By Kevin McKinney, Library Assistant and Kate Rowland, Exhibitions Assistant
The Grolier Club Library has rotating exhibits of books from our collections in four small cases in the reading room. The following text and examples come from the current exhibit, “Enemies of Books” installed on September 28, 2023. The Library is always open to Grolier Club members during our regular hours, and researchers may visit with an appointment by emailing our Librarian.
This exhibition takes its name from William Blades’ The Enemies of Books. Originally published in 1880, just a few years before the Grolier Club’s founding, Enemies is a classic of bibliophilic writing, packed with anecdotes collected over the years Blades spent working on his census of William Caxton in Britain’s libraries. We find Blades cited in many texts on the then emerging field of book conservation, and his attitude towards custodianship was an influence on collectors and librarians of his time.
These objects prompt readers to consider who exactly are the “enemies of books,” using Blades’ list as a starting point. This exhibition puts items from the Grolier Club library in conversation with each other and with Blades, bringing to light the biting beasts, negligent owners, and natural forces some books have had the misfortune to meet. What do we learn about the long life of a particular book when we consider it through the lens of its enemies, natural and artificial? What can we learn about the people who collect books, and the environments in which books accumulate? Some of the “enemies” on display add to our appreciation of the books they interact with, where damage demands our attention in a way an unblemished page might not. Others destroy books completely, diminishing their physical and historical value. We invite you to come to your own conclusions about the items on display here, whether you accept what you see with open arms or a shaken fist.
A foldout of a bookworm from William Blades. The Enemies of Books. London: Trübner & c., 1881. 
A Woodburytype of a bookworm-eaten Caxton from William Blades. The Enemies of Books. London: Trübner & c., 1881. 
A bookworm-eaten page from Giovanni Boccaccio. Genealogiae deorum. [Venice]: [Bonetus Locatellus, for Octavianus Scotus], [23 Feb. 1494/95].
Blades spared no biblioclast, whether human or non-human. The infamous bookworm is given distinct emphasis through Robert Hooke’s grotesque yet stunning illustration. The finely detailed magnification brings readers too close for comfort with this insectile delinquent whose voracious appetite, marked in the extracted photo and 15th century book exhibited beside it, would have haunted the shelves of avid readers and collectors alike. In a previous page Blades writes, “Their tasteless tooth will tear and taint / The Poet, Patriot, Sage or Saint.”
The first biography of Peiresc translated into English gives us some insight into the state of his library: “And by reason of mice which did gnaw his Books and Papers in his Chamber, he became a Lover of Cats, which he had formerly hated.” This binding, which belonged to Peiresc, was almost too perfectly restored in 2019, leaving just a slight seam where once there was a jagged hole. We might imagine that one of the mice infesting his library had chewed through the leather covering the spine, exposing the binding structure and manuscript waste underneath.
Following fashionable trends, founding Grolier Club member Robert Hoe had this late 18th century copy of Cato Major rebound in red crushed morocco. However, his effort made “in vogue” ostensibly destroyed evidence of its contemporary binding. When presenting the book to David Wolfe Bruce in 1876, Hoe cheekily acknowledges his annihilative act, writing: “I am sorry it has not a real old worn out binding upon it which, judging from your remarks the other day, might meet your approval more than span new morocco.”
Portable books that see frequent use are remarkably vulnerable to damage. This 17th century binding once covered a 14th century York Breviary, perhaps replacing a worn-out earlier binding. Modern researchers working on the breviary found this binding surprisingly tight, making the book essentially unreadable. Efforts made to disbind the book revealed a reckless 20th century re-backing. The text was crudely cut across the quire folds, and resewn through the gutters of individual leaves. The lone binding shown here presents a cautionary tale about how these busy books are worked to death and brought into benevolent danger.
Bookbinders often used waste paper from both printed books and manuscripts as material for bindings. These manuscript leaves, likely dating from the early 14th century based on the script and paper evidence, were pounded flat and pasted together to form an early modern cardboard for bookbinding in the 15th or 16th century. A later collector delaminated the pasteboard, allowing us to view the original manuscript as well as traces of the leaves’ later lives as part of the binding for another book.
Blades calls Sir Thomas Phillipps a “bibliotaph,” a burier or entomber of books. Phillipps collected tens of thousands of manuscripts, some complete, and many more in fragments, acquiring with a speed, fervor, and abandon that left little time for description or organization. This particular document, with its many seals and mention of the “kingmaker” Richard Neville, 16th Earl of Warwick, reflects Sir Thomas’s interest in English history and genealogy. These manuscripts were laid to rest in the “coffin-like boxes” Phillipps had built in lieu of bookcases, ready to be carried to safety in the event of a fire. The Grolier Club acquired three of these boxes, teeming with disorganized fragments, in 2003. The boxes sit empty in the Phillipps room; the bulk of the manuscripts were removed to offsite storage following a mold outbreak in 2021.
Handwritten notice of the burning of the bulk of George Offor’s collection in John Wilkinson & Edward Grose Hodge. Catalogue of the important and valuable library of the late George Offor, Esq. of Grove House, Hackney. [London]: Sotheby, Wilkinson & Hodge, 1865. 
A page including a charred book salvaged from the Sotheby warehouse from Catalogue of the unrivalled collection of the works of John Bunyan forming part of the renowned library of the late Sir R. Leicester Harmsworth, Bt., LL.D. (and now sold by order of the trustees). London: Sotheby & Co., 1947.
After his death, George Offor’s extensive book collection was scheduled to be auctioned off at Sotheby’s over 11 days. On June 29th – two days into the sale – the warehouse went up in flames, scorching nearly all items for sale. Traces of this disaster can be found in both the annotation, seen here, and littered throughout the subsequent 1947 Catalog. Buyer beware; Sotheby & co. was dealing with Offor’s damaged goods.
In his chapter on water, Blades complains about the poor quality of paper manufactured in the early 19th century. This paper “carried the seeds of decay in itself” and developed brownish-red stains when exposed to airborne moisture. Blades singles out Dibdin’s bibliographical works as particularly marred by these “’foxey’ stains.” Sure enough, this copy of Dibdin’s Bibliographical Decameron is foxed throughout.
Where some may see vandalism, others see artistic enlightenment. Though Blades implies that young children are “enemies at work” for literary destruction, Press is enamored by how their meddling matures to enhance the source material. Here, Press documents an array of girls who have boldly “talked back to their books”. Thanks to Anne, Sam Sunday can spend the rest of his days basking in the sunlight – and always have his story kickoff with a bang!
The ill-intentioned vandal is perhaps the most hated enemy of books, but a vandal’s marks can testify to early owners’ reading habits. The club’s copy of Horace’s collected works is packed with annotations, doodles, and cancellations. One reader took their pen to this page with gusto. The woodcut illustrates Ode 2.8, a poem of either half-hearted admonition or grudging admiration for a beautiful and unfaithful woman. We can only speculate as to why our reader literally de-faced the figures of Horace and a male suitor but spared the ever-alluring Barine.
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