Armitage: Death of King Arthur

Simon Armitage, trans. The Death of King Arthur. New York: Norton, 2012.

 Reviewed by Leah Haught (leah.haught@lmc.gatech.edu)

Originally released as a hardcover edition in December 2011, Norton’s December 2012 publication of Simon Armitage’s verse translation of the Alliterative Morte Arthure (The Death of King Arthur) as a paperback will undoubtedly cause this edition of the poem, which aims to make the late fourteenth or early fifteenth-century poem accessible to modern audiences “in unflinching and gory detail,” to be more broadly circulated among scholars and poetry aficionados alike [1]. Presented as a facing-page translation alongside Larry D. Benson’s 1974 transcription of the Middle English text, Armitage’s rendition is a handsome addition to the relatively short list of texts that place their translations of the Alliterative Morte in continuous dialogue with the language and style of the original poem. Of equal if not more interest for scholars of medievalism, the edition also sheds light on the processes through which modern poets engage with and represent the medieval past in their work.

This is not Armitage’s first engagement with a medieval text in print. In 2006 he released a poetic translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the success of which seemed to take everyone, including Armitage, a bit by surprise. In the acknowledgements to that edition, Armitage outlines a series of fortunate coincidences that led him to the “conviction that I was put on the planet for no other reason than to work on this poem” [2]. He cites a range of experiences as contributing to this conviction, from conversations with other poets while traveling to memories of other poetic translations by the likes of Ted Hughes and J.R.R. Tolkien. Positioning himself as but one in a long line of postmedieval authors who recognize Gawain as a verse masterpiece, Armitage also relates a personal narrative of wonder and admiration. A northerner himself, his introductory materials describe the thrill associated with recognizing much of the poem’s vocabulary and geography as distinctly northern, a thrill he would go on to explore in more detail in a 2009 BBC documentary [3]. While a brief outline of Gawain’s known history is provided, Armitage’s introduction is more interested in explaining the choices he made as a translator of this highly sophisticated, canonical text. For example, although he chooses to preserve the poem’s alliterative style, he does not seek to do so using the direct modern equivalents of the Middle English vocabulary; the ultimate goal being “to harmonize with the original rather than transcribe every last word of it” [4].

The Death of King Arthur in many ways continues this trajectory as is suggested by the note on its cover, “from the translator of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.” Armitage’s name now has cultural capital as a popular translator of medieval poems in addition to being an award winning poet in his own right. Perhaps this is why the introductory materials for this new edition are considerably less inclined to detail Armitage’s choices as a translator and, indeed, as a poet. In lieu of a personal narrative of awe, readers are given a detailed account of the Arthurian legend’s development from early Welsh folklore through Malory’s Le Morte Darthur. This speaks volumes about the role specific medieval texts play in contemporary perceptions of a medieval literary canon. Instead of explaining the artistic rationale for undertaking yet another translation of a widely admired poem, Armitage’s introduction (there is no afterword) to Death spends the better part of its eight pages contextualizing its source text as an important contribution to medieval Arthuriana; translation: the Alliterative Morte is no Gawain. But the fact that Norton (Faber & Faber in Britain) commissioned a second translation of a lesser known work and that Armitage willingly rose to the challenge of producing this translation also speaks volumes about the appeal of both Arthuriana and medieval literature for a wide variety of modern audiences.

Indeed, much of what Armitage does tell us about his approach to his latest translation seems to have audience, in the broadest sense of the word, in mind. Calling the Alliterative Morte an example of “sophisticated literary structure and storytelling at its very best,” Armitage nevertheless identifies several challenges facing a contemporary translator or reader of the poem that he addresses in one capacity or another [5]. His translation is, for example, entirely in the past tense, for the sake of meeting modern grammatical expectations, instead of employing the past and historical present like the original poem does. He has also added breaks where he thought it appropriate to do so since the Middle English version has no consistently set stanzas. It is worth noting, though, that even if the section breaks differ, the Middle English and modern translation always present the same number of lines per page so no flipping back and forth is required to compare the two versions. Of a more intrusive nature are the attempts to smooth out some of the poem’s inconsistencies, such as who dies and is buried where; Armitage removes Bedivere and Cador from the list of knights buried at Burgundy in lines 2383-85, for instance, since the former is also said to be buried at Bayonne (2379) and the latter reappears during Arthur’s final battle with Mordred. None of these emendations are particularly distracting, however, even if you happen to be approaching Armitage’s translation with more than a passing knowledge of the poem on which it is based.

Where Armitage’s translation really excels is in its ability to capture the urgency and frequent brutality of the Middle English poem through his dedicated preservation of its alliterative style. This is especially apparent during Arthur’s last campaign against Mordred, a campaign which essentially leaves no survivors. Take the following description of Mordred’s death as an illustrative if particularly gruesome example. Armitage’s translation of “And he brawles on the brand and bounes for to die” reads: “and he squirmed as he died, skewered on the sword” (4251). There is no shrinking from death and destruction here, no endeavor to romanticize or simplify the narrative’s medieval source or setting. In fact, it is precisely these darker implications and their current relevance that can be seen as appealing to Armitage as both a reader and a translator.

In a 2011 interview with Sarah Crown for The Guardian, Armitage makes the nature and extent of the Alliterative Morte’s pull for him explicit in terms that medievalists and medieval enthusiasts alike can appreciate: “the ideas it throws up about England’s tricky relationship with the continent and Catholicism, and the overarching sense of a just war taken too far. These are not untopical issues . . . There’s that sense running through the whole poem, that feeling of ‘we’ve been here before, and we’ll be here again.’ And these stories need to be told” [6]. Here we have a potent articulation of the power of medievalism to connect past and present in meaningful ways. It is perhaps not surprising, then, that Norton, a publishing house with a strong popular and academic presence, has supported Armitage’s endeavors to tell “these stories” to as broad of an audience as possible. Those of us interested in medievalism should certainly thank Norton for making Armitage’s compelling translation available to readers in North America.

Leah Haught
Georgia Institute of Technology 

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1)  Norton’s overview of the hardcover edition, accessed March 7, 2013, http://books.wwnorton.com/books/detail.aspx?ID=22337.
2)  “Afterword,” Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (New York: Norton, 2007), 191. 
3)  Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (BBC Four Documentary 2009), accessed March 7, 2013, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=74glI1lg1CQ.  A follow up program of sorts, The Making of King Arthur, in which Armitage traces the evolution of the Arthurian legend throughout the Middle Ages, aired in January 2013, also on BBC Four, as part of the Norman Season. 
4)  “Introduction,” Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, 12.
5)  “Introduction,” The Death of King Arthur (New York: Norton, 2012), 10.  
6)  “A Life in Writing:  Simon Armitage” The Guardian (12/9/11), accessed April 7, 2013, http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2011/dec/09/life-in-writing-simon-armitage.

Lavelle: Alfred's Wars

Ryan Lavelle, Alfred’s Wars: Sources and Interpretations of Anglo-Saxon Warfare in the Viking Age. Woodbridge and Rochester, N.Y.: Boydell Press, 2010.

Reviewed by Tracey-Anne Cooper (coopert@stjohns.edu)

Ryan Lavelle’s splendid treatment of the significance and consequences of warfare and its organization for the late Anglo-Saxon state exceeds in scope the somewhat limited expectations set up by the title. This is not a book only concerned with warfare in King Alfred’s time, but about the consequences of that king’s policies from the ninth to the eleventh centuries, as they were shaped by, and responded to, Viking assaults, settlement, renewed assaults and then conquests, as well as warfare with neighboring Celtic and British polities. Lavelle’s book will surely become a go-to-guide for those seeking to represent “authentic” medieval warfare of the period in all its facets, as well as those who want to authoritatively critique such depictions. For those whose modern perceptions of the importance of King Alfred are limited to disjointed recollections of someone who fought Vikings and burned cakes, the book also provides a comprehensive reintroduction to the life and legacy of the only English king to be called “the Great.”

Lavelle eschews chronological organization (although there is a helpful timeline provided in an appendix) and instead approaches his subject thematically making extensive and accessible use of a wide-range of sources, including chronicles, poetry, law, wills, official records, sculpture and manuscript illuminations. He begins with a discussion of Æthelweard, Ealdorman of the Western Provinces (d.998), which allows the reader to understand and appreciate his choice of method. For Æthelweard, who had front-line responsibility for the defense of the south-western peninsula in the “Second Viking Age,” also wrote a Latin version of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle in which he related the events of the “First Viking Age.” Lavelle’s work then proceeds to discuss the cultural significance of warfare, the nature of England’s opponents in warfare, the organization and equipment that was used in land and maritime battles, campaigns and strategies, fortifications, battles, and peacemaking and peace agreements after the battles.

The first chapter discusses the mentalities of warfare in Later Anglo-Saxon England, and concludes that ideas commonly connected to an earlier period – warfare as a means of achieving political goals, supplying social cohesion, defining masculinity and being the raison d’etre for males of a certain rank – had not altogether been superseded by Christian notions in preference of peace. as the Norman elite, as pre-conquest sculptures prove, including one from Neston, Cheshire, which appears to depict jousting.

Chapter Four discusses maritime organization and equipment, which was equally subject to Victorian misinterpretations, leading to enduring ideas of the establishment of an English proto-Navy under Alfred. Fleets were created defensively in the reigns of Alfred, Edgar and Æthelred, and used offensively by Æthelstan; so English shipbuilding was not inconsequential, and Lavelle demonstrates developments in ship technology and provision, as well as their social impact as conspicuous displays of the wealth by the super-magnates. The provision of vessels, as well as crews and the often overlooked coast guards, provided some stability in times of great threats. Chapter Five demonstrates that both Vikings and Anglo-Saxons were capable of launching well ordered and strategic military campaigns. In an era when successful warfare gave prestige, strategy was obviously an important part of warfare, but almost as important Lavelle argues was the posturing of invading leaders. Chapter Six tackles another form of posturing: fortification. Fortified places worked just as much as places that would be avoided by invaders, as they did as locales where invaders were resisted. Larger towns were, of course, attacked by Vikings, but these towns could successfully turn back an invasion campaign. Alfred’s West Saxon system of defenses seems to have been neglected in the tenth century, and the success of individual units may have been due to the efforts of bishops in urban defense. Chapter Seven discusses battles, which were quite rare, and although actual fighting techniques and tactics can be difficult to discern in the sources, Lavelle ably demonstrates that there was a greater flexibility than has hitherto been acknowledged, including a range of weapons, and use of horses and ships. As battles often determine the outcome of larger historical events, Lavelle stresses their greater cultural significance, not just for participants but for the wider populace affected by those outcomes and for succeeding generations. Chapter Nine discusses the ritual activities of peace, agreement, negotiation and declaration of fidelity. When war ended with the clear overlordship, Lavelle again highlights the posturing and prestige of the victor, which came to develop and exploit imperial overtones.

Lavelle’s book is, as promised in the “sources and interpretations” part of his title, studded throughout with large extracts from primary and secondary sources, as well as substantial quantitative and pictorial evidence. The balance of evidence and interpretation is unusual in a scholarly work of this standard; it includes, for example, reprints of whole articles and substantial parts of books by leading researchers. This is a uniquely refreshing approach which provides a methodology and publication framework that ably counters public and student reliance on historical information accumulated on unmonitored wikis, garishly dumbed-down for television, or written in best-selling books authored by journalists. Over and above its fascinating subject, this book lays open an integrated lesson in the nature and application of evidence and the development of the historiography and issues under debate, as well as explaining how the author’s new insights and interpretations have been formed. Moreover, it does all this without patronizing, cajoling, or befuddling its reader and without eviscerating historians with differing points of view. While there is a wealth of information in Alfred’s Wars that will keep the enthusiast dipping back into this book, the experience of reading it cover to cover is akin to taking an excellently-crafted master class in the subject. The idea of Alfred did much to shape English national identity, and he was particularly celebrated in the Victorian period and around his millennial celebration in 1901. He was still a popular enough figure in 1969 to inspire an epic eponymous movie starring David Hemmings as a reluctant and studious hero, with a trailer that began “Ten centuries ago, in an age of anarchy, tyranny and repression, a youth became king, and the fate of England rested with a twenty-two-year-old boy…” These perceptions of Alfred have passed, and more recent scholarly reassessments of him are still working their way down into popular perception. Alfred is sure to re-emerge again as an English hero in one media format or another: his story is just too good to become (or remain) obscure. An authoritative and generally accessible book such as Alfred’s Wars will contribute to a balanced public reappraisal, and, hopefully, to much better representations of the complexities of medieval warfare.

Tracey-Anne Cooper 

St. John’s University.

Castles: An Anthology

Castles: An Anthology 

http://bibliolabs.com/castles-an-anthology-release/

Reviewed by Kellie S. Meyer (kellie.meyer@lmc.gatech.edu)

'Oh!' cried Mrs. Skewton, with a faded little scream of rapture, 'the Castle is charming!—associations of the Middle Ages—and all that—which is so truly exquisite. . . . Such charming times! . . . So full of faith! So vigorous and forcible! So picturesque! So perfectly removed from commonplace! Oh dear! If they would only leave us a little more of the poetry of existence in these terrible days!' . . . 'Those darling byegone times . . . with their delicious fortresses, and their dear old dungeons, and their delightful places of torture, and their romantic vengeances, and their picturesque assaults and sieges, and everything that makes life truly charming! How dreadfully we have degenerated!'

— Charles Dickens, Dombey and Son, ch. 27

While Dicken’s Dombey and Son is not one of the books included in Castles: an Anthology, Mrs’ Skewton’s medievalist rhapsody may well have been the guiding principle behind the selection of the 160 items included in this online collection from the British Library, which includes archaeological treatises, antiquarian histories, images, Gothic romances and pseudo-histories featuring picturesque dungeons, sieges, knights and fair maidens. With three exceptions from the 18th-century and one from the 17th-century (Dryden’s King Arthur, 1691), all of the items in the Castles Anthology are digitized 19th-century primary sources.  The reader is therefore introduced not only to histories, images and fiction associated with medieval castles, but experiences these sources through the lens of Victorian culture and taste.  Hence the result is a fascinating glimpse of Victorian medievalisms, viewed through a 21st century interface.

The Interface: The Castles Anthology is available through the free BiblioBoard app, part of the British Library 19th-Century Historical Collection App for iPad, an initiative made possible through a partnership with the Charleston, South Carolina company BiblioLabs.  Currently available only to iPad users, beta testing has recently ended for PC platforms, promising universal access in the near future.  The Castles Anthology is one of three free offerings; otherwise, use of the app costs $2.99 a month for general access to the historical and antiquarian collection, or $9.99 for specific anthologies.   My initial resentment at having to use an iPad to access the anthologies aside, I think this price is well worth it.   As the creators of the app state, “the visual interface creates an experience that’s the next best thing to having the original item in your own hands.” My experience with the anthology bears out this assertion. In fact, access to the original 19th-century sources, many of which are so obscure they foiled any attempts to garner further information about them (either through standard internet research or more specialized research through university research databases), might even be worth the price of an iPad!   Being a parsimonious medievalist however, I shall have to wait until the app is available on a PC platform.

Contents: This very large collection is organized into eight categories: Highlights, Fiction and Poetry, Days of Chivalry, British Castles, European Castles, Books, Images, and Articles. As it is impossible to discuss all of the items, or, indeed, to even list all of their titles, the following simply attempts to provide an overview of the contents along with some comments about a few selections I found particularly intriguing. 

Highlights: Asserting that “with this collection, readers will be able to revel in a time past,” the curator of the Castles Anthology has selected six works to highlight with introductory notes. These include John Dryden’s 17th-century King Arthur, A Guide to Nottingham Castle, Churches and Castles of Mediaeval France, as well as an 18th-century collection of extant poems, songs and ballads written about Robin Hood.  Two additional entries caught my eye; the first in regards to its introduction. To wit, after pointing out a few historical facts, the curator’s introduction to A Guide to Alnwick Castle stresses how the castle acted as Hogwarts in the Harry Potter films, sure to attract any fans of the books or movies.  Furthermore, the curator capitalizes on the current obsession with all things Princess Catherine (neé Kate Middleton), gushing that Alnwick, “is the majestic edifice that George Percy, Pippa Middleton’s friend and former roommate, will inherit one day.” 

Jumping from contemporary medievalisms back to the Victorian, The Particulars of the Devizes Castle Estate, 1883, provides a fascinating demonstration of 19th century real-estate chicanery. Put up for sale in 1883, the castle, including antique furniture, works of art and 120 acres of land with pleasure gardens and a farm, is described within the pamphlet as a “most complete purchase for any nobleman or lady or gentleman of taste.” Along with a brief history of the castle (constructed in 1107 with a subsequent role in both the 12th-century and 17th-century civil wars, and dismantled following the latter) the pamphlet features striking tinted photos of such highlights as the “The Ladies’ Gate”, “The Norman Arcade”, and “The Queen’s Oriel.”   These are particularly interesting because they highlight the pervading subterfuge offered throughout the pamphlet, that this edifice is an “authentic” medieval castle, when, in fact, the castle was razed in 1648, leaving only traces of the original. Rebuilt by the current owners (of whom no information is provided) the real estate agents assert that “The remains of the old Castle have been carefully preserved and restored where practicable.” The result, (bolded, italicized and in a larger typeset than the other text in a bit of graphic design worthy of 21st- century technical writers) is a castle of “Imposing Elevation in the Norman Castellated Style.”  Other statements in this style (both verbal and graphic) follow, such as how the castle is “one of the best modern examples of an Ancient Feudal Castle to be found in this country,”   Even better is the description of  a sliding panel in the Drawing Room which leads to a “Secret Chamber in the old Ivy Tower, containing a valuable collection of Ancient Pottery, Bronze Implements & other British, Roman, Saxon, Norman, Early English, & Mediaeval Antiquities, which have been found in the ruins of the old Castle.”

In essence then, this pamphlet reveals how the Victorian fascination for the medieval period is not limited to its fiction, and that the medieval provided a powerful selling point. 

Fiction and Poetry features twenty four novels and poems and includes such relatively well-known works as Maria Edgeworth’s Castle Rackrent novels and Thomas Peacock’s Maid Marian and Crotchet Castle, but, rather surprisingly, does not include either Anne Radcliffe’s Mysteries of Udolfo, or Horace Walpole’s Castle of Otranto, though the latter is available in the Days of Chivalry section. Other titles in this section are extremely obscure, and would certainly reward further research by Victorianists.  Of special interest to medievalists is the 18th-century title, listed as The Complaint of the Black Knight by John Dart (1716).  Investigation of this work revealed a “modern” verse paraphrase of a poem mistakenly attributed to Chaucer up through the 19th century. Now known to have been written by Lydgate, this poem is a fascinating piece of Chaucerian apocrypha and provides an interesting glimpse into an 19th-century antiquarian translation.

Days of Chivalry: While the aforementioned Castle of Otranto seems somewhat oddly placed in this section (with few to none of its characters acting the least bit chivalrously!) most of its other 17 offerings securely exemplify the proclaimed parameters of works devoted to King Arthur, Robin Hood and assorted knights and dragons.  Within this collection, titles by Arthur Edward Waite and Samuel Page Widnall are especially intriguing.  Aficionados may be familiar with Waite as the member of the occult Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn and the co-creator of the Ryder-Waite Tarot deck; his Belle and the Dragon: An Elfin Comedy is a lighthearted work of fiction that is nevertheless imbued with his spiritualist beliefs.  The inclusion of Widnall’s A Mystery of Sixty Centuries, or, a Modern St. George and the Dragon in this anthology is somewhat baffling, as it has nothing to do with the medieval era at all, beyond its subtitle. Instead, it is an adventure novel along the lines of the Victorian writer H. Rider Haggard, detailing an expedition to Africa that uncovers a hidden valley with prehistoric men and pterodactyls, one of which provides the skeletal head featured on the cover as the titular “dragon”.  While certainly not medieval, this novel does point to a very early connection between medieval-themed fantasy and Victorian science fiction. 

The Days of Chivalry section also includes a few historical works such as Charles Bernard Gibson’s Historical Portraits of Irish Chieftains and Anglo-Norman Knights, and John Stuart Glennie’s Arthurian Localities. Stuart-Glennie’s work (also featured as one of the noted Highlights of the Castles Anthology) argues for the southern Scottish origins of the Arthurian legend due to the incidence of onomastic geographical features, local oral traditions, linguistic connections between the various P-Celtic languages of Great Britain (Bryttonic, Pictish and Manx) and literary connections to the “Fingalian” tradition espoused by MacPherson’s Ossian Cycle. This work thus participates in the larger race theory discussions prevalent amongst the Victorian antiquarians of this time.  With plenty of references to antiquarian standards such as Skene’s Four Ancient Books of Wales, this work is a wonderful source for Cultural Studies scholars interested in how the various nations of Great Britain constructed their nationalities based on their interpretations of the early medieval Picts, Welsh, Brittons, Celts and Anglo-Saxons. 

British Castles contains numerous 19th-century images as well as regional anthologies of ancestral castles and homes in Britain.  In addition, over 60 tourist pamphlets, guidebooks, “companion” books and archaeological treatises provide information to the reader interested in specific castles.  The Official and Royal Guide to Windsor Castle, a tourist pamphlet featuring 10 pages of advertisements from royally appointed/endorsed merchants was particularly enlightening as a snapshot of Victorian high society.  While ads for silk mercers, court dressmakers, milliners, and importers of oriental carpets and antique rugs might be expected, ads for Barlock Typewriters and Perry & Companies’ Electric Light Fittings and Chandeliers reflect the surprising pervasiveness of these technologies in 1895, and provide an unexpected modern portrait of Victorian royal life in contrast to the medieval historical content of the pamphlet.

   

European Castles contains only four entries, one of them a post card of Carcassone Castle.  The Churches and Castles of Medieval France, The Castle of Vincigliata and Heidelberg and its Castle round out the collection.

Books: This section reproduces all of the books from the entire anthology.

Images:  This section reproduces twenty 19th-century postcard images of British Castles (some unknown), most of which are also available in the British Castles section.

Articles:  This section seems largely superfluous as it lists only one article, “Castles of Old England” which is also reproduced in the British Castles section.

Navigability:  At times, the visual organization of tabs is somewhat problematic.  Upon initial viewing, there appear to be four main divisions of content: Fiction and Poetry (novels and poems featuring castles), Days of Chivalry (Fiction and nonfiction featuring King Arthur, Robin Hood, and assorted knights and dragons), British Castles (historical and descriptive guides to castles in Great Britain, and European Castles (historical and descriptive guides to castles on the Continent). Immediately below these tabs are a second set of tabs (along with accompanying photographs) that due to their placement seem to be subcategories of the four collections.  For instance, Highlights appears directly beneath Fiction and Poetry, Books is placed beneath Days of Chivalry, Images is under British Castles, and Articles is located under European Castles.  These tabs are not, however, subtopics, but instead are discrete categories of their own. 

For instance, Highlights features items specially selected from the entire anthology by the curator not just from the Fiction and Poetry section. Books and Images are likewise not subcategories of the collections listed above them (Days of Chivalry and British Castles), but instead contain all of the books and images from the entire collection.  While this is not really a problem in regards to the images, this organization creates a bit of confusion for the books, as there is no way to differentiate between fiction and nonfiction.  While some titles are obviously nonfiction (such as An Archaeological Description of Saltwood Castle, or An Illustrated Guide to Dudley Castle) others are not so obvious from their titles, or even, upon exploration, their contents.  For instance, Castle Cornet (with the intriguing subtitle; Or, the Island’s Trouble in the Troublous Times; which is visible only upon “opening” the book) appears to be a fictionalized account of the siege of the castle during the English Civil War.  Upon further exploration, the work is also found under British Castles, misplaced perhaps, since the works in this section of the anthology are supposed to be histories and historical guides. Other genre- bending pseudo-histories, such as A Famous Castle: Reminiscences of the Lovely Dolly Munroe, pepper this category.   

The final lower-level tab, Articles located under European Castles, is also misleading as it contains only one article, Charles Turner, “The Castles of Old England” contained in The Monthly Illustrator, 4:12 (1894): 26-32, which is likewise reproduced in British Castles.

Overall then, in terms of its navigability, the Castles anthology is somewhat confusing and with the exception of Highlights,  the lower-level tabs are unnecessary as they simply duplicate what is already found in the other, more straightforwardly-labeled and organized collections. Indeed, certain items are completely miscategorized or missing, such as forgetting to list the Particulars of Devizes Castle in British Castles or including the Chronicles of Castle Amelroy (a Dutch castle) in British Castles rather than in the European Castles. 

Analysis:  This collection is simultaneously captivating and frustrating.  The sheer amount of sources is fabulous, though its organization is quixotic. Access to 19th-century editions in a format as close as possible to actually holding the books in your own hands is an invaluable experience and allows for visceral thrills such as seeing handwritten notes in the margins and frontispieces, presumably by the librarians or the original owners of the books.  One hardly knows where to begin with the surfeit of stories, histories, and images offered.  From a scholarly point of view, the wealth of sources is eye-opening and could easily lead to numerous new research opportunities. My initial attempts at such research proved titillating but difficult as the vast majority of titles are so obscure they foiled any attempts to garner further information about them.  Particularly interesting were the plethora of what seemed to be rather lurid Gothic romances, all written in the late 19th-century, which might belie the common assertion that the British Gothic genre had ceased to dominate by the mid-19th-century. (At least one new relatively recent work by Fred Botting and Dale Townshend, Gothic: Critical Concepts in Literary and Cultural Studies, New York: Routledge, 2004, reevaluates this claim, at least in terms of vampire stories).  The inclusion of so many of these romances in the Castles Anthology may point to a greater popularity of the genre than previously believed, and opens up new research avenues into Victorian reading tastes, though of course, the scholar should remember that just because a book is contained in the British Library archives does not mean it was widely published, circulated or read.  

Issues with organization and subject inclusion or exclusion are likely due to factors relating to the relatively new creation and exponential growth of the app creator, BiblioLabs, a hybrid software-media company that, according to its own website (BiblioLabs.com) “works with leading information organizations around the world to promote widespread access to rare and interesting materials in innovative ways,” and which, in 2012, was named the 7th fastest growing media company by Inc. 500.  In addition to partnering with the British Library, Bibliolabs is also working with such institutions as the Biblioteca Nacional de Columbia and the Louisiana State Museum, as well as offering its services to university libraries wishing to create their own anthologies.  Further investigation reveals that the curation of the digital anthologies lies with the company’s own “subject-matter experts.” It is unclear if this was the situation in regards to the British Library selections, but may explain some of the incongruities within the Castles Anthology.  In any case, criticisms pale in comparison with the obvious advantages of placing such a wealth of resources into the hands of the general public and scholars alike, and any bumps are liable to be smoothed as the BiblioBoard app continues to be developed. 

Kellie S. Meyer
Georgia Institute of Technology