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When we take a moment to consider this unique past, the marvels that African-Americans have crafted through print culture despite it are all the more fascinating. | When we take a moment to consider this unique past, the marvels that African-Americans have crafted through print culture despite it are all the more fascinating. | ||
== | ==A Radical Gift== | ||
The University of Pennsylvania’s rare book collection is expansive, to say the least. While the archive’s holdings include thousands of texts from a myriad of sources, one particular section holds an especially potent history for African-American material text. Donated by Sadie Tanner Mossell Alexander (also known as Sadie Mossell), the collection of early editions of ''The Crisis'' is a valuable addition to the library’s catalog (Figure 1). Such a generous gift begs questions of form and permanence. What does it mean for a young Black scholar—the first woman to receive a law degree from Penn—to assign value to a text like this even before she graduated? Mossell’s archival work quite literally cemented The Crisis into one of the most prestigious research institutions in the United States. How did she code that assignment of merit into the physical form of the text itself? | |||
A preliminary analysis of the material texts themselves makes this clear. The Mossell copies of ''The Crisis'' are neatly rebound in hardcover (Figure 2), moving away from the ephemeral nature of the original periodicals and into a form that calls for permanence. As demonstrated in Figure 3, original editions of The Crisis were saddle-stitched folios made with wood pulp paper, a substrate that was in vogue at the time of their publication (while the exact method used is debatable, Figure 4 provides evidence of either saddle-stitching or loop-stitching). While this format likely made distribution easy and kept costs down, it granted the publication the same gravity as any other lightweight pamphlet, making it easy for the reader to deem it disposable. The temporal consequences of such formatting are also apparent in Penn’s collection. Usage of saddle-stitching on such low-quality paper has worn holes into many pages of Volume 21, as we can see in Figure 4. However, once Mossell’s copies were deemed worthy of official archival, their physical qualities changed completely. Most drastic is the change in binding, but other, more subtle shifts in form also communicate the goal of textual gravitas. Figure 5 notes the sprinkled red fore-edge treatment along the outside of Volume 21. | |||
==How Best to Manage A ''Crisis''== | ==How Best to Manage A ''Crisis''== | ||
Revision as of 06:02, 3 December 2018
Print as Liberatory Practice: An Analysis of Early African-American Material Text
It is a rarity for a society to legally bar a group of people from the act of literacy.
When we take a moment to consider this unique past, the marvels that African-Americans have crafted through print culture despite it are all the more fascinating.
A Radical Gift
The University of Pennsylvania’s rare book collection is expansive, to say the least. While the archive’s holdings include thousands of texts from a myriad of sources, one particular section holds an especially potent history for African-American material text. Donated by Sadie Tanner Mossell Alexander (also known as Sadie Mossell), the collection of early editions of The Crisis is a valuable addition to the library’s catalog (Figure 1). Such a generous gift begs questions of form and permanence. What does it mean for a young Black scholar—the first woman to receive a law degree from Penn—to assign value to a text like this even before she graduated? Mossell’s archival work quite literally cemented The Crisis into one of the most prestigious research institutions in the United States. How did she code that assignment of merit into the physical form of the text itself?
A preliminary analysis of the material texts themselves makes this clear. The Mossell copies of The Crisis are neatly rebound in hardcover (Figure 2), moving away from the ephemeral nature of the original periodicals and into a form that calls for permanence. As demonstrated in Figure 3, original editions of The Crisis were saddle-stitched folios made with wood pulp paper, a substrate that was in vogue at the time of their publication (while the exact method used is debatable, Figure 4 provides evidence of either saddle-stitching or loop-stitching). While this format likely made distribution easy and kept costs down, it granted the publication the same gravity as any other lightweight pamphlet, making it easy for the reader to deem it disposable. The temporal consequences of such formatting are also apparent in Penn’s collection. Usage of saddle-stitching on such low-quality paper has worn holes into many pages of Volume 21, as we can see in Figure 4. However, once Mossell’s copies were deemed worthy of official archival, their physical qualities changed completely. Most drastic is the change in binding, but other, more subtle shifts in form also communicate the goal of textual gravitas. Figure 5 notes the sprinkled red fore-edge treatment along the outside of Volume 21.
How Best to Manage A Crisis
With Wheatley’s usage of Afro-antebellum print culture in hand, I’d like to pivot here to the material life of Black print shortly after Reconstruction.
