowując skład i druk książek dla większych wydawców. Z bycia wydawcą się jednak nie wyrasta i tuż po wojnie, w Monachium, Girs wydaje zbiór wspomnień obozowych “Byliśmy w Oświęcimiu”. To zbiór tekstów - jak pisze Rosenbloom - “trzech ocalałych Polaków o nieżydowskim pochodzeniu, początkowo podpisanych tylko numerami obozowymi. Jednym z nich był Tadeusz Borowski”.
Książka ukazała się w nakładzie 10 tysięcy egzemplarzy, a Girs wpadł pomysł, który z dzisiejszej perspektywy możemy ocenić jako co najmniej kontrowersyjny. Otóż część nakładu została oprawiona w pasiaki obozowe, w kilka okładek wpleciono fragmenty drutu kolczastego, a jedną oprawiono skórą z płaszcza esesmana. Książka była biznesową porażką, a finalnie większość jej egzemplarzy została zniszczona w bostońskim magazynie, do którego trafiły po przeprowadzce wydawcy do Stanów Zjednoczonych. Córka Girsa, Barbara przechowywała w domu kilka wyjątkowych egzemplarzy “Byliśmy w Oświęcimiu”, w tym jeden oprawiony bladobrązową skórą. Twierdziła, że “ojciec powiedział jej, że książka jest oprawiona w ludzką skórę”.
Rosenbloom, która w “Mrocznych Archiwach” udowadnia, że nie znane są - wbrew pozorom - żadne książki wydane przez nazistów w tej ekskluzywnej i okropnej jednocześnie oprawie, pyta: “Czyżby jedyny znany przykład książki antropodermicznej z tego okresu wyszedł nie spod ręki nazistów, lecz ocalałych?”
WIĘCEJ TUTAJ - https://www.empik.com/empikultura/ksi...
Książka ukazała się w nakładzie 10 tysięcy egzemplarzy, a Girs wpadł pomysł, który z dzisiejszej perspektywy możemy ocenić jako co najmniej kontrowersyjny. Otóż część nakładu została oprawiona w pasiaki obozowe, w kilka okładek wpleciono fragmenty drutu kolczastego, a jedną oprawiono skórą z płaszcza esesmana. Książka była biznesową porażką, a finalnie większość jej egzemplarzy została zniszczona w bostońskim magazynie, do którego trafiły po przeprowadzce wydawcy do Stanów Zjednoczonych. Córka Girsa, Barbara przechowywała w domu kilka wyjątkowych egzemplarzy “Byliśmy w Oświęcimiu”, w tym jeden oprawiony bladobrązową skórą. Twierdziła, że “ojciec powiedział jej, że książka jest oprawiona w ludzką skórę”.
Rosenbloom, która w “Mrocznych Archiwach” udowadnia, że nie znane są - wbrew pozorom - żadne książki wydane przez nazistów w tej ekskluzywnej i okropnej jednocześnie oprawie, pyta: “Czyżby jedyny znany przykład książki antropodermicznej z tego okresu wyszedł nie spod ręki nazistów, lecz ocalałych?”
WIĘCEJ TUTAJ - https://www.empik.com/empikultura/ksi...
October 13, 2022
I have some controversial thoughts about this as a librarian and lover of weird shit:
What the fuck, why, when I read this on Kindle, are all the notes at the very end of the book? I'm never going to run through all that shit after reading the entire book, and stacking them all at the end is such a waste of everyone's time. Why wouldn't you put them at the end of each chapter? Also, I kept reading and thinking, "How can there be 3 more hours of reading in this thing!?" Also, can't writers just integrate the footnotes into the text? Is the info worth including or not? "I sorta want this in here, sort of not, so let's put it in really small print at the bottom of the page." Make an editorial decision! Put it in or cut it. Or, I don't know, make a "writer's cut" of the book and a "theatrical cut," and then we'll see how many people go for the overly long version and know definitively which way to go.
Does a footnote indicate the information is optional? Isn't this entire book optional? It's a pop science book meant for mass audiences, not a goddamn textbook. What even the hell is this?
Frankly, I would prefer this had been bound in human skin to reading it on Kindle. At least THAT book would have footnotes in the correct place, the bottom of the page, where I'm accustomed to ignoring them.
That said, BIG shoutout to books I had to read in school that had endless pages of references and shit at the end. Wasn't that great? You think you've got a couple more hours, boom, you're done. It's a gift.
Had anyone made a Kindle cover in human skin? That'd kind of be the 21st century anthropodermic book, right?
Does covering a Kindle in human skin violate the TOS? I feel like it must, but on the other hand, maybe nobody thought about the need.
That tears it, I'm making a latex, Evil Dead 2 Necronomicon-esque cover for my Kindle. It's only right.
What the fuck, why, when I read this on Kindle, are all the notes at the very end of the book? I'm never going to run through all that shit after reading the entire book, and stacking them all at the end is such a waste of everyone's time. Why wouldn't you put them at the end of each chapter? Also, I kept reading and thinking, "How can there be 3 more hours of reading in this thing!?" Also, can't writers just integrate the footnotes into the text? Is the info worth including or not? "I sorta want this in here, sort of not, so let's put it in really small print at the bottom of the page." Make an editorial decision! Put it in or cut it. Or, I don't know, make a "writer's cut" of the book and a "theatrical cut," and then we'll see how many people go for the overly long version and know definitively which way to go.
Does a footnote indicate the information is optional? Isn't this entire book optional? It's a pop science book meant for mass audiences, not a goddamn textbook. What even the hell is this?
Frankly, I would prefer this had been bound in human skin to reading it on Kindle. At least THAT book would have footnotes in the correct place, the bottom of the page, where I'm accustomed to ignoring them.
That said, BIG shoutout to books I had to read in school that had endless pages of references and shit at the end. Wasn't that great? You think you've got a couple more hours, boom, you're done. It's a gift.
Had anyone made a Kindle cover in human skin? That'd kind of be the 21st century anthropodermic book, right?
Does covering a Kindle in human skin violate the TOS? I feel like it must, but on the other hand, maybe nobody thought about the need.
That tears it, I'm making a latex, Evil Dead 2 Necronomicon-esque cover for my Kindle. It's only right.
August 1, 2020
When the passion of an author in a book simply glows through the pages, you know you're onto a damn good thing. This book, though the subject material is morbid at best, is absolutely fascinating, and provides the reader with an incredible insight into the world of anthropodermic books and the people who make them (in all senses of the word).
The book follows the journey of the author through her deep dive into the world of human skin bound books, and the stories that follow on from said books. The matter of who the books were is perhaps the most interesting aspect- the stories that follow on from a book like this, the absolute dearth of books out there of this nature, and the abuses that led to many of them. I think perhaps the most interesting is where an individual chooses such a strange commodification of their body and requests bookbinding of their skin post-death- fascinating, virtually impossible in this day and age, and the root of so many interesting questions. There is such a draw of the absolute macabre here- and there are some stories which go beyond the pale of even their subject matter.
The criticism of this book I have is that it could've been, quite simply, substantially longer. There should've been more about the medical abuses of power some doctors took into their own hands, the class and race-driven imbalances in these practices, and just a bit more on the personal journey of the author. Perhaps, though, this is simply my insatiable curiosity speaking- I just wanted so much more from this book, though I am unsure that anything would have been enough on such an interesting subject.
The book follows the journey of the author through her deep dive into the world of human skin bound books, and the stories that follow on from said books. The matter of who the books were is perhaps the most interesting aspect- the stories that follow on from a book like this, the absolute dearth of books out there of this nature, and the abuses that led to many of them. I think perhaps the most interesting is where an individual chooses such a strange commodification of their body and requests bookbinding of their skin post-death- fascinating, virtually impossible in this day and age, and the root of so many interesting questions. There is such a draw of the absolute macabre here- and there are some stories which go beyond the pale of even their subject matter.
The criticism of this book I have is that it could've been, quite simply, substantially longer. There should've been more about the medical abuses of power some doctors took into their own hands, the class and race-driven imbalances in these practices, and just a bit more on the personal journey of the author. Perhaps, though, this is simply my insatiable curiosity speaking- I just wanted so much more from this book, though I am unsure that anything would have been enough on such an interesting subject.
February 20, 2021
This would have made a great long form article.
It’s a touch short on material for an entire book, though the author does an admirable job of filling in around the nuts and bolts of books made of human skin with interesting tidbits about book binding, book collections, and the legalities and ethics of the ultimate fate of human remains.
The technical aspects of binding a book in human skin were less enthralling than I expected, as a bit of a chemistry nerd. Better was the *why* of it all. Or perhaps it’s the *who* that really grabs. It turns out that the folks who usually engaged in this practice are...Not the first group you might guess would be participating in it, though it does ultimately make a certain kind of sense given their profession.
The actual human skin books turn out to be exceptionally rare (hence why this might have been better as a long form article than a full book); Most of the purported human skin books turn out to be fakes, usually animal skin or on one occasion, cellulose.
But the best part of the book is the author, whose humorous takes on her subject and herself more than make up for what at times feels like a lack of relevant content.
*I received an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.*
It’s a touch short on material for an entire book, though the author does an admirable job of filling in around the nuts and bolts of books made of human skin with interesting tidbits about book binding, book collections, and the legalities and ethics of the ultimate fate of human remains.
The technical aspects of binding a book in human skin were less enthralling than I expected, as a bit of a chemistry nerd. Better was the *why* of it all. Or perhaps it’s the *who* that really grabs. It turns out that the folks who usually engaged in this practice are...Not the first group you might guess would be participating in it, though it does ultimately make a certain kind of sense given their profession.
The actual human skin books turn out to be exceptionally rare (hence why this might have been better as a long form article than a full book); Most of the purported human skin books turn out to be fakes, usually animal skin or on one occasion, cellulose.
But the best part of the book is the author, whose humorous takes on her subject and herself more than make up for what at times feels like a lack of relevant content.
*I received an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.*
September 22, 2021
Come for the descriptions of books bound in human skin, stay for the indictment of the clinical distance that allowed doctors to skin their patients and use those hides to bind medical books. I have to admit that was not a direction I saw coming when I began reading this book.
Medical librarian Megan records her adventures as a member of a group that scientifically tests books in libraries across the US and Europe. Beyond her compassion for the mostly-unknown people whose skins were harvested to bind these books, Rosenbloom has remarkable sympathy for the librarians tasked with preserving and protecting the books now as a way to document the abuses of the past.
Other than the chapter about visiting a tannery to learn about vintage preservation processes -- which, trust me, you don't want to read while eating lunch -- the book is not as stomach-churning as one might expect. It's a tribute to Rosenbloom's storytelling that neither she in writing nor you in reading come off as ghoulish.
All in all, this is a fascinating book and perfect reading for the Halloween season.
Medical librarian Megan records her adventures as a member of a group that scientifically tests books in libraries across the US and Europe. Beyond her compassion for the mostly-unknown people whose skins were harvested to bind these books, Rosenbloom has remarkable sympathy for the librarians tasked with preserving and protecting the books now as a way to document the abuses of the past.
Other than the chapter about visiting a tannery to learn about vintage preservation processes -- which, trust me, you don't want to read while eating lunch -- the book is not as stomach-churning as one might expect. It's a tribute to Rosenbloom's storytelling that neither she in writing nor you in reading come off as ghoulish.
All in all, this is a fascinating book and perfect reading for the Halloween season.
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