What do you think?
Rate this book
Lost, Stolen or Shredded: Stories of Missing Works of Art and Literature
Like Sherlock Holmes's dog in the night time, sometimes the true significance of things lies in their absence. Rick Gekoski tells the very human stories that lie behind some of the greatest losses to artistic culture - and addresses the questions such disappearances raise. Some of the items are stolen (the Mona Lisa), some destroyed (like Philip Larkin's diaries, shredded, then burnt, on his dying request) and some were lost before they even existed, like the career of the brilliant art deco architect, Charles Rennie Mackintosh, which foundered amid a lack of cash - but behind all of them lies an often surprising story which reveals a lot about what art means to us. Gekoski explores in depth the greater questions these tremendous losses raise - such as the rights artists and authors have over their own work, the importance of the search for perfection in creativity, and what motivated people to queue to see the empty space where the Mona Lisa once hung in the Louvre.
284 pages, Hardcover
First published April 18, 2013
7 people are currently reading
334 people want to read
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 28 of 28 reviews
June 4, 2013
I read this in a few days - interesting although slightly repetitive cases of artworks or lie treasure which has been, as the title suggests, lost or stolen. The piece on Kafka and the ongoing court case surrounding his lost stories which is being fought in Israel was particularly good
August 30, 2019
I enjoyed the variety of stories presented in this book. They were easy to read and could be read in any order.
August 13, 2018
I have not read anything by Gekoski before. I came across this book quite by accident, finding it in a bookshop when I was just browsing. The subject matter intrigued me and so I decided to buy it. Having now finished it, I am glad to say that I really did enjoy it.
Perhaps depending on your tastes, readers of this book may become more engrossed by some chapters rather than others. Personally, I found the most interesting chapters to be the ones on the theft of the Mona Lisa, the portrait of Winston Churchill, the burning of Byron's memoirs and the chapter on the 'Great Omar'.
However, in all chapters, Gekoski has created intelligently considered philosophical musings on just what an omission within the world of literature and the arts means. From thefts, purposeful destruction to more mysterious disappearances, I really enjoyed how Gekoski was able to explain the context and history of the specific object but then explore what, say, the theft of the Mona Lisa tells us about ourselves. Why would people want to queue up to see where a painting wasn't?! What does that suggest or mean? And, if a celebrated author/ poet states that his or her memoirs or unfinished works should be destroyed after the event of their death, what are the implications of this? Is it right to do so? Or should the author's wishes be disobeyed?
Paradoxically, although Gekoski is writing primarily about losses, he manages to make us consider what either individuals or communities may actually gain from the loss of an object. As a case in point, consider the loss of the Mona Lisa again. Or, disobeying the last wishes of a celebrated author; do the gains of not destroying their memoirs/ unfinished works outweigh the loss which would come from the destruction itself?
Gekoski manages to write about such matters in a much more erudite way than I have managed here. All I shall now say, is that if you have an interest either in literature or the art world, I would urge you to read this book.
Perhaps depending on your tastes, readers of this book may become more engrossed by some chapters rather than others. Personally, I found the most interesting chapters to be the ones on the theft of the Mona Lisa, the portrait of Winston Churchill, the burning of Byron's memoirs and the chapter on the 'Great Omar'.
However, in all chapters, Gekoski has created intelligently considered philosophical musings on just what an omission within the world of literature and the arts means. From thefts, purposeful destruction to more mysterious disappearances, I really enjoyed how Gekoski was able to explain the context and history of the specific object but then explore what, say, the theft of the Mona Lisa tells us about ourselves. Why would people want to queue up to see where a painting wasn't?! What does that suggest or mean? And, if a celebrated author/ poet states that his or her memoirs or unfinished works should be destroyed after the event of their death, what are the implications of this? Is it right to do so? Or should the author's wishes be disobeyed?
Paradoxically, although Gekoski is writing primarily about losses, he manages to make us consider what either individuals or communities may actually gain from the loss of an object. As a case in point, consider the loss of the Mona Lisa again. Or, disobeying the last wishes of a celebrated author; do the gains of not destroying their memoirs/ unfinished works outweigh the loss which would come from the destruction itself?
Gekoski manages to write about such matters in a much more erudite way than I have managed here. All I shall now say, is that if you have an interest either in literature or the art world, I would urge you to read this book.
September 17, 2016
This book primarily deals with literary items which is fine however the cover art implies otherwise. Clearly a deception to sell books, not nice. Also bring a dictionary if you decide to read this as you will find some of the vocabularic acrobatics a bit of a nuisance. Otherwise it was what you would think it would be.
May 31, 2017
As someone who is a little familiar, but by no means an expert in the world of art, this book was a delight. It is structured as a series of essays, so you can pick and choose the order in which you read them. However, it is best to read them all, as there is an underlying thread of discussing going through them - themes of art, of loss, of the human condition to name a few. It reads an an overview or highlight reel of famous incidents of art being lost, or stolen or destroyed. Most readers will no doubt be familiar with some, such as the theft of the Mona Lisa, whilst others are less recognisable. The book does not just focus on art - in fact, quite a lot of it discusses missing works of literature. As you read it though, you get a sense that it is a discussion of cultural heritage, including art, literature, architecture, crafts. I found this book taught me a lot, but it was also very entertaining to read too. The essays read more like stories, and I was truly engrossed in some of them. You can pick up and leave this book and come back to it, without losing anything though. The voice of the narrator is humorous, opinionated and often critical. I don't agree with all of his opinions - but I did feel like I was involved in some sort of discussion. This book has prompted me to look into reading further into the classics, poetry, colonial history to name a few. I would say that if you are very familiar with the topic of art history, then this book may be a bit shallow/repetitive, but for a "layman" such as myself with an interest but patchy knowledge of this topic, it was a great read.
January 31, 2018
Brilliantly written, hugely knowledgeable and entertaining, Rick Gekoski leads the reader through a selection of lost, stolen or shredded works of art or literature as the book title suggests. It is however a much more interesting and fun read than one might at first think. Rick Gekoski, with an engaging wit and deep understanding of his subject matter, provides excellent insight into this critical aspect
of art and literature, some quite well known and familiar, others less so,providing much opportunity for deeper consideration.Here is a writer at home, well within his comfort zone, and we can feel fully relaxed with him - a marvelous and enjoyable book.
of art and literature, some quite well known and familiar, others less so,providing much opportunity for deeper consideration.Here is a writer at home, well within his comfort zone, and we can feel fully relaxed with him - a marvelous and enjoyable book.
February 26, 2024
Absolutely fascinating. Not only does this text make me think more about the nature of art and its essential fragility, it also shines a light on our shared and often darker history… from the desecration and looting of African culture, art and history to the neglect and indifference towards the work of other artists which has led to so much being lost. Byron’s memoirs deliberately burned? I never knew that and am appalled. Thinking about the Mona Lisa and copies, reflecting on the fact that it’s not just the thing itself but also its history, its provenance… it was just a great book, engaging, informative, entertaining and thoughtful… loved it!
August 12, 2021
On picking up this book I expected an account of notable artwork which had gone missing or been destroyed, whether deliberately or accidentally. It, however, delivered much more than this, with ideas and opinions such as the desirability or not of artwork and antiquities from other cultures being kept in western museums, why a perfect reproduction is valued less than the original article etc. The author is opinionated and some may say waspish which, although I would not agree with his opinions a lot of the time, is quite refreshing in the current times.
March 19, 2018
Rick Gekoski is clearly an interesting man with the sort of wide-ranging, eclectic bits of expertise that naturally appeals to a journalist such as me. A lot of what he wrote about, unfortunately, I already knew. Still, I appreciated the stories he told, mostly with some zest. This is a trifle of a book, but the kind of thing a savvy reader may use to springboard into a new. unexpected discovery. That is always valuable.
September 16, 2013
In Lost, Stolen or Shredded, Rick Gekoski draws upon his expertise in antiquarian book dealing, academia and his proclivity for collecting to explore the hows and whys of missing art and literature. What unfolds is a collage of history, memoir, commentary and some truly fascinating stories – well known and obscure – of art heists, cultural vandalism, protected reputations and greed.
Each chapter covers a story or theme and Gekoski’s reflections on it. He tells, for instance, of Vincenzo Peruggia, an unprepossessing Italian picture framer working at the Louvre in 1911 who took the Mona Lisa off the wall, stuffed her up his smock, walked out with her unchallenged and kept her in his bedroom for two years. What’s intriguing, as Gekoski explains, is the public reaction to the theft. When the gallery opened a week later, thousands queued to look at the space the Mona Lisa left behind in an extraordinary convergence of crime scene curiosity and ritual mourning.
Another object, one never recovered, is a gaudy sounding edition of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (a twelfth century Persian poet translated by Edward Fitzgerald) bound by Francis Sangorski with a peacock design in gold leaf and over 1,000 precious stones. It was commissioned in 1909, took two years to make, then sank with the Titanic in 1912. A further lesson, as if the Edwardians needed one, on the fallacy of decadence.
Some of the moments recounted by Gekoski are most poignant because they are deeply human. A striking example is the library of Guido Adler, a pioneer of modern musicology, whose collection included a personally inscribed manuscript of Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen (‘I am Lost to the World’) by Mahler. Adler, a Jew, died of natural causes in Vienna in 1941. His daughter, Melanie, inherited his library and unquestionably aware of its importance tried using it as bargaining chip with the Nazis in exchange for her life. An act of desperation assuredly and, with hindsight, naivety. Needless to say they procured the keys to her father’s library and its contents, and murdered her anyway.
Far less harrowing though no less interesting is a personal anecdote of Gekoski’s meeting with the Irish writer, Brian Coffey, in the 1980s regarding placing his papers with various institutions. In the 1920s Coffey was personal friend, golfing buddy and correspondent of Samuel Beckett. ‘How many letters would you say you had from Sam?’ Gekoski asked, book dealer antennae twitching. Coffey replied that he never counted but it was probably ‘thousands’ and that he threw them all away. Gekoski (presumably reeling from shock) asked him why?
‘At first, I just answered a letter, then chucked it in the bin. As you do. But after a few years, and Sam got well known, then I made sure to throw them away . . . because they were private.’
And this is the core of what Gekoski’s book is about, how we relate to works of cultural significance. Depending on our point of view art is personal property; a sellable commodity; of immeasurably greater historic than intrinsic value; damaging to individual reputations; a political firework waiting to go off; or rubbish getting in the way. Equally the loss and destruction of art and literature provokes different responses, emotional and real world.
As wide-ranging as this book is, there’s much material left for Gekoski to cover. Only as I was reading it (July 2013) a news report emerged of a mother in Romania who apparently burned paintings by Picasso, Monet, Matisse and Freud in her oven. The woman claims it was an attempt to ‘destroy the evidence’ following her son’s arrest for an art theft from Rotterdam’s Kunsthal Museum in October 2012. The work had a collective value of between 100m and 200m euros. This kind of story confirms what Gekoski explains: art thefts are not jaunty Thomas Crown style escapades by eccentric billionaire collectors, they are ham-fisted and motivated by money. And the more famous and highly valued a work, the more difficult it becomes to move it along the chain of dealers. Priceless paintings become virtually, even literally, worthless.
Paradoxically the looting of the National Museum in Baghdad during the Bush/Rumsfeld/Blair war in Iraq, the loss of thousands of ancient Mesopotamian pieces and the subsequent saturation of the antiquities marketplace in the West meant prices tumbled. Gekoski meditates on whether the appropriation of one culture’s treasures by another has any benefits? His juxtaposition of the case of the Elgin Marbles makes interesting reading. Still it’s a chilling thought that in the modern age, rather than taking an enlightened approach to artefacts, devastation is potentially systematic and the channels to sell merchandise superefficient.
Lost, Stolen or Shredded is based on the Radio 4 documentary of the same name. I didn’t hear it myself, but if Gekoski’s voice on the air is the same as it is on the page, then he’s witty, knowledgeable and engaging – someone I’d definitely want to be seated next to at a dinner party. Despite the big themes this is a hugely readable book about an intriguing subject.
In his afterword Gekoski reminds us with Buddhist-like reflection that even when it survives accident, political turmoil and bungling, art doesn’t last forever. Art is fragile and temporary. Its very impermanence is what we should cherish.
Each chapter covers a story or theme and Gekoski’s reflections on it. He tells, for instance, of Vincenzo Peruggia, an unprepossessing Italian picture framer working at the Louvre in 1911 who took the Mona Lisa off the wall, stuffed her up his smock, walked out with her unchallenged and kept her in his bedroom for two years. What’s intriguing, as Gekoski explains, is the public reaction to the theft. When the gallery opened a week later, thousands queued to look at the space the Mona Lisa left behind in an extraordinary convergence of crime scene curiosity and ritual mourning.
Another object, one never recovered, is a gaudy sounding edition of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (a twelfth century Persian poet translated by Edward Fitzgerald) bound by Francis Sangorski with a peacock design in gold leaf and over 1,000 precious stones. It was commissioned in 1909, took two years to make, then sank with the Titanic in 1912. A further lesson, as if the Edwardians needed one, on the fallacy of decadence.
Some of the moments recounted by Gekoski are most poignant because they are deeply human. A striking example is the library of Guido Adler, a pioneer of modern musicology, whose collection included a personally inscribed manuscript of Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen (‘I am Lost to the World’) by Mahler. Adler, a Jew, died of natural causes in Vienna in 1941. His daughter, Melanie, inherited his library and unquestionably aware of its importance tried using it as bargaining chip with the Nazis in exchange for her life. An act of desperation assuredly and, with hindsight, naivety. Needless to say they procured the keys to her father’s library and its contents, and murdered her anyway.
Far less harrowing though no less interesting is a personal anecdote of Gekoski’s meeting with the Irish writer, Brian Coffey, in the 1980s regarding placing his papers with various institutions. In the 1920s Coffey was personal friend, golfing buddy and correspondent of Samuel Beckett. ‘How many letters would you say you had from Sam?’ Gekoski asked, book dealer antennae twitching. Coffey replied that he never counted but it was probably ‘thousands’ and that he threw them all away. Gekoski (presumably reeling from shock) asked him why?
‘At first, I just answered a letter, then chucked it in the bin. As you do. But after a few years, and Sam got well known, then I made sure to throw them away . . . because they were private.’
And this is the core of what Gekoski’s book is about, how we relate to works of cultural significance. Depending on our point of view art is personal property; a sellable commodity; of immeasurably greater historic than intrinsic value; damaging to individual reputations; a political firework waiting to go off; or rubbish getting in the way. Equally the loss and destruction of art and literature provokes different responses, emotional and real world.
As wide-ranging as this book is, there’s much material left for Gekoski to cover. Only as I was reading it (July 2013) a news report emerged of a mother in Romania who apparently burned paintings by Picasso, Monet, Matisse and Freud in her oven. The woman claims it was an attempt to ‘destroy the evidence’ following her son’s arrest for an art theft from Rotterdam’s Kunsthal Museum in October 2012. The work had a collective value of between 100m and 200m euros. This kind of story confirms what Gekoski explains: art thefts are not jaunty Thomas Crown style escapades by eccentric billionaire collectors, they are ham-fisted and motivated by money. And the more famous and highly valued a work, the more difficult it becomes to move it along the chain of dealers. Priceless paintings become virtually, even literally, worthless.
Paradoxically the looting of the National Museum in Baghdad during the Bush/Rumsfeld/Blair war in Iraq, the loss of thousands of ancient Mesopotamian pieces and the subsequent saturation of the antiquities marketplace in the West meant prices tumbled. Gekoski meditates on whether the appropriation of one culture’s treasures by another has any benefits? His juxtaposition of the case of the Elgin Marbles makes interesting reading. Still it’s a chilling thought that in the modern age, rather than taking an enlightened approach to artefacts, devastation is potentially systematic and the channels to sell merchandise superefficient.
Lost, Stolen or Shredded is based on the Radio 4 documentary of the same name. I didn’t hear it myself, but if Gekoski’s voice on the air is the same as it is on the page, then he’s witty, knowledgeable and engaging – someone I’d definitely want to be seated next to at a dinner party. Despite the big themes this is a hugely readable book about an intriguing subject.
In his afterword Gekoski reminds us with Buddhist-like reflection that even when it survives accident, political turmoil and bungling, art doesn’t last forever. Art is fragile and temporary. Its very impermanence is what we should cherish.
November 11, 2018
This starts well and then loses its way, there’s too much of the author and his opinions in it. I don’t think a building that wasn’t built can be described as lost or stolen. There must be loads of artwork that is actually missing or stolen but this book doesn’t really seem to want to address it. I was skimming it by the end .
August 14, 2017
Mais interessantes que os casos narrados pelo livro são as reflexões suscitadas sobre direitos de propriedade no caso de manuscritos de pessoas que morreram, o valor de uma obra de arte em relação a uma cópia, a preservação da arte em situações de guerra e até mesmo a questão do racismo em Conrad.
September 25, 2017
I would have enjoyed this more if the author didn't delight in focusing on his own academic achievements so much and instead dedicated more time to discussing the lost works of art and literature.
June 5, 2018
This book is almost certainly a vanity project. It’s a good concept but is derailed with a lot of boring personal anecdotes and half-baked philosophizing.
March 7, 2021
It is a fascinating book all about the art world which explores various aspects of it through items that have been lost stolen or shredded.
March 6, 2014
Antiquarian book dealer Rick Gekoski tells the stories that lie behind five very different missing works of art.
From The Radio Times
When the Titanic sank in 1912 it took with it to the bottom of the ocean a sumptuously bound copy of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. The binding was encrusted with over a thousand jewels and the intricate Islamic design, with three magnificent swirling peacocks on the front cover, was inlaid with gold leaf. It had taken the bookbinders Sangorski and Sutcliffe two years of continuous work to finish. As antiguarian book dealer Rick Gekoski tells this heartbreaking story, you can almost hear his tears falling.
1/5 The Great Omar
Rick tells the story behind the fabulous jewelled binding of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, which was encrusted with over a thousand diamonds, rubies and emeralds and was regarded as the finest work produced by the bindery of Sangorski and Sutcliffe. Sadly it went down with the SS Titanic and is still lying unclaimed at the bottom of the ocean.
2/5 The Lost Career of Charles Rennie Mackintosh
Architect, designer and artist Charles Rennie Mackintosh is internationally celebrated as one of the most significant talents of the late-19th and early-20th centuries. His creative genius and contribution to modern architecture and design is unquestioned, with his design for the Glasgow School of Art undoubtedly his masterpiece. But commissions were few and support for his work limited.
Rick examines Mackintosh's life and work and asks why he received so little support during his lifetime.
3/5 Has Anybody Seen a Copy of Et Tu Healy?
Written by James Joyce in 1891 when he was just nine years old as a protest at the death of the Irish nationalist leader Charles Parnell, the poem Et Tu Healy was printed by his proud father and distributed to friends and family; even the Pope was sent a copy.
But it was never published, and, apart from three lines, no copy of it has ever been found. Rick Gekoski asks where might one be, and, if one were to be found, how much it might be worth.
4/5 The Cradle of Civilisation
One of the little-reported but culturally significant effects of the war in Iraq has been the loss of works of antiquity from the country's museums. From the Iraq Museum in Baghdad alone, it is estimated that 15,000 objects dating from the dawn of civilisation have disappeared.
Rick Gekoski examines how and why these Mesopotamian artefacts were looted and speculates on what may have happened to them.
5/5 The Destroyed Portrait of Winston Churchill
Graham Sutherland's portrait of Winston Churchill, commissioned by both Houses of Parliament as a tribute to Churchill on the occasion of his 80th birthday, was destroyed after his death by his wife because she hated it so much. Photographs taken before its demise show the Prime Minister hunched with age and dark in mood. A detailed study by the artist for the destroyed painting still hangs in the National Portrait Gallery.
Rick tells the story behind this lost portrait and asks if the rights of an owner override those of the public, and if the Churchills had the moral right to destroy it.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
November 30, 2016
I’ve read another of Gekoski’s books, Tolkien's Gown & Other Stories of Great Authors and Rare Books. Rick Gekoski, and I definitely preferred this one. Whereas the former consisted of very loosely connected anecdotes about rare books, ‘Lost, Stolen, or Shredded’ has a focus on lost or missing works of literature, art, and architecture. The book ponders the theft, appropriation, and destruction of artworks and the ethics thereof. Was Clementine Churchill right to destroy Graham Sutherland’s portrait of her husband, which both of them disliked? Was Max Brod correct to ignore Kafka’s wishes and preserve his unpublished work, which included The Trial, The Castle, and Amerika? What about Byron’s memoirs, burned despite his intending them for publication? Then there are all the historic artifacts sitting in British museums, acquired by brute colonial force or slightly more polite paid theft. Should they all be repatriated? I appreciated Gekoski’s unwillingness to provide simple answers to these questions, as in each case complex issues are involved.
Overall I found the book thoughtful and very interesting. I was delighted to learn new facts about art forgery, the 1911 theft of the Mona Lisa, a library uncovered in Herculaneum, and the architectural career of Charles Rennie Mackintosh. The best chapter, though, was the tenth and concerned jewelled bindings. It recounted the creation of perhaps the most sumptuous binding ever, adorned with over 1,000 jewels and requiring 100 square feet of gold leaf. This extraordinary binding housed a copy of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, Jr.. Its creation began in 1909 and took two years. Then it was sold to an American buyer and placed on a ship to be delivered. The ship was the Titanic, thus this incredible piece of art was lost to the ocean. What a fascinating tale.
Overall I found the book thoughtful and very interesting. I was delighted to learn new facts about art forgery, the 1911 theft of the Mona Lisa, a library uncovered in Herculaneum, and the architectural career of Charles Rennie Mackintosh. The best chapter, though, was the tenth and concerned jewelled bindings. It recounted the creation of perhaps the most sumptuous binding ever, adorned with over 1,000 jewels and requiring 100 square feet of gold leaf. This extraordinary binding housed a copy of The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, Jr.. Its creation began in 1909 and took two years. Then it was sold to an American buyer and placed on a ship to be delivered. The ship was the Titanic, thus this incredible piece of art was lost to the ocean. What a fascinating tale.
July 19, 2013
Lost, Stolen or Shredded: Stories of Missing Works of Art and Literature, by Rick Gekoski, is one of the most entertaining and intellectually stimulating books I have read this year. Gekoski starts from a very simple premise: to tell the stories of creative acts and objects that have been lost to the world’s store of cultural heritage; some to be returned, some never to be seen again. However within this fairly simple idea, a world of scholarship is offered to the reader in erudite prose packed with energy, wit and ideas. Gekoski explores the fate of an extraordinary range of ‘objects’: from ‘Vincenzo Peruggia’s curiously innocent and likeable theft of the Mona Lisa…the political appropriation of art objects (as in the theft of the Urewera mural in New Zealand)… to Richard Heiserer’s pillaging of Guido Adler’s library’, the Sutherland portrait of Winston Churchill, the bronzes of Benin, manuscripts by Mahler, T S Eliot, James Joyce, diaries, libraries and archives, both contemporary and ancient.
The one disappointment, however, is the last essay, ‘Born to Blush Unseen: the Lost Buildings of Charles Rennie Mackintosh’. Whereas in the preceding essays, the lightness of anecdote was counterbalanced by the weight of Gekoski’s considerable knowledge and expertise, the treatment given Mackintosh is short on scholarship but long on hyperbole.
The one over-arching criticism of the book as a whole, is epitomised in this last essay: namely the glaring absence of artworks or literature by women – something that is reinforced by the very fleeting acknowledgement of the role of Macintosh’s wife, Margaret MacDonald, in his creative oeuvre. Feminist art historians have restored Margaret and her sister, Frances, to their rightful places in the Glasgow Style – much as Marion Mahony Griffin has been accorded her rightful place alongside her husband Walter Burley Griffin in the pantheon of architectural achievements.
Yet, on reflection, this absence comes as no surprise. Until fairly recently women of achievement have always been relegated to the basement, back row – call it what you will – of history. Work cannot be lost if no one knows – or recognises – that it ever existed in the first place!
The one disappointment, however, is the last essay, ‘Born to Blush Unseen: the Lost Buildings of Charles Rennie Mackintosh’. Whereas in the preceding essays, the lightness of anecdote was counterbalanced by the weight of Gekoski’s considerable knowledge and expertise, the treatment given Mackintosh is short on scholarship but long on hyperbole.
The one over-arching criticism of the book as a whole, is epitomised in this last essay: namely the glaring absence of artworks or literature by women – something that is reinforced by the very fleeting acknowledgement of the role of Macintosh’s wife, Margaret MacDonald, in his creative oeuvre. Feminist art historians have restored Margaret and her sister, Frances, to their rightful places in the Glasgow Style – much as Marion Mahony Griffin has been accorded her rightful place alongside her husband Walter Burley Griffin in the pantheon of architectural achievements.
Yet, on reflection, this absence comes as no surprise. Until fairly recently women of achievement have always been relegated to the basement, back row – call it what you will – of history. Work cannot be lost if no one knows – or recognises – that it ever existed in the first place!
March 10, 2014
Entertaining, idiosyncractic and absorbing essays on the subject of art theft, destruction, and lost opportunities which have had varying effects on our understanding and appreciation of the history of art and artistic culture. Gekoski is by turns witty, philosophical and strident in the treatment of his subjects, as varied as Graham Sutherlands portrait of Winston Churchill and the bronze plaques of the old City-Kingdom of Benin. Like his other volume, Tolkein's Gown, each essay is accorded a discreet chapter, but here they are longer, chattier, filled with more of the asides, observation and bon mots that make reading Gekoski's work an intellectual pleasure. While it's not always possible to agree with him-- he describes NASA's space program as an appalling waste of money, for example, a view with which I heartly disagree-- it's always possible to revel in the company of Gekoski's unique voice. This is book by way of after dinner conversation: convivial, declamatory, and as much performance as thesis. Wonderful stuff.
September 14, 2014
The subtitle is "stories of missing works of Art and Literature".
This is a wonderful little book full of amazing and interesting stories about what has happened to major works of art and literature throughout the centuries. The Mona Lisa went missing for a few years, a book of incredible value was sent to America on the Titanic, because it was deemed the safest option for such a treasure.
Gerkoski maintains that art and literature reflect the society that creates them and by implication, the culture that destroys them. He has a lot of fun as amateur detective in searching out some of the myths regarding some works and where no evidence is forthcoming he has some great opinions and speculations as to what may have happened.
A very entertaining read.
This is a wonderful little book full of amazing and interesting stories about what has happened to major works of art and literature throughout the centuries. The Mona Lisa went missing for a few years, a book of incredible value was sent to America on the Titanic, because it was deemed the safest option for such a treasure.
Gerkoski maintains that art and literature reflect the society that creates them and by implication, the culture that destroys them. He has a lot of fun as amateur detective in searching out some of the myths regarding some works and where no evidence is forthcoming he has some great opinions and speculations as to what may have happened.
A very entertaining read.
April 6, 2015
Rick Gekoski was at my local library a few weeks ago, giving a lecture, mostly about himself and books. It was a fascinating talk, filled with amusing anecdotes from his life as a rare bookseller and academic. His book Lost, Stolen or Shredded is all about missing pieces of art and literature and the fascination that they hold. He talks about lost letters and manuscripts including an early poem by James Joyce and the memoirs of Lord Byron. He also describes the scenes at the Louvre following the theft of the Mona Lisa in 1911, when crowds of people visited the museum to see the empty space on the gallery wall. This could easily have been dry, or worse, sentimental, but Gekoski turns it into a thought-provoking, well-paced and humorous read.
May 27, 2013
A very unusual but fascinating read, going through the author's laments of great works of art and literature irrevocably lost. What distinguishes this from just another list book is the author's acerbic wit the permeates the book - from his views on certain books that are probably better lost to the questioning of who has the right to destroy art itself. With a great wealth of variety in the topics - an alternative view on loss from Charles Rennie Macintosh is particularly moving - this book is highly recommended, especially for bibliophiles everywhere. Oh, and the author really does not like Will Self...
November 23, 2014
An evocatively written book, Gekoski focuses on a fascinating task: the absent, the gap, the loss and the missing. The focus in on the art and literature that are gone: incomplete, stolen, gone.
The examples used through the book are fascinating - commencing with Kafka's mourning for the theft of the Mona Lisa. But only by the "Afterword" does the writer emphasis the conservative practice of collecting, holding, maintaining and celebrating the past. The ephemeral nature of digitization is counter intuitive and against analogue techniques of preservation.
The examples used through the book are fascinating - commencing with Kafka's mourning for the theft of the Mona Lisa. But only by the "Afterword" does the writer emphasis the conservative practice of collecting, holding, maintaining and celebrating the past. The ephemeral nature of digitization is counter intuitive and against analogue techniques of preservation.
Read
June 4, 2022Super interesting read. Gekoski meshes different stories of art/history theft and destruction together really well so while they stand alone easily they also build up together to make a nice cohesive narrative surrounding the art industry. Warning: if you get sensitive about the destruction of cultural patrimony, might want to give this a miss.
January 11, 2023
Some very interesting tales and much to provoke thought - I didn't know Kafka wanted all his unpublished works destroyed a request his executor ignored - I liked it a lot and if when you read a summary on Amazon or Goodreads if it sounds your sort of thing - then it probably is and strongly suggest you give it a read.
January 4, 2015
A very interesting book. It wasn't quite what I expected, in that it's more a commentary on how we interact with/feel about missing works of art, but I think that actually is why I enjoyed it so much.
April 8, 2017
Left me wanting something more substantial - covered mostly well-known instances of lost/missing works, which was a little bit disappointing. The tone of the book didn't entirely work for me either. While very accessible, the presentation of subjectivity as fact left me uneasy. Some subjectivity is of course to be expected, especially given how enthusiastic the author is about art, books and his vocation, but the opinions put forward often came across as self-assured without any substance to back them up.
Gekoski is at his best when informative, without injecting his own judgment or tastes too readily; paradoxically his personality and passion for the subject shines through much more readily.
The book would have benefited from editing to tighten the narrative and make it less muddled (some passages read like Gekoski clarifying his ideas on the issue at hand as he goes along). As it stands, Lost, Stolen or Shredded reads more like the musings of a man on the objects (and subjects) he likes than an expose on the objects themselves, which seems like a shame given the rich history to be explored and Gekoski's clear breadth of knowledge.
Good for an easy read, less engaging than it might have been.
Gekoski is at his best when informative, without injecting his own judgment or tastes too readily; paradoxically his personality and passion for the subject shines through much more readily.
The book would have benefited from editing to tighten the narrative and make it less muddled (some passages read like Gekoski clarifying his ideas on the issue at hand as he goes along). As it stands, Lost, Stolen or Shredded reads more like the musings of a man on the objects (and subjects) he likes than an expose on the objects themselves, which seems like a shame given the rich history to be explored and Gekoski's clear breadth of knowledge.
Good for an easy read, less engaging than it might have been.
June 18, 2017
Beautifully written. Engaging and full of literary gems. Felt like being back in English III and loved it!
Displaying 1 - 28 of 28 reviews