The room dedicated to the diligent copying and recopying of manuscripts – the scriptorium – conjures images of exhausted, doe-eyed monks bent over desks paying attention to the minutiae of ancient books. Not the most glamorous of jobs, but also not backbreaking labor. Sara Charles’ “The Medieval Scriptorium,” the new history of the materiality of the book from the University of Chicago Press (2024), is a beautifully illustrated history of how books were made in the millennium before the advent of the printing press that also sheds some much-needed light on what went into the bookmaking before its mass production.
Each of the chapters, presented in chronological order, opens with a novelistic vignette that paints a image to keep in mind while reading. Sometimes they strain credulity, as in Chapter one where the vignette mentions the fourth-century Bethlehem scribe named Paula (to be sure, one of the most common names for Palestinian women of the time) beginning an ordinary day of copying papyrus manuscripts. Women weren’t taught to read or write, and they certainly didn’t do it professionally. That aside…
Charles’s scope is wide and thorough. She starts with Christianity’s role in the invention of the codex (a book made of bound pages), then moves into the early Middle Ages (500-1000) when groups of literate monks first came together in the formation of monasteries. The heart of the book takes up the question of what a scriptorium looked like. Since we have virtually no archaeological evidence, flights of fancy and romanticization have rushed in to take its place. From what she reconstructs looking at old texts, it hardly resembled an old schoolroom occupied with studious monks at desks. She specifically cites the Codex Sangallensis 904 (a copy of Priscian’s Latin grammar) whose glosses are one of our best sources for understanding the language of Old Irish. Along the bottom of the page, the ninth-century Irish monk who wrote it composed the following lines:
all around the greenwood trees
I hear blackbird verse on high
quavering lines on vellum leaves
birdsong pours down from the sky over and above the wood
the blue cuckoo chants to me
dear Lord thank you for your word
I write well beneath the trees
(translation by Ciaran Carson)
Hardly an image you’d conjure confined to a dark, dusty room in the inner part of the monastery. Textual clues (trees, birdsong, et cetera) suggest that our monk was likely writing in a cloister – the covered walkway or gallery that connects the monastery’s several buildings. In other words, he was looking through a window or was possibly outside.
Chapters Four and Five are devoted to the preparation of parchment and the materials needed for illuminated manuscripts and painting. (Where exactly DID you buy gold leaf during the Carolingian Renaissance?) As you might expect, the details are gritty: from the treatment of animal skins to the toxicity associated with certain pigments and the other animal byproducts used to transform them into use for scribes, including urine, blood, earwax, and excrement. Chapters Six and Seven look at the entrance of books into two places that would define their future: the university and the marketplace. Various factors combined to finally bring manuscript manufacture to an end as the context of book production shifted from religious to secular - or as secular as you can be in the eleventh and twelfth centuries.
If casual interest in medieval history leads you to this book, mind the title. It doesn’t lie. Charles is almost exclusively concerned with “making books in the Middle Ages.” There is no discussion of the dissemination of medieval books, and only the slight mention of political or cultural context. This isn’t a weakness: it’s just not what this book is about. It’s very much about the *material* culture and manufacture of books through the fifteenth century and the rise of the printing press: the making of ink, the transition from clay and wax to papyrus and then vellum, the equipment for bookbinding and sewing, and how these materials are sourced and processed.
A note about the materiality of this book in particular: it is printed on that thick, glossy paper that turns the reading experience into something memorable. The illustrations are numerous, lush, and full color. In an age when most publishers would have rushed off this book to be printed on single-ply toilet paper just to save a dime, productions like this are even more appreciated.