Books - by Sue Purkiss

About a year ago, I started volunteering in the library at Wells Cathedral. This is no ordinary library. It dates from the fifteenth century, when, in 1424, Bishop Bubwith left money in his will for a library, to be built above the East Cloister. The library opened in 1458.

There were already books at the cathedral before this. Wells was what is called, rather oddly, a 'secular' cathedral: that is, it had no monastery or abbey attached, so there was no scriptorium where monks laboured to produce the exquisite illuminated volumes of which, I imagine, we are all aware. But there was a school, and there was a community of clerics, and they needed books to study. So the books came from elsewhere - they were not produced in the cathedral itself.

The west front of Wells Cathedral. My totally unbiased view is that it is one of the most beautiful cathedrals in the world.

These volumes were large, heavy, and valuable. They were kept safely locked away in wooden boxes - they were certainly not readily available to all. But by the fifteenth century, the collections of books - in cathedrals and in the two universities - had grown, and more space was needed both to store them and to study them. And so people saw the need for libraries.

As it was built above a cloister - a passageway on one side of a quadrangle - Bishop Bubwith's library is long and realatively narrow. About a third of it is devoted to books dating from 1800 on. The older books are looked tantalisingly away behind an iron gate: you can gaze, but you can't touch! (Though you can go on a special tour, when you can see these wonderful volumes at close hand. It's fascinating, and worth every penny.) You will see that the books on the shelves closest to you are chained to the shelves, which may remind many of you of the library at the Unseen University in Terry Pratchett's Discworld books - presided over by an orang-utan, and home to books so dangerous that they have to be chained. Libraries began to use shelves and bookcases as the numbers of books increased - which they did particularly with the invention of printing (in about 1455, by Gutenberg in Germany).

The Chained Library

These books were chained because they were precious. But paradoxically, although they were chained to the shelves, this made them actually more accessible: clerics could come to the library, take down the books and look at them on the shelf provided - which was a distinct improvement on having to persuade someone to let you into a locked chest to consult a particular volume.

The books which are in the Chained Library now are not the books which were there originally. Unfortunately, during the reign of the arch-vandal Henry VIII, his enforcer, Thomas Cromwell, was the lay Dean at Wells. If he hadn't been, the library may well have been left alone - cathedrals generally didn't suffer the same fate as monasteries and abbeys - but as he was, he was aware of the collection, and he confiscated the lot on the grounds that they were Catholic texts. They left Wells, never to return, and the collection had to be built up again from scratch. Many books were given or bequeathed to the library over the years by a variety of benefactors - and as a result, the collection is very varied - it doesn't just consist of theological works.

I'm very gradually learning more about the library and the books within it. And that strange thing is happening - whereby when you start to take notice of a particular topic, the universe helps you out, and draws to your attention all sorts of relevant things. So, for instance, the other day I began to read a book I'd had for some time, called The Bookseller's Tale, by Martin Latham. It mentions one Christine de Pizan, a contemporary of our Bishop Bubwith. She was Venetion by birth, but lived at the French court - and she worked there: she was a professional writer - with surely a strong claim to have been the first professional woman of letters in Europe. Absolutely fascinating - and lo and behold, the next day, Lucy Worsley put up a post on Facebook about her - and about an exhibition at the British Library, called Mediaeval Women, starting today and running till March - which features an actual book of Christine's.

I also read this week about another centuries-old book. This one is a bejewelled prayer book, which was featured in a portrait by Holbein of  Thomas Cromwell - that same Cromwell who pinched all our books. This prayer book - the actual same one! - has recently been unearthed in a forgotten corner of a Cambridge University library.

Holbein's portrait of Cromwell, with the recently rediscovered prayer book.

Which brings me to my final point. A few days ago, I went to a talk by Professor Adam Smyth, of Balliol College, Oxford. It was about his new book, The Bookmakers, which tells the story of printing through eighteen lives - and not necessarily the most obvious lives. It was absolutely fascinating, and I'm very much looking forward to reading the book. Someone asked him what he thought about digitally produced books. He said he didn't himself own a Kindle, but - diplomatically - that he could see circumstances in which one would be very useful. But, he pointed out: it's 600 years since Gutenberg first printed a copy of the Bible - and copies of that Bible still exist. You can touch them, smell them - read them. Will the same be said of books published on Kindle in 600 years' time?

Adam Smyth and his book.

A remarkable thing, the book.

Jane Austen – Feminist Icon? by Val Tyler

Jane Austen

According to the historian, Lucy Worsley, Jane Austen was a feminist icon ‘ahead of her time’. She also states that Miss Austen, ‘turned down four or five proposals of marriage and financial security to have a go at living by her pen,’ listing six possible suitors.

These claims are extraordinary. I do not believe she was a feminist icon and the most likely explanation for refusing her one and only proposal of marriage was because she was not in love with the young man. His man was Harris Bigg Wither and he was a rich family friend. Like all good early-19^th century young ladies she initially accepted him, but unlike the majority, she changed her mind overnight.

Manydown, Harris Bigg Withers' home

We cannot know for sure why she did this. It was a prudent match and would have secured the futures of not only herself, but also her mother and unmarried sister. But something stopped her and, soon afterwards, she started wearing a lace cap. At 26 she was effectively proclaiming she was no longer on the marriage market.

These are verifiable historical facts. What we don’t know is why she acted as she did. Lucy Worsley would have us believe it was to follow a career that was not socially respectable. I think it is more likely she turned to writing simply because needed the money. As a woman her options were severely limited. If she was rejecting marriage, writing was all she had. Some years later she wrote, ‘...tho I like praise as well as anybody, I like what Edward (her brother) calls Pewter too.’

Without verifiable historical facts, I turn to Jane Austen’s novels to help me understand her actions. All her heroines finish their story by marrying, even Emma who initially had no intention of doing so – she was rich and did not need a husband – but she did marry and not just anyone. None of Jane Austen’s heroines fell for a man below their social status. Emma could have fallen in love with Robert Martin and shocked her family and friends by marrying him, but she did not. Instead, she says that a young farmer was the very last sort of person to raise her curiosity.

If Jane Austen had been passionate about taking a career, surely Anne Elliot would have done the same instead of languishing over the loss of Frederick Wentworth. Poor Anne spent years longing for the man she felt she had lost forever and, consequently, lost her bloom.

Jane Austen’s heroines never challenged the status quo. They accepted that marriage for financial security was a prudent action. Even Lizzy Bennett eventually accepted Charlotte Lucas’ marriage to the stupidest man in England because it gave her financial security and social status.

Jane Austen’s heroines were fulfilled by marriage; they never spurned it in favour of a career. Where she did challenge society was by continually affirming that only the deepest love would draw her ladies into matrimony. Most fell in love with men of considerable means. Elinor Dashwood and Catherine Morland married clergymen who were not rich, but had adequate means and social status. Fanny Price also married a clergyman, but not before refusing a rich man. Her family was horrified and put all sorts of pressure on her to accept Henry Crawford, but she stood firm. I wonder if this corresponds to Jane Austen’s own experience after she refused Bigg-Wither.

When I look at Jane Austen’s novels I conclude that she refused Bigg Wither because she did not love him. Initially, she had tried to do the right thing by her family, but she simply could not accept the idea of marrying a man she did not love. Having put herself in this situation, she had to find a way of earning some money. She not only enjoyed writing, but was extremely good at it. Consequently, she finished Susan and sold it the following year for £10.

I think Jane Austen was a brilliant writer who was ahead of her time when it came to her writing style, but she never railed against the woman’s lot. She is not a feminist icon.

I wonder whether Jane Austen would have minded Lucy Worsley’s speculation. I suspect not. She would probably have understood the historian’s need of ‘Pewter’.