Welcome to the Kenneth Spencer Research Library blog! As the special collections and archives library at the University of Kansas, Spencer is home to remarkable and diverse collections of rare and unique items. Explore the blog to learn about the work we do and the materials we collect.
James Coffin’s postcard from Jefferson Barracks, Missouri. James and Fern Nelson-Coffin Collection. Call Number: RH MS 1501. Click image to enlarge.
James Coffin’s postcard to Fern Nelson from Salt Lake City, September 1942. “I’m on my way again,” he writes, “destination undisclosed.” James and Fern Nelson-Coffin Collection. Call Number: RH MS 1501. Click image to enlarge.
The 99th BG trained with B-17s and moved initially to North Africa, assigned to the Twelfth Air Force. From there, strategic bombing missions were carried out against targets in Tunisia, Sardinia, Sicily, and Italy. By December 1943, the 99th was transferred to the Fifteenth Air Force station in Italy, where they remained until the end of the war.
For the most part, Jimmie Coffin’s letters at Spencer were addressed to his future wife, Fern Berniece Nelson (1914-2018), with a few letters from Fern to Jimmie preserved in the collection as well. His letters from the front lines focus on the personal rather than the military actions going on. Censorship prohibited writing about missions – not even mentions of the weather were permitted. He writes about what he’s fed, new movies he’s had the chance to see, and responses to the many inquiries of her letters. But most importantly, he repeats how much he misses her and misses home.
A tender and heartfelt letter from Fern to Jimmie, dated Christmas Eve, 1943. James and Fern Nelson-Coffin Collection. Call Number: RH MS 1501. Click image to enlarge.
As the war progressed, Jimmie’s letters moved from the North African Theater of Operations for the U. S. Army (NATOUSA) to Italy. The collection of letters ends in 1945 with the conclusion of the war. Coffin stayed in the service for several years thereafter, receiving his discharge in 1952 as a Technical Sergeant (T/SGT). After leaving the service, he led a career as a pharmacist.
The James and Fern Nelson Coffin collection (Call Number: RH MS 1501) offers a powerful, intimate window of the human experience of war. The letters show the enduring power of love and the pain of separation. They serve as a poignant reminder of the lifelines of family and home amidst global conflict. This collection is but one example of countless stories, both documented and untold, that bridged the long distances of the home front and front lines. May their words ensure the hopes and dreams of reunion not be forgotten.
Last month, the J. Wayne and Elsie M. Gunn Center for the Study of Science Fiction hosted the fourth annual Sturgeon Symposium, “Expanding Speculative Horizons,” to showcase contemporary speculative fiction scholarship and writing and to present the Theodore Sturgeon Award. I was able to attend the first day of the Symposium and began thinking about the relationship between the Kenneth Spencer Research Library and the speculative fiction community.
KSRL holds a variety of speculative fiction collections in Special Collections, and my colleagues in the manuscripts processing department have had the joy of working on these collections. I’ve chosen a small slice of this material—four of Spencer’s collections—to spotlight here to the variety that exits in speculative fiction.
Theodore Sturgeon (MS 303, MS 254), the namesake of the Symposium and Award, was a speculative writer who wrote ten novels, including More than Human (1953), but is perhaps best remembered for his many short stories. Sturgeon’s speculative fiction often explored social issues and pushed back on societal norms; his 1953 short story “The World Well Lost” won the Gaylactic Spectrum “Hall of Fame” award in 2000, for example. Sturgeon’s writings covered a variety of genres, and several other speculative fiction creatives can be found in this collection, including Octavia Butler; Ray Bradbury; Judith Merril; Roy Thomas, a Marvel Comics editor and author; and Gene Roddenberry, the creator of Star Trek, to name a few.
Theodore Sturgeon’s typewriter. Papers of Theodore Sturgeon. Call #: MS 359, box 2
Mary Rosenblum (MS 362) was a finalist for the Theodore Sturgeon award in 1998 with “The Good Juror,” a story she co-authored with James Sarafin, and was also a finalist for the Nebula Award in 2008 for her novelette “Night Wind.”[1] But what interested me about the Rosenblum collection was how Rosenblum explored speculative fiction horizons through an environmental lens. In her novel Drylands, Rosenblum wrote about the dangers of climate change and the exploitation of resources in a post-apocalyptic setting. While speculative fiction is no stranger to exploring alternate histories and cautionary futures, Rosenblum’s Drylands was one I had never heard of before. It had been a Locus First Novel Award nominee, and I was pleasantly surprised to find her collection while researching KSRL’s speculative fiction holdings.
Opening page of “Second Chance” by Mary Rosenblum, annotated with editorial and copyediting marks. Mary Rosenblum papers, Call #: MS 362, Box 2, Folder 19.
Spencer Library doesn’t just have speculative fiction writers; much of Terry Lee’s original speculative fiction artwork can also be found here (MS 391). Lee is a KU graduate and a former font designer for Hallmark. He won a Chesley Award in 1988 for his cover artwork for the January 1987 issue of Amazing Stories.
Acrylic painting by Terry Lee for “Aymara” by Lucius Shepard, which served as the cover illustration for the August 1986 issue of Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine. Terry Lee papers. Call #: MS Qa 56, Box 1, Folder 5.
Finally, Spencer holds the papers of William F. Wu (MS 367). Wu is a speculative fiction writer whose works have been published in Amazing Stories, Analog, and Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine, amongst others, and has been nominated for the Nebula, World Fantasy, and Hugo awards. Wu’s academic interest in Asian American representation in popular culture led to him writing The Yellow Peril: Chinese Americans in American Fiction, 1850-1940 (1982), which had its origins as his doctoral dissertation. From convention materials to correspondence to comic books, William Wu’s collection provides researchers with a wealth of speculative fiction materials.
Outline (left) and draft for Perihelion (right) by William F. Wu, the sixth book in the Isaac Asimov’s Robot City (1988). Asimov’s introduction for the volume appears at the top of the draft. William F. Wu papers. Call # MS 367, Box 13, Folders 12 and 13.
Speculative fiction continues to be an ever-evolving field of literature, with new and exciting visions and interpretations of reality arriving each year. I’m already excited for next year’s Sturgeon Symposium and Theodore Sturgeon Award presentation. But in the meantime, there’s still other speculative fiction horizons to explore at Spencer Research Library!
Want to explore further? Check out these other speculative fiction collections:
Kij Johnson papers, MS 377, Kenneth Spencer Research Library, University of Kansas.
John Kessel papers, MS 358, Kenneth Spencer Research Library, University of Kansas.
Round Robin collection, MS P769, Kenneth Spencer Research Library, University of Kansas.
A. E. van Vogt Collection, MS 322, Kenneth Spencer Research Library, University of Kansas.
Molly Bauer Manuscripts Processor
[1] The winner of the 2008 Nebula Award in the novelette category was another writer whose papers reside at Spencer Research Library, John Kessel. He won for his novelette “Pride and Prometheus.”
“The Arsenic Waltz. The New Dance of Death. (Dedicated to the Green Wreath and Dress-Mongers.)” Punch, or The London Charivari, February 8, 1862. Call Number: AP 101. P8. Click image to enlarge.
In 1775, the chemist Carl Wilhelm Scheele developed a striking shade of green that proliferated in the Western markets, creating a cultural phenomenon that could be — and in some cases was — deadly. Scheele’s green, a brighter and cheaper pigment to produce than previously popular shades, was one of many arsenical compounds that was used in soap, clothing, wallpaper, and even food for much of the nineteenth century. But the arsenic present in Scheele’s green (and pigments like it) can still be unsafe when handled for extended periods, which means a book that contains this Victorian Era pigment could pose its own risks today.
A book covered in vibrant green, arsenic-positive paper. Die Staatsforstwirthschaftslehre. Berg, Karl. Leipzig, 1850. Call Number: Howey C1895. Click image to enlarge.
Step One: Publication Date
At the beginning of the nineteenth century, bookbinders began constructing their own covers separately from the main textblock of each book. This, along with the introduction of a new cover material called bookcloth, allowed Victorian Era book covers to be elaborately dyed and decorated with an array of pigments; Scheele’s green and Paris green (or emerald green, or copper acetoarsenite) being the most arsenic-rich among them. Tracking these new developments, arsenical bookbindings are most likely to be found between the years 1820 and 1880, when the pigments began to be phased out slowly and irregularly across different regions. Because of this, any green book published in the nineteenth century could be a contender.
Three volumes from various Spencer collections. Books A and C tested positive for arsenic; book B did not. Call Numbers: Book A, Children 1256. Book B, Children 1599. Book C, B12009. Click image to enlarge.
Step Two: Pigment
Arsenical pigmentscan take many forms, but they are most associated with the vibrant, almost neon shade of green that is shown in the first image, of Die Staatsforstwirthschaftslehre. In some cases, arsenical green stands out like a poison dart frog, but in other cases it’s not so clear. Many of the arsenical titles we’ve identified in KU’s collections align with this typical green pigment, but there have also been some surprises, such as the bright blue book in the image above, or greens that appear to be Scheele’s or emerald but chemically are not. This is where X-Ray Fluorescence (XRF) technology comes in.
The conservation lab’s XRF machine set up to test a 19th-century book for the presence of heavy metals. Click image to enlarge.
An arsenic-positive spectrum produced from an XRF test. Click image to enlarge.
Step Three: XRF Technology
Due to all these variables, the only sure way to identify a poison book is to test it. In the Spencer Research Library’s conservation lab, we’ve been using XRF technology to test KU’s 19th-century books as part of a larger effort protecting patrons against potentially toxic heavy metals. This machine produces a spectrum graph that allows us to identify which elements are present in an item. Through this process, we’ve identified a number of “poison books” which can now be properly labeled, contained, and served in the reading room with appropriate precautions assuring that the information in a potentially harmful book remains accessible while the patron handling it remains safe.
By Reece Wohlford, Heavy Metals in Bookbinding Project Student Assistant
What makes a monster, well, monstrous? Monsters carry the fears of the people that create them, tapping into existential dreads and cultural tensions to flay our superficial defenses and expose the weak societal organs and vulnerabilities beneath. Today, our monsters array from the cannibalistic and supernatural vampires of Sinners to Barbarian’s brutal, lonesome and pitiable Mother – and the movie’s true monster, a landlord.
In the later Middle Ages, however, monsters sometimes played a more ambivalent role than violent antagonists. The word “monster” derives from the Latin “monēre” or “to warn, to admonish.” These monsters embodied omens or manifested God’s admonishment of human behavior, inviting conscious and deliberate analysis and contemplation on their meanings. So-called “monstrous races” were born from tales and anecdotes of human and human-like peoples born in far-off lands, repurposing anecdotal entrails from the Bible and classical authors like Pliny the Elder into haruspices of divine interpretation. They were frequent subjects of fascination and debate for their meanings, paired with prodigies and marvels as the myriad ways that God’s will manifested in nature and the real world, as well as theological debates as to whether such races possessed souls and could be converted to Christianity.
Konrad Lykosthenes was one such interpreter, a humanist and encyclopedist who sought to sew together a comprehensive history of signs, prodigies, and portents from biblical times into his own modernity with his Prodigiorum ac ostentorvm chronicon [Chronicle of Prodigies and Signs]. He built a body of text from the limbs of other historical and contemporary sources onto which he sutured his own interpretations. These portents included everything from natural disasters like earthquakes to the appearance of mythical and monstrous creatures, as well as so-called “wonders,” “marvels,” and “monstrous” births. His work proved sensationalist and popular, a theological treatise that leaned lurid and sometimes traded on the grisly and gruesome to appeal to a wider audience.
An image of monstrous races from Lykosthenes’ Prodigiorum, including a “scioped” or “monopod” – a mythological one-footed race of people drawn from Greek classical literature. Lykosthenes, Konrad. Prodigiorvm ac ostentorvm chronicon. Basil: Henricvm Petri, 1557. Call Number: Summerfield E392. Click image to enlarge.
By the end of the sixteenth century, science and medicine had pierced their talons into the tender underbelly of the study of monstrosities, clawing it away from the sole purview of priests, philosophers, and theologians. With that shift, natural historians like Ulisse Aldrovandi and physicians like Fortunio Liceti dissected the meanings of monstrosities not as reflections of divine will or intent, but as natural phenomena that could be classified and analyzed under the newly invented microscope.
Ulisse Aldrovandi sought to document all forms of nature, collecting a cabinet of curiosity with over 7,000 specimens – including an alleged and infamous dragon, likely fabricated by grafting together the stuffed carcasses of other animals. From those studies and collections he wrote over 400 volumes on everything from mollusks to metals. Monsters were a natural inclusion, and thus was wrought his Monstrorum Historia, the eleventh of a fourteen-volume encyclopedia. It bled together what we today treat as unequivocally monstrous creatures – centaurs and satyrs – with concepts that today we might conceive as mere medical conditions, such as neurofibromatosis or hypertrichosis, transplanting alien viscera of exotic monstrosity into the hollow body cavity of the reader’s imagination and understanding of nature. Aldrovandi’s amalgamation of monstrous creatures, humans, and hybrids reflected an ambition to reflect a complete and total natural history of monsters in parallel to birds, fish, and all of the natural world, rather than flensing the impossible from the plausible like extraneous fat from muscle and meat.
A “monstrous marine horse,” and a “demon-formed marine monster.” Aldrovandi, Ulisse. [Works] Monstrorum Historia [Histories of Monsters]. Bologna: Nicolaus Tebaldinus and others, 1637. Call Number: Ellis Aves E70. Click image to enlarge.
In De Monstrorum causibus [On the Causes of Monsters], Fortunio Liceti, meanwhile, purported to analyze monsters not only as a phenomena born from nature – or “nature’s mistakes” or even its jokes and pranks – rather than divine will, but also sought their causes and their taxonomic classifications a landmark in teratology – the study of monsters which today has come to mean the study of congenital birth defects. The modern conflation is no accident, as Liceti’s work treats them as one and the same: monsters were born, not made, and his work discusses everything from dog-headed humans to conjoined twins, framed in antithesis to the ideal or perfect human body that was increasingly the focus of medical study.
Liceti described monsters not as warnings or admonishments but as “showings,” claiming that the term derived from “monstrare,” or “to demonstrate or show.” His examination of “monsters” demystified them and challenged the portentous interpretations of monstrosities that deemed them a reflection of the wrath of God upon the parent or their community writ large. This metamorphosed monstrosities into something not inherently ominous or harrowing but still oozing with interpretations.
A pig with the face of a human, and a cat with a pair of human legs, in which Liceti explains the causes of monsters born with the limbs or body parts of multiple species. Liceti, Fortunio. De monstrorum caussis, natura, et differentiis libri duo… 2. ed. [On the Causes, Nature, and Differences of Monsters]. Patavii [Padua]: Apud Paulum Frambottum, 1634. Call Number: Summerfield C802. Click image to enlarge.
As we examine historical horrors, it invites a vivisection of our own insecurities and fears, to peel back the flesh of our society and examine the sinews beneath that tie together our own identities: What do we think of as monstrous, and why? When does humanity itself become monstrous? And when something goes bump in the night, what are we really afraid of?
All of above books will be on display at this year’s Haunting Humanities event this Wednesday, October 29th, 5:30 to 9pm at Abe and Jake’s Landing (800 E. 6th Street), together with an array of horrifying, prodigious, and compelling activities, including a monstrously-themed escape room in a box, coloring pages, Rare Book Bingo, monster reviews, and more. Come contemplate the meanings of monstrosity with us and walk away with your own nightmares to divine.
I started working on this exhibit as part of an effort to tie Spencer materials in with this year’s KU Reads Common Book, John Green’s Anthropocene Reviewed. When I first started thinking about this exhibit, my idea was to collect things I thought people might be interested in reviewing themselves. I looked at the library’s first-edition copy of I Am Legend by Richard Matheson (Call Number: ASF B643). I looked at a gorgeous bound volume from Special Collections with binding I’d never seen before (Call Number: B10546). I even pulled and contemplated items from the Kansas State Seals collection (Call Number: RH MS Q428), wondering if there was a way I could somehow work a seal into the display.
The process of creating a display is by necessity dialectical. You might pull items with a particular theme in mind, only to discover that another theme might be more appropriate. In some ways, having the exterior guide of Green’s essays helped to eliminate some of that back and forth.
I thought that I knew what I would end up writing about with each of the items by the time I finalized my selection. With the KU Monopoly game, I thought I would write about my childhood experiences (or lack thereof) playing Monopoly. But as I was looking through the box, trying to decide how I would want to have it set up in the display, I discovered a little sticky note describing the item as a gift to the archive.
The inside lid of KU Monopoly with an attached sticky note that reads “Christmas gift from Sandy Mason to the Archives Dec 20, 2004.” Alexandra “Sandy” Mason was Spencer’s first librarian; she worked at KU from 1957 until she retired in 1999. Call Number: RG 0/Artifacts. Click image to enlarge.
“Wild Geese Flying” (Call Number: MS P650) was sent as a Christmas card by poet Barbara Howes, and I initially thought that I would write primarily about the idea of sending a poem as a card. As I sat with the item, however, I became captivated by the poem itself. It’s more about the idea of geese than about an encounter with an individual member of goose-dom. It’s about the transience of migratory birds. It made me think about how so much of what we strive for here is permanence, or something like it, and how almost everything we keep here is vulnerable to time.
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“Wild Geese Flying,” a poem that Barbara Howes sent as a Christmas card in 1966. Correspondence, Poems, and Reviews By and About Barbara Howes. Call Number: MS P650. Click image to enlarge.
Green says in The Anthropocene Reviewed that “there are no disinterested observers, only participants” (p. 5). I initially read this as a commentary on how the act of observing something – what we choose to give our attention to – is inherently an expression of our agency. But I think that it also speaks to the fact that it’s hard to be really, truly disinterested if you pay enough attention. Nothing is ever quite as straightforward as it seems, as this display has so aptly shown me.
The Uncommon Books exhibit will be open in Spencer’s North Gallery through December 1. The display is accompanied by a page on the Lawrence Reviews website. Feel free to stop by and write your own review!
