Books and Bookmen — Themes and Context

Elzevirs and the Bibliophile's Eye

Lang's opening essay on Elzevirs reveals his method: he begins with a countryman's remark that "the editions of the Elzevirs have been in demand," then proceeds to dissect the mania for these small-format books. He notes that collectors prize Elzevirs for their typography and diminutive size, yet he undercuts the craze by observing that many Elzevir editions are textually unreliable. Lang's own voice is that of a seasoned bookman who knows the trade's tricks—he mentions the "Elzevir spheres" and title-page ornaments with an expert's eye, but he never lets enthusiasm override judgment. The essay balances technical description (the famous "Sage" device) with a wry awareness that fashion, not merit, often drives collecting.

The Collier Forgery: A Cautionary Tale

In the essay on literary forgeries, Lang devotes sustained attention to J. Payne Collier's "corrected folio" of Shakespeare. He traces the affair from Collier's 1849 discovery of a second-edition folio "much cropped, greasy, and imperfect" to the eventual exposure of the forger's methods. Lang highlights a telling contradiction: Collier first described the volume as "much cropped" but later claimed it was unmutilated. The forger used pencil underdrawings and sepia ink to simulate age. Lang's tone is forensic, not sensational; he calls the episode "a skeleton history" and notes its legacy of "extreme scepticism" toward new Shakespeare documents. The essay exemplifies Lang's ability to turn a bibliographic scandal into a meditation on trust and evidence.

Curiosities and Ghosts in the Library

Two shorter pieces—"Curiosities of Parish Registers" and "Ghosts in the Library"—show Lang's range. The former treats parish records as sources of odd human details, from eccentric entries to genealogical puzzles. The latter, despite its title, is less about supernatural apparitions than about the spectral presence of forgotten authors and lost editions. Lang writes of "the Rowfant Books" and addresses a poem "To F. L.," weaving personal tribute into his bibliophilic survey. These essays reinforce the volume's central tension: the bookman's world is one of tangible objects—bindings, title-pages, marginalia—yet it is haunted by absences, forgeries, and the ephemeral nature of literary fame.

Readers approaching Books and Bookmen should expect a miscellany, not a systematic treatise. Lang's essays reward those who enjoy following a learned, slightly ironic mind as it moves from Elzevir typography to Japanese bogie-books to the Shakespeare forgeries. The volume is best read in short sittings, letting each essay stand on its own. Lang's footnotes and asides—such as his thanks to Mr. H. Tedder and Mr. Charles Elton—hint at the collaborative world of Victorian bibliophily. For modern readers, the book offers a window into that world's passions, pretensions, and enduring pleasures.

Lang’s essays make me think of quiet evenings with a new acquisition, the feel of old paper. That same unhurried intimacy surfaces in Letters of Felix Mendelssohn to Ignaz and Charlotte Moscheles — Context and Discussion, where music becomes a personal correspondence. There, too, is the delight of tracing a creative mind through its daily letters—not grand pronouncements, just the gentle sketch of a life spent making something beautiful.