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It has recently been suggested that the Grafton edition of 1559 was not only the first of that year, but that it was printed even before Parliament sat. But the book not only quotes the Act of Supremacy accurately but its preliminaries also include the whole Act of Uniformity verbatim—and there are several other improbabilities and mistakes in that argument. This chapter also reveals that although every sheet of the 1552 book was duly reprinted in 1559 with the required revisions (each of which is discussed), Grafton had kept a large number of unused sheets from his last edition of 1552. Each of the surviving copies of his Elizabethan edition contains between one and twenty-three sheets recycled from his last Edwardian edition.
The story I have tried to tell in this book is complex in many ways: in the politics of the authorizing Acts of Parliament, in the evolution of the text itself, and in the rivalries and collaborations between the printers of the successive versions of the prayer book. It has therefore often been been necessary to depart from a strict chronological order. In this final chapter I have therefore tried to recapitulate the overall story, and the numerous separate conclusions, as a more continuous narrative.
The preliminaries of the Grafton edition and the first from ‘Jugge and Cawood’ show clear signs of cooperation and collaboration. The calendar quire in Grafton’s edition was printed for him by his former apprentice John Kingston; that in the other edition by Reyner Wolfe. In the main preliminary quire John Kingston printed three of the six sheets for Jugge and Cawood, one of which (probably a cancel) also appears in the Grafton edition. His contents list that backs the title-page is also identical in both editions. In the Grafton edition the other side of that sheet (with the almanack and the title-page with Grafton’s imprint) is also Kingston’s work, but Richard Jugge appears to have printed both the almanack and the title-page of ‘his’ edition. The evidence suggests that the two title-pages were printed on the same day.
Outlines Henry VIII’s attempt to impose uniformity on the English liturgy after breaking with Rome, the early careers of the printers Richard Grafton and Edward Whitchurch, and the progress through Parliament of the 1549 Act of Uniformity. Closely examines the printing of their first two 1549 editions of Thomas Cranmer’s Book of the Common Prayer, in which various irregularities show that changes and additions were made to the text while those editions were being printed. Concludes that the accepted assignment of priority to the Whitchurch edition known as STC 16267 is mistaken, and that the only extant copies of the real first edition are a few copies supposedly ‘made up’ and incomplete. Explains the evolution of the official limits on the retail price, and how each printer subcontracted parts of his reprints to other printers.
Briefly recounts the parliamentary history of the 1552 Act of Uniformity, the revision of the communion service, and some common misconceptions about the so-called ‘Black Rubric’. Shows that this time it was Edward Whitchurch who began printing from the manuscript copy while Richard Grafton reprinted the text from Whitchurch’s sheets. Explains that each printer once again subcontracted parts of some of his subsequent editions to other printers, and how each reduced the size of his reprints to reduce his costs once the official limits had been imposed on the retail price.
To reveal the sophisticated and nuanced calculus of English stationers, this chapter explores the recursive relationship between readers’ responses to printed herbals and the activities of the publishers who catered to them, as well as the shifting regulatory mechanisms that enabled stationers to navigate the amount of financial risk that herbal publication increasingly asked of them.
By exploring the decision-making processes that were made by English publishers and printers as they navigated both readers’ increasing demands for books and the regulations of the English crown and the City of London, Chapter 2 demonstrates how regulatory, economic, and material constraints upon the manufacture of English books as commodities affected their production. It considers how the English crown’s early directed efforts to control the spread of heretical and seditious material influenced herbal production, as well as the way that the circumstances of print publication changed radically in 1557 with the incorporation of the Stationers’ Company of London.
Bibliographers have been notoriously 'hesitant to deal with liturgies', and this volume bridges an important gap with its authoritative examination of how the Book of Common Prayer came into being. The first edition of 1549, the first Grafton edition of 1552 and the first quarto edition of 1559 are now correctly identified, while Peter W. M. Blayney shows that the first two editions of 1559 were probably finished on the same day. Through relentless scrutiny of the evidence, he reveals that the contents of the 1549 version continued to evolve both during and after the printing of the first edition, and that changes were still being made to the Elizabethan revision weeks after the Act of Uniformity was passed. His bold reconstruction is transformative for the early Anglican liturgy, and thus for the wider history of the Church of England. This major, revisionist work is a remarkable book about a remarkable book.
Between 1525 and 1640, a remarkable phenomenon occurred in the world of print: England saw the production of more than two dozen editions identified by their imprints or by contemporaries as 'herbals'. Sarah Neville explains how this genre grew from a series of tiny anonymous octavos to authoritative folio tomes with thousands of woodcuts, and how these curious works quickly became valuable commodities within a competitive print marketplace. Designed to serve readers across the social spectrum, these rich material artifacts represented both a profitable investment for publishers and an opportunity for authors to establish their credibility as botanists. Highlighting the shifting contingencies and regulations surrounding herbals and English printing during the sixteenth and early seventeenth century, the book argues that the construction of scientific authority in Renaissance England was inextricably tied up with the circumstances governing print. This title is also available as Open Access on Cambridge Core.
In the years 1900–20, polar exploration and high-altitude mountaineering became entrenched as features of British newspapers and the pictorial press. Meeting and propagating the appetites of an emerging audience of ‘armchair’ explorers, such publications exploited the opportunities afforded by new printing technologies to offer eye-catching typography and photographic images that conveyed the scale of Alpine adventure, and put the wastes of polar snows into the hands of the reader. Meanwhile, reporting on labour disputes connected to the British mining industry offered the yin to exploration’s icy yang: the chance to convey the greys and blacks of mines and miners through the liberal application of ink. This relationship between the black/white of the mines/snows and the black/white of the page can be seen triangulated by a further force: literary modernism’s development of a kind of spatialised moral economy. This chapter considers the tensions between a press in transition, an armchair audience in the waning days of exploration, and a body of literary work that made the most of the greyscale and the vertical axis in offering to the reader a moral and emotional landscape.
Christopher Celenza is one of the foremost contemporary scholars of the Renaissance. His ambitious new book focuses on the body of knowledge which we now call the humanities, charting its roots in the Italian Renaissance and exploring its development up to the Enlightenment. Beginning in the fifteenth century, the author shows how thinkers like Lorenzo Valla and Angelo Poliziano developed innovative ways to read texts closely, paying attention to historical context, developing methods to determine a text's authenticity, and taking the humanities seriously as a means of bettering human life. Alongside such novel reading practices, technology – the invention of printing with moveable type – fundamentally changed perceptions of truth. Celenza also reveals how luminaries like Descartes, Diderot, and D'Alembert – as well as many lesser-known scholars – challenged traditional ways of thinking. Celenza's authoritative narrative demonstrates above all how the work of the early modern humanist philosophers had a profound impact on the general quest for human wisdom. His magisterial volume will be essential reading for all those who value the humanities and their fascinating history.
This study developed an assessment tool that was based on the objective structured assessment for technical skills principles, to be used for evaluation of surgical skills in cortical mastoidectomy. The objective structured assessment of technical skill is a well-established tool for evaluation of surgical ability. This study also aimed to identify the best material and printing method to make a three-dimensional printed temporal bone model.
Twenty-four otolaryngologists in training were asked to perform a cortical mastoidectomy on a three-dimensional printed temporal bone (selective laser sintering resin). They were scored according to the objective structured assessment of technical skill in temporal bone dissection tool developed in this study and an already validated global rating scale.
Two external assessors scored the candidates, and it was concluded that the objective structured assessment of technical skill in temporal bone dissection tool demonstrated some main aspects of validity and reliability that can be used in training and performance evaluation of technical skills in mastoid surgery.
Apart from validating the new tool for temporal bone dissection training, the study showed that evolving three-dimensional printing technologies is of high value in simulation training with several advantages over traditional teaching methods.
The use of three-dimensional (3D) printing in surgery is expanding and there is a focus on comprehensively evaluating the clinical impact of this technology. However, although additional costs are one of the main limitations to its use, little is known about its economic impact. The purpose of this systematic review is to identify the costs associated with its use and highlight the first quantitative data available.
A systematic literature review was conducted in the PubMed and Embase databases and in the National Health Service Economic Evaluation Database (NHS EED) at the University of York. Studies that reported an assessment of the costs associated with the use of 3D printing for surgical application and published between 2009 and 2019, in English or French, were included.
Nine studies were included in our review. Nine types of costs were identified, the three main ones being printing material costs (n = 6), staff costs (n = 3), and operating room costs (n = 3). The printing cost ranged from less than U.S. dollars (USD) 1 to USD 146 (in USD 2019 values) depending on the criteria used to calculate this cost. Three studies evaluated the potential savings generated by the use of 3D printing technology in surgery, based on operating time reduction.
This literature review highlights the lack of reliable economic data on 3D printing technology. Nevertheless, this review makes it possible to identify expenditures or items that should be considered in order to carry out more robust studies.
Moving on to the production and the sale of books, the chapter first considers laywomen and nuns as scribes, showing how some convents became centres for the copying of manuscripts for their own use or sometimes for sale. It then studies the ways in which some laywomen were able to contribute to the running of their families’ printing and bookselling businesses, and it describes cases in which some religious orders promoted or even assisted in the printing of books.
The chapter focuses on the initial circulation of texts in written form. It asks how female authors promoted the publication of their own works in manuscript and print, showing how women copied these works or had them copied and how they gradually became more confident in entering the public world of print publication. It considers how women in the role of patrons promoted the circulation of manuscript and printed texts composed by others, mainly by men. It then shows to what extent and why women were chosen to play another kind of role in the print publication of texts, by acting as dedicatees for authors, editors and publishers.
Samuel Clemens was born in 1835 in Missouri. He spent his childhood by the Mississippi River in Hannibal, Missouri. He was a printer’s apprentice, then was a journeyman printer, then earned a pilot’s license on the Mississippi River. He went west to Nevada, avoiding the Civil War, then became a newspaper writer. In February 1863, he signed an article with the pen name “Mark Twain,” beginning the creation of his alter ego. His 1867 trip to Europe and the Holy Land led to his travel book The Innocents Abroad. Upon his return to America, he met Olivia Langdon in Elmira, New York, and they married in 1870. A son, Langdon, died in infancy, but Sam and Livy had three daughters: Susie, Clara, and Jean. Most summers were spent in Elmira, where Twain composed many of his most famous works, including The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. He turned his attention to business adventures, including starting his own publishing company, but also a series of investments, most of which ended in failure. In his last decade, he increasingly spoke out about politics. He died in 1910, his popularity assured by his works and his public persona.
Publishing in Mark Twain’s lifetime underwent several technological revolutions, and Twain was at the center of many of them. His work as a typesetter gave him insight into the publishing process, which changed from intense manual labor in his younger days to increased automation by his later years. For most of his books, rather than publish through traditional publishing houses, he used subscription publishing, which involved door-to-door salesmen who showed prospective books to customers who ordered them for later delivery. He became a publisher himself when he started his own firm in 1885, successful at first with the publication of Huckleberry Finn and Grant’s autobiography, but ultimately a failure.
Jean Calvin and Martin Luther never met, a circumstance neither of them had much cause to regret. While Martin Luther fought his existential struggle with the papacy in the 1520s, Calvin was still in receipt of a clerical prebend; the German church was well established before Calvin was forced, with some hesitation, to throw in his lot with the reformers. What both men shared was a clear understanding of the power of print. For Luther, this was an instinctive grasp of pamphleteering, how a direct appeal to a lay audience could neutralise the traditional sources of church power. Calvin’s journey was more studied. His first quest for authorial fame was a painful humiliation, a callow and premature attempt to walk in the footsteps of Erasmus. From the failure of this project the young scholar learned an important lesson, that if the print industry had ever hastened to follow the humanist agenda, those days were long gone. This was now a pragmatic alliance. Printers loved Luther because he made them money; his Catholic opponents struggled with the medium because they did not. Calvin, too, in his studied, thoughtful way, would conquer print, and in the process make of Geneva a second powerhouse of Reformation publishing. But like so much else in his life, this was a pragmatic triumph, an application of his extraordinary intelligence to a necessary task.