Jane Eyre in the Bookcase

In my last blog, I talked about the Wernicke bookcase of my childhood. This bookcase has housed many subsequent collections, but now it houses a collection of Bronte books, biographies and general works on the Brontes. This is how it looks:










Bronte aficionados may recognise the distinctive orange of the Shakespeare Head Bronte or the brown and gilt of the handsome Dent edition. I started my previous account with 'Jane Eyre', so that makes it a good place to start a discussion of the compulsion to build up a set of books relating to one author (or, as in this case, a group of related authors - forgive the double meaning).









Everything about 'Jane Eyre' makes for a gripping story; from the all-night read of the manuscript by W S Williams at Smith, Elder to the sisters' visit to London to confirm their identities to George Smith, the publisher. So a collection must begin there. But then you have the other novels (and, of course the poems); so far not too out of control, but then you discover that there is a whole other layer - the juvenilia - epics of Gondal and Angria, short fragments and whole stories with which the sisters wove their web in childhood while the winter winds raged on the surrounding moors. This brings me to one of the best books on this aspect of their lives, Illustrated here.









'We wove a web in childhood
A web of sunny air ...'

By now, we are well and truly entangled and the Angria/Gondal collection grows. Then comes a decision about what represents your definitive collected edition of the works - not so simple, given the many excellent choices, for example, the Haworth Edition, the Thornton Edition, and Smith, Elder's own editions of the works. But, homework done, you realise that the Shakespeare Head Edition, edited by Thomas J Wise (of whom much more in later blogs) is the one. Then, by serendipity, a set appears on a stall on Chester Market.

Next biography and bibliography. You have to have the latter to check your collection for any obvious gaps. Again, you are well served by Thomas J Wise and, more recently, Yablon and Turner, not forgetting, for those, who unlike me have infinite resources, the Heritage Press Bibliography of First Editions.

Biography begins with Mrs Gaskell (and could end there were it not for Winifed Gerin, Juliet Barker and others).

Then to your horror you discover the Letters. Why did Charlotte write so many and why are they published in such expensive editions? But, without them is your collection truly representative? Then there are books continuing, or seeking to illuminate, the novels or the sisters' lives in novel form. Only one need detain us, illustrated below:









Enough. This sketch of how a collection might be formed, I hope, explains why the bookcase that housed my father's entire collection now houses works by, or about, one author and her siblings. There is one exception to this - tucked away on the bottom shelf is a set of the works of Bewick, the author whose engravings the young Jane Eyre was studying in the window-seat at Gateshead on that day when there was no possibility of taking a walk. I would like to think that the bookcase from which she selected Bewick's 'A History of British Birds' for her solitary occupation was not dissimilar, in the author's mind, from the bookcase now housing the modest collection described above.

The Top Shelf

OK

Why write about books when there are already more books about books than can be read in a lifetime?

Because I am going to write about my books and these have never been written about before. 'Ah', you may say, 'Yes, they have'. But, actually, no - my books and their relationship with me have never been written about. For, example, my copy of 'Jane Eyre' is not the same as your copy; you see my copy is intricately bound up with childhood terrors concerning Bertha Mason, when we were allowed to watch the 1956 series on TV, family visits to Haworth to marvel at the 'Little Books' and serious attempts at unravelling the social significance of The Madwoman In The Attic. Your 'Jane Eyre' can similarly only be interpreted in the context of your experiences and influences.

So, that is in way of an apology, or perhaps an excuse. It all began with the bookcase. Looking up, I see the bookcase in the corner of our present lounge. It is of the type known as Wernicke, sold, I believe under the Globe Wernicke brand. As a child, this bookcase was my introduction to the world of books, or, more specifically to the concept of a collection of books.

The bookcase had four shelves, each with its own up and over hinged door, lifted by two brass knobs on the front. It was only later that the true elegance of the design was revealed when first I moved the bookcase from my parents' home to our first house in Hampshire. This is the ease with which each shelf lifts off as a single 'box' when the bookcase is dismantled. But I will return to the subject of bookcases later; a very important subject since it is my belief that a collection of books properly shelved forms an entity independent of the sum of the books as individual objects.

But first I must return to that bookcase of childhood, since it is here that the story starts. Picture a large Cheshire farmhouse, brick built and, to a child, steeped in legend and mystery. In the farmhouse was a parlour, this being the room that the family lived in, rather than the austere drawing room, reserved for special occasions. In the parlour was a fireplace and a sideboard, chairs and a settee. In the corner next to the fireplace was the bookcase, where behind the glass doors was my father's collection, with a few stray school prizes belonging to my mother.

At first sight the books in the bookcase would not appear to be exactly what a child would pore over; but even a run of 'The Border Leicester Year Book' can hold surprising excitement. The books were, I suppose with hindsight, the typical collection of a farmer with 150 acres to maintain, growing up in the First World War, feeding the nation through the Second World War and holding a responsible position within the farming community of South Cheshire in middle age. So, it is time to make a list, drawn randomly from memory -

'History of the Great European War ', Anon, 8 volumes, decorated red cloth
'The Great War', Churchill, 3 volumes, red cloth
'The Years of Endurance/Victory/Elegance', (the latter, strictly, an Age), Bryant
'Hutchinson's Standard Life of Napoleon', Bourrienne
'The Invasion of the Crimea', Kinglake
'The Reason Why', Smith
'Barlasch of the Guard'
'Exploits of Brigadier Gerard'

By now a picture is emerging and it is probably simple to deduce that, after the usual childhood fare, the first author who I consciously sought out (thank you Bury Public Library) was G A Henty. 'Jack Archer', 'With Lee in Virginia', 'Redskin and Cowboy' - these were a staple fare, together with,of course, William and Jennings.

There were also several of my mother's books, mostly school prizes and invariably of a sentimental or self-improving nature. Thus I was introduced to the world of girls' schools via 'Dauntless Patty' and of family bereavement via 'Kathleen' by one Agnes Giberne, with chapters titled 'Shadows in the Home' and 'Dark Days', enough to soften the heart of the most recalcritant 8 year old. However, I am sure that it is to these contrasting sub-collections in this cherished bookcase that I can explain some of the byways of book collecting that I subsequently followed.

In the next part of the story, I will fast forward 60 years to the present contents of the bookcase.