Hot off the press 3

 Just received from the indefatigable press of Fred Woodworth: Mystery & Adventure Series Review #63.  This 40-page issue of the completely analog 'zine contains articles about the boy's adventure books A Trace of Memory by Keith Laumer, the Dan Perry series book Radium Island by Kent Sagendorph (which is referred to as "Indiana Jones on Steroids"), and the regular Typographic Corner column.  Of course, the issue also has an extensive "Letters to the Editor" section, in which Fred interacts with his loyal readers.

As always, copies of this and other Fred Woodworth publications may be obtained by writing postal mail to him at Fred Woodworth, PO Box 3012, Tuscon AZ 85702.  (The familiar city of Tucson, AZ is purposefully misspelled in Fred's usage for purposes of protest.  Humor him and spell it that way; your mail will reach him all the same.)  As for cost, Fred writes, "Subscription is at no fixed price - free or whatever you care to donate, if anything.  Donations, however, MUST be in either cash or stamps, not checks. I cannot accept checks."  In the past, Fred has described banking errors that have led him to completely avoid them.  I occasionally send him cash via mail without trouble.  Join me as a reader of Woodworth publications and you will support a magazine whose "purpose is to promote obsolete culture and its ideals."

The book ration has been increased

 As much as I enjoy chocolate, my passion for books is far stronger.  So the library collection grew once again this week as I received my signed, numbered copy of 1984, by George Orwell.  As I mentioned a few days ago, this is a special limited edition volume published by The Folio Society on the 75th anniversary of the first release of the novel.  Despite its scandalously inflated price, I couldn't resist ordering my own copy of a book that means so much to me.  Even though my recent experiences with various shipping services such as UPS and USPS has been lackluster, FedEx conveyed my copy to me here in central Alabama from London, England in astonishingly fast fashion - arriving a day earlier than scheduled.  (Yes, FedEx delivering a book about intrusive surveillance is full of irony.)  Upon opening the package, I found an impressively well crafted tome, just as I would expect from Folio.  It is a top quality example of the bookbinder's art and includes artwork from illustrator La Boca and a forward by Turkish author Elif Shafak.  The book and beautiful barn door slipcase are largely hand crafted in a meticulous fashion, as shown in the video below.  To a book enthusiast like me, this is all an irresistible combination.  The pleasure of fine literature is always enhanced by luxury bookbinding.

Somebody's always watching me

 And interesting confluence of items crossed my desk yesterday.  First was an advertising email from The Folio Society, a purveyor of luxury editions of classic books.  They've recently released a limited edition of 1984, by George Orwell on the 75th anniversary of its first publication.  The landmark novel is one I have had repeated experiences with.  I was required to read it in high school, at a time when I couldn't yet fully comprehend its message.  I read it later as an adult and appreciated the dystopian tale much more.  Then in 2017, I attended a Broadway theater production of 1984, just as the full Orwellian nature of the Trump administration was becoming understood.  The loss of objective truth, the populist authoritarianism, the memory holes, and the doublespeak ("alternative facts" was an early feature of those dark years) was damage that the country still is dealing with.  The Broadway stage version of 1984 was as shocking and provocative as live theater could possibly be, and as gloomy and foreboding as Orwell must have intended.  Having experienced the show and having lived through the (hopefully only) Trump term, I will be forever changed.  So with that in mind, I ordered a copy of the new book, bibliophilic prole that I am.  More on that in a later post.

Concurrently with all that, I read an article in the Washington Post that describes a formal surveillance program of the US Postal System.  The so-called "mail covers program" allows the tracking of postal mail to and from targeted individuals, with little regulation or oversight.  Back when mail was still a primary mode of individual communication, and the Fourth Amendment of the Constitution was still respected, detailed laws were put in place to require warrants to open mail.  But merely monitoring and recording addresses of mail to a specific person requires very little formal approval.  Without warrants or judicial approval, law enforcement agencies of all descriptions can request the USPS to monitor the mailboxes of targeted individuals, which it does with little resistance.  Despite the Post's recent article, this is not a new practice.  In 2013, the mail surveillance of award-winning author William Vollmann was described in an article in Harper's Magazine.  Vollmann had mistakenly fallen under suspicion by the FBI of being a suspect in the Unabomber bombings.  His mail was tracked - and indeed opened - for years before his innocence was demonstrated by the brother of the actual Unabomber, who recognized his manifesto.  This is a sobering reminder for a snail mail aficionado like me, who likes to believe that old-fashioned physical letters escape some of the privacy concerns of online digital communication.  Indeed, I can't help wondering if my innocent personal correspondence with iconoclastic individuals like publisher Fred Woodworth has landed me on some watch list.  Woodworth himself has often written about incidences of FBI harassment in his own long publishing career.  The truth is evident: 75 years later, Big Brother is still watching.

Hot off the press 2

 Received earlier this week: Issue 126 of The Match!  This is the sporadically published 'zine from iconoclast Fred Woodworth to which I have subscribed for many years.  In fact, it is one of several publications the indefatigable Woodworth produces single-handedly and without use of any digital devices.  Indeed, Woodworth has no online presence and conducts his business completely in cash and via US postal mail.  As I've mentioned before, that alone captivates me as it feeds my typographical nostalgia.  The Match! is Woodworth's long lived "anarchist" 'zine (though he has recently shunned the use of the word).  With content more political than his literary 'zine, M&A Review, Woodworth has recently swerved from anti-authoritarian commentary to something more akin to MAGA conspiracy theories.  Despite that, and however much I may disagree with his political views, I always enjoy each issue when it arrives.  I mean, just consider- this issue includes a column that recalls material from previous issues of The Match! from 30, 40, and even 50 years ago!  Such dedication and longevity in itself is to be applauded.  Long may the analog typewriters and improvised offset printing press of Fred Woodworth live!

Hot off the press

 Another wonderful issue of one of my favorite 'zines landed in my mailbox today.  This is No. 62 of The Mystery and Adventure Series Review, published by Fred Woodworth.  Fred has been steadily putting out multiple publications since 1969.  He does this entirely without use of digital equipment of any kind.  Instead, he uses analog offset printing presses and associated gear of the sort that I remember from my teen years, working in my father's print shop in the 1980s.  It's painstaking and skilled work, made more challenging by the fact that supplies for the printing process are becoming difficult or impossible to obtain. To overcome the obstacles, Fred turns to his endless resourcefulness to improvise solutions for each problem.  I'm astonished by his technical and typographic knowledge, and his unstoppable drive to publish his catalog of 'zines.

This 'zine ostensibly focuses on boy's series books, but delves into many literary and typographic topics.  On top of all that, Fred has been publishing a novel which has been serialized over several past issues in the manner of Charles Dickens in the mid 1850s.  This issue of the Review contains the final chapters of The Sunken City, a Tom Quest novel.  The anachronistic charm of every aspect of this magazine really gets me where I live.  I've been a subscriber for over a decade now, and while the years are piling up for Fred, I hope he continues for many more.

End of the road

 For several years, I have subscribed to a number of 'zines.  A couple of these are of special interest to me from the standpoint of typography.  They are both "anarchist" 'zines of long, venerable tenure.  To me, they evoke the subversive atmosphere of the radical activist 'zines of the 1960s- produced in basements and distributed on street corners and read in coffee houses.  I have enjoyed subscribing to two of these for at least a decade though their publication track record goes back much further.  And they have things in common- both are produced without computers or any other sort of digital equipment, in the conventional way of printing I learned in my father's print shop in the early 1980s.  One, The Match!, is produced by Fred Woodworth via offset printing methods.  The other, The Cunningham Amendment, is really an art 'zine, produced, as the publisher commonly says, "The R Supward Press: Letterpress Printers of Subversive Ephemera - Salvaged Type - Discarded Inks - Obsolete Machines".  TCA has been published regularly by Peter Good since 1974 (first, as Anarchism Lancastrium), making this the 50th year of publication.  An astonishing accomplishment for a small, one-man operation.  The craftsmanship of TCA is amazing, especially in the digital age.  Multicolor, typeset by hand, and presented on fine paper, it's a joy to hold in one's hands.

Last week, I received the latest copy of TCA, which is always a highlight of my day.  But instantly, it was clear this issue was different.  It was tiny, compared to the standard format.  Only a few pages and hardly larger than a dollar bill.  Well, Peter Good has experimented with interesting formats in the past, I thought.  I read through the issue and absorbed the familiar bits of humor and wisdom, while marveling at the printing.  But then, I reached the last page, and the paragraph shown below.  After 50 years of publication, this was to be the last issue of The Cunningham Amendment.  I was shocked.  Poor health is given as a reason, which isn't a surprise.  In private correspondence, Dr. Good has told me of his weakening health. And sharp eyesight and dexterous fingers are required for typesetting a letterpress page.  But still, I am heartbroken if this is to be the last issue of such a long-lived publication.  I've written well wishes Peter Good, with my deepest thanks for all enjoyment he has given me over the years.  I hope his remaining days are comfortable, peaceful, and proud of his publishing legacy.

 

'Zine Day 2

 I've previously discussed the remarkable publishing efforts of Fred Woodworth, the Arizona based one man publishing house responsible for a number of varied publications.  One of them recently arrived- The Opera Glass.  This 'zine is edited by Iris Arnesen, who is responsible for its content, while Fred handles the computer-free printing.  Iris has a background in opera education and puts it to good use in this periodical.  She has a knack for writing compelling extended and detailed plot descriptions of recently performed operas, which are useful to novices like me who don't speak Italian but are interested in the story.  This issue includes Dead Man Walking by Jake Heggie, Don Giovanni by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and Florencia en al Amazonas by Daniel Catan. In this issue's column From the Editor, Iris laments the decline of opera attendance in New York, and the closure of the Metropolitan Opera Guild, along with the shuttering of the guild magazine Opera News.  Arnesen blames this all squarely on one person: Dr. Anthony Fauci, former director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Disease (NAIAD) and presidential advisor during the early stages of the Covid pandemic.  One might think that the reasons underlying the decline of live opera audiences are multifactorial, but Arnesen and Woodworth never miss a chance to vent their ire at Fauci, one of their favorite scapegoats.  As I've said before, I don't always agree with the politics of Woodworth & Arnesen, but I will always admire their dogged publishing efforts.

Opera Glass: Issue 107

Time Machine

 My day job as a research scientist, while very fulfilling, can often be repetitive, quiet, and solitary.  This lends itself to my heavy reliance on audio books to occupy my mind during the day's tasks.  Currently I am listening to The Duke's Children, by Anthony Trollope.  I am very partial to the English Victorian novelists, including Charles Dickens, Thomas Hardy, George Eliot, Trollope. Trollope was unique among them as he continued his day job while also being a prolific novelist: he was a senior official in the Royal Mail postal system.  In fact, he is responsible for the design of the characteristic English pillarbox mail collection box.  Therefore, many of his novels have characters writing letters which he describes in much more detail than any other author might.  As a postal enthusiast, I find this especially interesting.

The Duke's Children, by Anthony Trollope.  Folio Society edition.

My first venture into the tale of the Duke of Omnium was, however, not an audio book but a conventional paper one.  While I read the story, it struck me that though this was a common book, it was in a sense a time machine.  Somewhere in London two hundred years ago, a man sat at a table with a simple fountain pen, ink, and some paper.  With that and nothing more than his own creativity and imagination, he created the complex and elaborate world of the former Prime Minister of England and his family's dramas.  Copies of his writings were made by a then-painstaking printing process, and today are made by a more high-tech one.  As I read my book, I experienced in vivid detail the lifestyle of those who lived centuries ago.  Their speech, values, and daily activities were all brought forth to myself, living in the digital world of the 21st century.  Through a humble and simple book, a man's artistic skill and his contemporary lifestyle could be experienced by a modern reader.  Almost directly from his pen into my mind, 200 years later.  An astonishing achievement.

And if one is to read, why not do it with a little style?  The volume of this novel I read a few years ago was published by The Folio Society, a publisher who specializes in classics, printed and bound with extraordinary quality.  No cheap paperback, this.  My numbered, limited edition copy of Trollope's work was leatherbound, with handmade marbled endpapers and a high quality sewn binding.  It also was a complete version, restoring all the extensive text that Trollope grudgingly cut from his original manuscript in order to fit size requirements of his publishers at the time.  A companion text by a literary scholar is included, all contained in a hard slipcover.  As I say, if one reads, an elegant edition makes it all the more enjoyable.

While I enjoyed this novel the first time in its intended form, I now am re-reading (listening) to it via audio book.  This adds an additional layer of interpretation to the process, removing oneself slightly from direct commune with the author.  An audio book narrator can make or break the whole experience, but I have found one of the best.  When I obtain my audio books, my preference is for those read by Simon Vance.  He is simply the best.  A pleasant speaking voice, remarkable ability to give different voices to different characters' dialog, and an astonishing acting ability make him a leader in the field of audio book narration.