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Reading Matter: A Rabid Bibliophile's Adventures Among Old and Rare Books
A collection of 12 essays on the challenges and joys of collecting rare and old books. Offers collecting tips for aspiring and established collectors, and discusses what makes a book collectable. Matthews is an author, teacher, collector, and literary critic. The book is not indexed. Annotation c. Book News, Inc., Portland, OR (booknews.com)
189 pages, Hardcover
First published November 1, 2000
17 people want to read
About the author
Jack Matthews
81 books4 followersJack Matthews was an American novelist, short story writer, essayist, and former professor. He published 7 novels, 7 collections of short stories, a novella, and
8 volumes of essays. He was an avid book collector, and many of his book finds served as a basis for his essays and the historical topics he explored in his fiction. His 1972 novel The Charisma Campaigns was nominated for the National Book Award.
Here's a long interview with Jack Matthews from 2010 .
8 volumes of essays. He was an avid book collector, and many of his book finds served as a basis for his essays and the historical topics he explored in his fiction. His 1972 novel The Charisma Campaigns was nominated for the National Book Award.
Here's a long interview with Jack Matthews from 2010 .
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
September 22, 2009
As I have noted elsewhere, I am addicted to what might be called bookseller’s porn – accounts by booksellers of their encounters with rare books. A harmless enough addiction, but the problem is quality – too many old booksellers think they can write. This is not a sneer at the worthy amateur writer – in fact despite what might be described as a tendency towards flowery prose, I thoroughly enjoyed Leona Rostenberg’s & Madeline Stern’s Old Books, Rare Friends, a book which revealed through its prose the intelligence, curiosity and good cheer of its authors. On the other hand, what afflicts most booksellers is the conceit that because they have been surrounded by the glories of the written word (and have made a lot of money selling it) that they are therefore somehow automatically writers themselves. This delusion would be merely sad if it weren’t for the breathtaking arrogance that too often goes with it and Jack Matthews, let me assure you, is the absolute worst.
Reading Matter is a bad book and you know it almost immediately. It was bad in a way that made me feel sorry for it at first. But then the preening self-regard of its author began working on me until I started to feel angry. But it was not until the fourth chapter that he got truly outrageous. Up until then I had been merely annoyed by his tendency towards third-rate philosophizing couched in prose that is, as Matthews himself might put it, pretentious, pointless and ponderous. Here is an example from Chapter 2, which is supposedly about book bindings:
It is a paradox that when we speak of a book’s “matter,” we are speaking of that which is not matter at all, but noumenon, gestalt, transcendent form, idea – that which is implicit in, and conveyed by, the sequence of the words in the text. Thus it is precisely the “matter” of Isaac Walton’s The Compleat Angler that remains unaltered behind all its changing materials, with their variations of print, paper and binding in the more than 300 editions of its publishing history…”
This is classic Matthews. Note the trumped-up pseudo-intellectualisms, the constant need to use three or four (often blundered) examples when one would do. I am no expert, and I do not care to straighten this out for myself, but I am fairly confident that noumenon and gestalt are not the same things as “transcendent form” or even “idea.” It sounds as if he were making subtle philosophical distinctions here, but all he is saying is that the physical properties of a book are not as important as their contents. The same point could be made by simply stating that the probably illiterate Homer’s Odyssey was a literary work of art for hundreds of years before anybody wrote it down and thousands of years before anybody printed it. In any case, I am far more interested in a few descriptions or anecdotes of the editions of The Complete Angler that have presumably passed through his shop over the years. My own copy is a wonderfully substantial, annotated copy deaccessioned by the local library. It was printed c. 1890 then was rebound in green buckram c. 1940 and is a most satisfying volume to handle and read. I’d love to hear about the qualities of a first edition Walton – which, contrary to what Matthews claims above, is not the same as my 1890s copy: many authors revise their works throughout their lives, which means earlier editions of books are sometimes enormously different than later editions. The Compleat Angler was drastically shorter in its earliest editions, so I seem to recall reading somewhere (but not in Matthews book, where such useful, specific information is not to be found). Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass is another important example of a book that grew throughout its publication history. Such changes are one of the book collector’s biggest claims for relevance (as opposed to mere collector’s acquisitiveness). But there are very few actual books in Matthews’ book, mostly just ponderous yet vaporous profundities.
But like I said, Reading Matter truly became outrageous in Chapter 4, which is called “The Philosophy of the Comma.” Here Matthews, who had already established himself in my mind as one of the worst writers I had ever encountered, presumes to criticize the prose of a canonical figure. Nothing wrong with criticizing anybody’s writings, of course – literature should have no sacred cows and even the best writers nod – but when such criticisms unfairly condemn a writer for writing in the fashion and style of his times, this is dirty pool. Furthermore when such criticisms are couched in prose that is actually far worse than what is being criticized, it is time to get out the rattan cane for a sound thrashing. I am about to thrash here. Chapter 4 starts out with typical overkill describing how Matthews started reading John Stuart Mill’s Autobiography but was immediately stopped cold because, in its third sentence, he counted eleven commas. Grinding through his dismay and shock at this infelicity, Matthews overindulges in his own blather and the reader is subjected to this kind of pretend self-deprecation: “Furthermore, comma counting would seem to be an act of such utter depravity as to verge upon some intellectual equivalent of rape, child abuse or spouse beating. It is earnest fribbling. To count commas is to reveal that one is devoid of imagination on one hand and seriousness on the other. Comma counting is the act of a scholarly nerd…”
Okay! Okay! Comma-counting! Rape! Mercy! Child abuse! Scholarly Nerds! Please stop! Oh but it gets worse. After over two pages of this kind of bloviating, with the usual coy, elephantine lead-in (“here is the third sentence, containing you-know-how-many of you-know-what”) Matthews finally shares John Stuart Mill’s sentence that so offended his delicate aesthetic sensibilities. Below, I am going to quote Mill (from Matthew’s text) and without pause or omission, continue with Matthew’s follow-up paragraph:
(Mill) But I have thought that in an age in which education, and its improvement, are the subject of more, if not of profounder study than at any former period of English history, it may be useful that there should be some record of an education which was unusual and remarkable, and which, whatever else it may have done, has proved how much more than is commonly supposed may be taught, and well taught, in those early years which, in the common modes of what is called instruction, are little better than wasted.
(Matthews) And there they are – eleven of the little devils. Count them. The sentence itself is not, as I have admitted, one of the glories of English prose. It veers and bounces, and is woefully unsuited for the first page of a book that is widely proclaimed as a classic. It is hardly the product of a man whose I.Q. was once judged to be a marvel of extremity – reaching somewhere above 200, a region where mere humans struggle for air. It is not such a product, that is, if one assumes a direct ratio between I.Q. and an ability to write memorable, prose. (p. 43)
Matthews’ last comma, after “memorable” I will assume is an editing error, but I left it in since we are on the subject. What I am not including is a footnote in which Matthews complains about Mill’s grammar. What is interesting to note here is how wrong Matthews is about Mill’s prose, and how “utterly and completely” bad Matthews’ prose is by comparison. Yes, Mill uses a lot of commas, and the string of clauses in a single sentence is one of the characteristics of high Victorian prose. It is not wrong, it is just the prevailing style and to complain about it is akin to making fun of George Washington’s powdered wig and knee breeches. But take a look at Matthews’ own banal, blundered efforts at prose. He states Mill’s long sentence is not “one of the glories of English prose” (which is the deliberate, yet still tedious use of a cliché) “as I have admitted.” Isn’t “admitted” the wrong word? Shouldn’t he have written, “as I have demonstrated” or “tried to demonstrate”? What is he “admitting” to? Furthermore, for all its commas, is it really accurate to describe Mill’s prose by saying it “veers and bounces”? Quite the contrary, I’d say it has that it possesses the slow stateliness so typical of the Victorians. Jack Kerouac’s prose veers and bounces, not John Stuart Mill’s and to say otherwise leads me to believe Matthews is not thinking when he types. What in the world is “a marvel of extremity” when you are talking about I.Q.’s? Does he mean to say Mill had a high I.Q. and if so, why doesn’t he simply do so? And why do “mere humans struggle for air” when in the range of a 200 I.Q.? People with extraordinarily high I.Q.’s struggle like all the rest of us (as the fates of child prodigies often show), but they are not struggling for air – yes, I understand that Matthews is employing a hackneyed metaphor, but why? What does it add besides indicating that the guy who wrote it is a little resentful of genius. Finally, who in their right mind ever “assumes a direct ratio between I.Q. and an ability to write memorable(,) prose”? For anybody who knows anything about literature (or art in general), this is just pure nonsense! It is like saying everybody with the biggest smiles are the nicest people. If Matthew’s “direct ratio” of I.Q. to literary talent were true, then all our high school valedictorians would be our best poets and novelists (as well as everything else requiring a brain). In fact the whole world would presumably arrange itself by strict order of braininess. This is how they like to think things work over at the Mensa meetings. Yeah, brains are important, but what is needed too is a thing called talent.
I wouldn’t be so pissed about Matthews’ nonsense if he wasn’t blathering on so to discredit one of his betters. I am not some sort of John Stuart Mill fan (I had to read part of his On Liberty in college and found it tough going – but I didn’t assume this was Mill’s fault!) In any case, John Stuart Mill has never been know for his exceptional prose; he was primarily a political scientist of sorts and philosopher (or at least that’s what made his reputation), which is to say that Matthews taking him to task for his commas was a rather pointless exercise to begin with. As it turned out, Michael Jordan wasn’t a very good baseball player, but that isn’t why he is valued in the world of sports. While we’re at it, Ernest Hemingway’s poems are terrible (they really are), Dylan Thomas wasn’t very good at math, T. S. Eliot couldn’t sing, etc.
If you think I’m breaking a butterfly on the wheel here, you are wrong. Jack Matthews is not some pretentious high-end bookseller writing his first blundered, over-written, under-thought, unintentionally arrogant book. He is not an amateur, as he makes clear throughout the book – he is a real author with an English literary agent (oh and you should read how he sneers at self-publishing: “Submitting to a vanity press, or self-publishing on one’s own, is generally an evasion and a fraud.”(p. 27)). And he’s got the books to prove his professional status as a literary man. According to the publisher’s advert on the front flyleaf, Jack Matthews has published thirteen “works of fiction,” five collections of non-fiction, two plays, and God help us all, two books of poetry, one of which is called, I kid you not, An Almanac for Twilight (the other one is Private Landscapes, which is almost as bad). This guy is a real writer, and the thought of this, the thought of all those titles, and all that vanity and arrogance couched in appallingly bad prose (and what I would imagine to be unimaginably bad verse) sends me into, as Matthews might put it, paroxysms of deepest, blackest despair, profound agonies of untrammeled and unmitigated angst, absolute extremes of excruciating hopelessness…
Reading Matter is a bad book and you know it almost immediately. It was bad in a way that made me feel sorry for it at first. But then the preening self-regard of its author began working on me until I started to feel angry. But it was not until the fourth chapter that he got truly outrageous. Up until then I had been merely annoyed by his tendency towards third-rate philosophizing couched in prose that is, as Matthews himself might put it, pretentious, pointless and ponderous. Here is an example from Chapter 2, which is supposedly about book bindings:
It is a paradox that when we speak of a book’s “matter,” we are speaking of that which is not matter at all, but noumenon, gestalt, transcendent form, idea – that which is implicit in, and conveyed by, the sequence of the words in the text. Thus it is precisely the “matter” of Isaac Walton’s The Compleat Angler that remains unaltered behind all its changing materials, with their variations of print, paper and binding in the more than 300 editions of its publishing history…”
This is classic Matthews. Note the trumped-up pseudo-intellectualisms, the constant need to use three or four (often blundered) examples when one would do. I am no expert, and I do not care to straighten this out for myself, but I am fairly confident that noumenon and gestalt are not the same things as “transcendent form” or even “idea.” It sounds as if he were making subtle philosophical distinctions here, but all he is saying is that the physical properties of a book are not as important as their contents. The same point could be made by simply stating that the probably illiterate Homer’s Odyssey was a literary work of art for hundreds of years before anybody wrote it down and thousands of years before anybody printed it. In any case, I am far more interested in a few descriptions or anecdotes of the editions of The Complete Angler that have presumably passed through his shop over the years. My own copy is a wonderfully substantial, annotated copy deaccessioned by the local library. It was printed c. 1890 then was rebound in green buckram c. 1940 and is a most satisfying volume to handle and read. I’d love to hear about the qualities of a first edition Walton – which, contrary to what Matthews claims above, is not the same as my 1890s copy: many authors revise their works throughout their lives, which means earlier editions of books are sometimes enormously different than later editions. The Compleat Angler was drastically shorter in its earliest editions, so I seem to recall reading somewhere (but not in Matthews book, where such useful, specific information is not to be found). Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass is another important example of a book that grew throughout its publication history. Such changes are one of the book collector’s biggest claims for relevance (as opposed to mere collector’s acquisitiveness). But there are very few actual books in Matthews’ book, mostly just ponderous yet vaporous profundities.
But like I said, Reading Matter truly became outrageous in Chapter 4, which is called “The Philosophy of the Comma.” Here Matthews, who had already established himself in my mind as one of the worst writers I had ever encountered, presumes to criticize the prose of a canonical figure. Nothing wrong with criticizing anybody’s writings, of course – literature should have no sacred cows and even the best writers nod – but when such criticisms unfairly condemn a writer for writing in the fashion and style of his times, this is dirty pool. Furthermore when such criticisms are couched in prose that is actually far worse than what is being criticized, it is time to get out the rattan cane for a sound thrashing. I am about to thrash here. Chapter 4 starts out with typical overkill describing how Matthews started reading John Stuart Mill’s Autobiography but was immediately stopped cold because, in its third sentence, he counted eleven commas. Grinding through his dismay and shock at this infelicity, Matthews overindulges in his own blather and the reader is subjected to this kind of pretend self-deprecation: “Furthermore, comma counting would seem to be an act of such utter depravity as to verge upon some intellectual equivalent of rape, child abuse or spouse beating. It is earnest fribbling. To count commas is to reveal that one is devoid of imagination on one hand and seriousness on the other. Comma counting is the act of a scholarly nerd…”
Okay! Okay! Comma-counting! Rape! Mercy! Child abuse! Scholarly Nerds! Please stop! Oh but it gets worse. After over two pages of this kind of bloviating, with the usual coy, elephantine lead-in (“here is the third sentence, containing you-know-how-many of you-know-what”) Matthews finally shares John Stuart Mill’s sentence that so offended his delicate aesthetic sensibilities. Below, I am going to quote Mill (from Matthew’s text) and without pause or omission, continue with Matthew’s follow-up paragraph:
(Mill) But I have thought that in an age in which education, and its improvement, are the subject of more, if not of profounder study than at any former period of English history, it may be useful that there should be some record of an education which was unusual and remarkable, and which, whatever else it may have done, has proved how much more than is commonly supposed may be taught, and well taught, in those early years which, in the common modes of what is called instruction, are little better than wasted.
(Matthews) And there they are – eleven of the little devils. Count them. The sentence itself is not, as I have admitted, one of the glories of English prose. It veers and bounces, and is woefully unsuited for the first page of a book that is widely proclaimed as a classic. It is hardly the product of a man whose I.Q. was once judged to be a marvel of extremity – reaching somewhere above 200, a region where mere humans struggle for air. It is not such a product, that is, if one assumes a direct ratio between I.Q. and an ability to write memorable, prose. (p. 43)
Matthews’ last comma, after “memorable” I will assume is an editing error, but I left it in since we are on the subject. What I am not including is a footnote in which Matthews complains about Mill’s grammar. What is interesting to note here is how wrong Matthews is about Mill’s prose, and how “utterly and completely” bad Matthews’ prose is by comparison. Yes, Mill uses a lot of commas, and the string of clauses in a single sentence is one of the characteristics of high Victorian prose. It is not wrong, it is just the prevailing style and to complain about it is akin to making fun of George Washington’s powdered wig and knee breeches. But take a look at Matthews’ own banal, blundered efforts at prose. He states Mill’s long sentence is not “one of the glories of English prose” (which is the deliberate, yet still tedious use of a cliché) “as I have admitted.” Isn’t “admitted” the wrong word? Shouldn’t he have written, “as I have demonstrated” or “tried to demonstrate”? What is he “admitting” to? Furthermore, for all its commas, is it really accurate to describe Mill’s prose by saying it “veers and bounces”? Quite the contrary, I’d say it has that it possesses the slow stateliness so typical of the Victorians. Jack Kerouac’s prose veers and bounces, not John Stuart Mill’s and to say otherwise leads me to believe Matthews is not thinking when he types. What in the world is “a marvel of extremity” when you are talking about I.Q.’s? Does he mean to say Mill had a high I.Q. and if so, why doesn’t he simply do so? And why do “mere humans struggle for air” when in the range of a 200 I.Q.? People with extraordinarily high I.Q.’s struggle like all the rest of us (as the fates of child prodigies often show), but they are not struggling for air – yes, I understand that Matthews is employing a hackneyed metaphor, but why? What does it add besides indicating that the guy who wrote it is a little resentful of genius. Finally, who in their right mind ever “assumes a direct ratio between I.Q. and an ability to write memorable(,) prose”? For anybody who knows anything about literature (or art in general), this is just pure nonsense! It is like saying everybody with the biggest smiles are the nicest people. If Matthew’s “direct ratio” of I.Q. to literary talent were true, then all our high school valedictorians would be our best poets and novelists (as well as everything else requiring a brain). In fact the whole world would presumably arrange itself by strict order of braininess. This is how they like to think things work over at the Mensa meetings. Yeah, brains are important, but what is needed too is a thing called talent.
I wouldn’t be so pissed about Matthews’ nonsense if he wasn’t blathering on so to discredit one of his betters. I am not some sort of John Stuart Mill fan (I had to read part of his On Liberty in college and found it tough going – but I didn’t assume this was Mill’s fault!) In any case, John Stuart Mill has never been know for his exceptional prose; he was primarily a political scientist of sorts and philosopher (or at least that’s what made his reputation), which is to say that Matthews taking him to task for his commas was a rather pointless exercise to begin with. As it turned out, Michael Jordan wasn’t a very good baseball player, but that isn’t why he is valued in the world of sports. While we’re at it, Ernest Hemingway’s poems are terrible (they really are), Dylan Thomas wasn’t very good at math, T. S. Eliot couldn’t sing, etc.
If you think I’m breaking a butterfly on the wheel here, you are wrong. Jack Matthews is not some pretentious high-end bookseller writing his first blundered, over-written, under-thought, unintentionally arrogant book. He is not an amateur, as he makes clear throughout the book – he is a real author with an English literary agent (oh and you should read how he sneers at self-publishing: “Submitting to a vanity press, or self-publishing on one’s own, is generally an evasion and a fraud.”(p. 27)). And he’s got the books to prove his professional status as a literary man. According to the publisher’s advert on the front flyleaf, Jack Matthews has published thirteen “works of fiction,” five collections of non-fiction, two plays, and God help us all, two books of poetry, one of which is called, I kid you not, An Almanac for Twilight (the other one is Private Landscapes, which is almost as bad). This guy is a real writer, and the thought of this, the thought of all those titles, and all that vanity and arrogance couched in appallingly bad prose (and what I would imagine to be unimaginably bad verse) sends me into, as Matthews might put it, paroxysms of deepest, blackest despair, profound agonies of untrammeled and unmitigated angst, absolute extremes of excruciating hopelessness…
September 12, 2011
Delightful essays. "It has my unqualified endorsement."
An intimate, cordial style, an extremely entertaining read. He introduces and describes numerous writers that I'd like to go to.
18..Biblical interpretations became increasingly metaphorical in their forced retreat from literal meaning.
20..unable/unwilling to translate Suda lexicon from Gk, returned the book forthwith and lapsed into the serene repose of my previously undisturbed ignorance.
28..log cabin PUNCHEON floor
Theophilus Noel...auto bio
30..Emerson..what you are thunders so that I cannot hear what you are saying to the contrary
saying "the n-word" is vapid
35..Noel was not addicted to self-effacement
38..keep your money, and it will keep you from harm
42..comma counting, an act of such utter depravity ...it is earnest FRIBBLING...the act of a scholarly nerd who forfeits any claim to sound judgement
47..commas..accents of oral discourse that can be ignored only by speed readers and other infidels and heretics
typos...67, 73, 123, 155
115..magisterial disdain for spelling
121..an invaluable little book...has my unqualified endorsement
125..dust jacket art that gladdens and awakens the spirit
133..cites contrary evidence to all the lyric effusions he has indulged in
143..frank harris' salacious auto bio
165..AAUW book sales, Granville Methodist Church
An intimate, cordial style, an extremely entertaining read. He introduces and describes numerous writers that I'd like to go to.
18..Biblical interpretations became increasingly metaphorical in their forced retreat from literal meaning.
20..unable/unwilling to translate Suda lexicon from Gk, returned the book forthwith and lapsed into the serene repose of my previously undisturbed ignorance.
28..log cabin PUNCHEON floor
Theophilus Noel...auto bio
30..Emerson..what you are thunders so that I cannot hear what you are saying to the contrary
saying "the n-word" is vapid
35..Noel was not addicted to self-effacement
38..keep your money, and it will keep you from harm
42..comma counting, an act of such utter depravity ...it is earnest FRIBBLING...the act of a scholarly nerd who forfeits any claim to sound judgement
47..commas..accents of oral discourse that can be ignored only by speed readers and other infidels and heretics
typos...67, 73, 123, 155
115..magisterial disdain for spelling
121..an invaluable little book...has my unqualified endorsement
125..dust jacket art that gladdens and awakens the spirit
133..cites contrary evidence to all the lyric effusions he has indulged in
143..frank harris' salacious auto bio
165..AAUW book sales, Granville Methodist Church
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews