- Make your presence something that people will want to follow. You only have a few (less than 30) words for your description of yourself, so if you want a professional presence there, make those words count.
- You’re on Twitter basically for two reasons (1) to join conversations and add to them and (2) to provide value in the form of interesting information for your followers. You can do this through original information or posts, through likes, or through retweeting.
- A “like” helps you to save something for future reference and supports the original post; a retweet implies endorsement or information that you think others need to have. You can use the @ or hashtag # to call attention to the tweet if you think it would be useful or relevant for someone else.
- If you’ve just joined and are deciding whom to follow, try some of the following:
- Scholars in your area,
- Academic and research libraries and librarians, which often have great feeds featuring their collections as well as research grants. Beinecke Library, British Library, New York Public Library,
- Aggregator sites such as openculture or Century Past History.
- Groups–many scholarly societies have Twitter feeds (@SSAWWrs).
- Contemporary authors: Neil Gaiman and Margaret Atwood have active Twitter presences, for example.
- If you’re tweeting a conference panel:
- Be sure that it’s all right with the conference/panelists.
- Use the hashtag
- Don’t tweet individual tweets on the panel; instead, use a threaded tweet by replying to yourself. To post a series of individual tweets clogs up people’s twitter timelines.
- If there’s an unusual meme or piece of information, indicate where you got it. (This usually isn’t a problem if you’re retweeting, since the source is shown.)
- If you see a thread worth saving, you can use Threadreader to create it in one spot with https://twitter.com/threadreaderapp?lang=en
- You can choose to follow, unfollow, or mute people. You might discover that some people go on Twitter solely to promote themselves or their projects, so you might choose to follow them even if they never provide additional value in other ways.
- Follow junior scholars! A Twitter study a few years ago showed that users tended to follow those at or above their professional level, but that’s not the ethos you want.
- Set up your professional site (if WordPress) to post to Twitter and Facebook.
The Charles Scribner Archives at the Princeton University Library are a rich source for anyone doing research on Edith Wharton. They’re a rich source for research on other authors, too, for that matter, but I was there for Wharton and the edition of The House of Mirth I’m preparing for the Complete Works of Edith Wharton (CWEWh).
Charles Scribner’s Sons was Edith Wharton’s publisher at the start of her career, and she remained with the publishing house for many years until she moved to Appleton with The Reef, a break that was more like a breakup. As Hermione Lee describes it:
Charles Scribner never quite got over the divorce, and in 1921, still hoping to capture future novels,” he wrote sadly: “The loss of your books was the greatest blow ever given to my pride as publisher.”
Scribner’s published The Valley of Decision and The Joy of Living (1902),Wharton’s translation of Hermann Sudermann’s Es Lebe Das Leben, a 5-act drama., which sports a grayish-green cover unlike the familiar red binding used for most of her books. Wharton supervised every aspect of the publishing process with great attention, and, when she finally moved to Appleton and they mimicked the familiar red Scribner’s binding for The Reef and Summer.
Back to the archive: The correspondence between Wharton and various people at Scribner’s is voluminous, charming, witty, and businesslike. There are restrictions on photography in terms of number (no more than 10% of any folder, box, or collection) and use, however, and every image must be approved by a librarian before you take the picture, so I can’t reproduce anything here. Here’s a link to the finding aid, and you are sure to find something you need to see: https://rbsc.princeton.edu/collections/archives-charles-scribner%E2%80%99s-sons
How does Aaron Burr enter into this narrative? Well, Burr went to Princeton, which his father, Aaron Burr, Senior, had founded (as The College of New Jersey) and of which his maternal grandfather, the famous preacher Jonathan Edwards, had assumed the presidency when the senior Burr died when Aaron Burr was two years old. I figured that Burr was probably buried in the Princeton cemetery, a short walk from the campus.
When my CWEWh colleague Carol Singley and I walked all around the cemetery after a day in the archives, however, we couldn’t find a way in. The graveyard is surrounded by a fence of iron spikes, and all the gates we saw were locked. We figured out which was Burr’s grave and left it at that.
The next day, I returned, found an open gate, and went to the grave. It’s the white stone in front of the graves of his father (right) and grandfather (left).
A light rain had started to fall, along with some rumblings of distant thunder. I had stood there for a while, trying (with my rusty Latin) to read the lengthy inscription on his father’s grave.
When I went back to the open gate, it was locked, chained shut with a padlock. I wandered the perimeter a while longer, but all the gates were locked.
It would be a better story to imagine staying there as night fell and the thunder and rain intensified, and for a minute I imagined that was what was going to happen. Instead, I looked up the cemetery’s web site on my phone, called the emergency number, and was directed to an open gate that I hadn’t seen on either of the two trips. A prosaic rescue beats an exciting story any day, though, especially when the rain is really coming down.
I wondered after that why no one had put up a sign for clueless tourists like myself indicating either (1) that the gates were locked at a certain hour or (2) that there was an open gate to be found elsewhere. But Aaron Burr didn’t suffer fools gladly, and after teaching his “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” and other writings for so many years, I’m morally certain Jonathan Edwards didn’t, either.
WSU has activated a new space for my Amlit and course sites at https://hub.wsu.edu/campbell. (Thanks, WSU!)
The good news is that now I can access and update the pages again–hooray!–and this will enable a whole new look for the site.
The bad news is that there are hundreds of pages to move & update, so it’s going to take a while. And–important–I can’t change anything on any of the current pages. One day they’ll just disappear.
Since I can’t get in to put redirect scripts in the pages, WSU says that after everything is transferred, they’ll put redirect addresses in and then will shut the old site down after a while.
But this is progress!
I just discovered (by not being able to connect via FTP) that the Unix servers where my American lit sites are housed have been decommissioned and the sites have probably moved to WordPress by WSU, which didn’t inform me about it.
I won’t be able to do any updates until tech support returns my calls and gets me set up with the new server, so if you see any errors–sorry!
I’m posting some more research workflow tips in order to remember the things that worked and that didn’t on recent research trips. There may be better ways, but here’s what’s worked for me.
One useful practice is to put the photographs in some kind of order immediately, while you’re still in the archive.
- After taking a set of pictures, about one or two folders’ worth, upload them to Dropbox and give the folder a name. I use the Box, Folder, and Title, since that information is useful later.
- Why photos and not .pdfs or scans? I’ve tried those apps, of which Scanner Pro worked the best, but it takes longer to get the photo centered, etc., and anyway, I can create the .pdf versions later. If I were working with more typewritten materials where OCR is a possibility, Scanner Pro would be fine.
- In Preview, I then add the folder name to each item before the image name
by using Select – Rename . This is just a placeholder until I can add a more meaningful name. Although it’s a good idea to get the folder information in the picture itself (see previous post), that might not be possible all the time. This immediate identification ensures that there aren’t any mystery images.
Later, when the archive is closed or when I have time, I give them a more descriptive name and, if there’s time, transcribe them. This picture is from is an older batch; more recently, all the files follow the xml date convention YEAR-MONTH-DAY since there’s no confusion about that and sorting is easier.
- For ease of reading, you can make a .pdf. In Preview, open a group of files, select them using the Thumbnail pane, and choose File – Print – Print as .pdf. (I have had better luck with this than with Export as PDF, which sometimes will only do one image.) Another tip: if it takes Preview a long time to make this .pdf, the file is invariably too huge to manage. For some reason, if you try the process again (select, file, save to .pdf) it will often go very quickly and result in a smaller file size. It’s pretty random.
This brings me to Tropy, which is a great free app for organizing research materials and. The image at the top of this post is the material in Figure 3 organized in Tropy.
You can read all about it at the Tropy link, but what Tropy does is to provide a space for metadata AND the image AND the transcription all in one place, which is pretty great.
You import the photos into Tropy (it doesn’t do .pdf files) and then add the information. To put photos together, as here, you can drag and drop them onto the first page. You can also batch-input metadata such as collection names, etc., by highlighting and adding the information to the whole group.
Also great: with the image open, it’s much easier to transcribe in the Notes section (or simply to write notes about the information if you aren’t transcribing it). You can even use the dictation feature (fn-fn, as in Word) to read the letter into the Notes section.
It’s wonderful not to have to look back and forth between the transcription and the image, or to be able to read a lot of pages at once without creating a .pdf.
Features that Tropy doesn’t have so far that would be extremely useful:
- Ability to sync with Dropbox so that you can use the file across multiple computers. You can back up and copy the .tpy file, but when you open it in a different computer, you won’t see the images.
- Ability to output text in something other than .jsonld format. I can see that this is a hugely useful format, but if you (like me) aren’t experienced with .json and want to export your notes and transcriptions as text, it would be nice to have that option.
That said, Tropy’s still an elegant way to organize and work with your files, especially for a discrete collection like a cache of letters.
What did a murder case that dominated the tabloids look like 112 years ago? Here’s a brief look at two such cases from the opening of Chapter 4 of Bitter Tastes: Literary Naturalism and Early Cinema in American Women’s Writing.
Evelyn Nesbit and Grace Brown: Visibility and Sexuality in the City, 1906
On the evening of June 25, 1906, the play Mam’zelle Champagne opened at the Roof Garden Theater atop what was still the new Madison Square Garden. On this particular evening, its architect, Stanford White, sat in the audience enjoying the musical comedy, seemingly unaware of the intense stares of a young man who, unusually for the warm evening, was wearing an overcoat. As the tenor swung into “I Could Love a Million Girls,” the young man left his seat and walked directly in front of White. “You have ruined my life!” the young man shouted, pulling a revolver from his coat and shooting White three times in the head and chest.
White slumped to the floor, already dead and disfigured with powder burns, and the young man walked in a leisurely fashion toward the exit where, stopped by a uniformed fireman, he handed over his gun. The beautiful young woman who had accompanied him to the theater cried out, “Oh, Harry, what have you done? You’re in a terrible fix now.” “It’s all right, dear,” the young man replied calmly. “I have probably saved your life.” He kept moving toward the elevators, later surrendering himself to police at the nearest precinct house and posing with supreme confidence for the waiting crowd of photographers.[i]
The young man was Harry K. Thaw, a millionaire from Pittsburgh, and the beautiful young woman with him was his unhappy wife, Evelyn Nesbit, who even before the murder was as famous in her own sphere as White was in his. Supporting her mother and brother through her work as a child model, Nesbit had moved to New York as a teenager and became a well-known artists’ model widely sought out for her soulful looks and masses of dark hair. Nesbit posed for such noted figures as Charles Dana Gibson, who used her as the model for his iconic “Gibson Girl” portrait “The Eternal Question,” and by her late teens, she had appeared in the Ziegfeld Follies before marrying millionaire Harry Thaw.
What her testimony at Thaw’s trial revealed was another life lived between the stage and her marriage: her years as White’s teenage protégée and mistress. When she told the story to Thaw before their marriage in 1905, he became obsessed with the idea of innocence destroyed by White’s debauchery and forced her to recite the story repeatedly, brooding about it until he murdered White. On April 11, 1907, Thaw’s first trial ended in a hung jury; the second concluded in February 1908 with a verdict of not guilty by reason of insanity.
In a pattern that would become familiar in years to come, Nesbit’s story, first reproduced in the newspapers and later appearing in her two autobiographies, was reenacted by Nesbit herself in a series of a dozen movies beginning with The Unwritten Law: A Thrilling Drama Based on the Thaw-White Case (1907) and The Great Thaw Trial (1907) and concluding with a Hollywood version on which Nesbit served as technical advisor, The Girl in the Red Velvet Swing (1955).[ii]
The Thaw case vied for attention with a later 1906 trial that dominated the New York press when Chester Gillette declared his innocence in the murder of Grace (Billy) Brown in upstate New York. The Thaw and Gillette trials contained the same irresistible elements, a combination of sex and violence in the unspooling narrative, breathlessly reported, of a young woman ruined by a man of higher social class. Chester Gillette’s victim, Grace Brown, had moved a few years earlier from her family’s small farm in upstate New York to the nearby city of Cortland. She found work in the Gillette Skirt Factory and later began a relationship with the owner’s nephew, Chester Gillette.
When Grace discovered that she was pregnant in the spring of 1906, Chester urged her to return to her family’s farm, promising to rescue her at a later date. By early July, when he had not done so, Grace threatened to return to Cortland and hold him accountable. Chester then took her on a trip to the nearby Adirondack Mountains from which she never returned.
A few years later, Theodore Dreiser used the Gillette case as the basis for An American Tragedy (1925), and it had a second life as media fodder in its two film adaptations, Josef von Sternberg’s An American Tragedy (1931), a production that caused both Dreiser and Grace Brown’s family to sue Paramount Pictures; and George Stevens’s A Place in the Sun (1951), which starred Montgomery Clift, Elizabeth Taylor, and Shelley Winters in a contemporary adaptation of the story.
[i] The account of the killing appears in Mosette Glaser Broderick, Triumvirate: McKim, Mead & White: Art, Architecture, Scandal and Class in America’s Gilded Age, 495; and Paula M. Uruburu, American Eve: Evelyn Nesbit, Stanford White, the Birth of the “It” Girl, and the Crime of the Century.
[ii] Thaw, too, would go on to have Hollywood connections after his release from Mattewan; he sponsored Anita Page, a popular film star of the 1920s, during her first trip to Hollywood.
- Fun fact: Chester Gillette spent many of his formative years in Spokane, Washington, the subject of a future post.
- You can still see the rooming house where Grace Brown lived from the windows of the former Gillette Skirt Factory in Cortland, New York, where she and Chester worked.
- In addition to Nesbit’s accounts of the White murder, I read the actual Gillette trial transcripts in preparing this and the rest (which is in the book). They used to be online in the New York State archives but aren’t any more.
- The “Mead” of the famous architectural firm McKim, Mead, and White was the brother of Elinor Mead Howells, the wife of W. D. Howells. I’m still looking for Howells’s comments (if any) on the trial because of this connection.
- The “Biography Corner” label is expanding to include little pieces like this in addition to reviews.
Did Stephen Crane read Emily Dickinson? And was he inspired by her poetry?
Gregory Laski (@ProfL12) asked about it this morning, and I responded “Yes, Howells read to him from Dickinson. It’s somewhere in Hamlin Garland’s memoirs” (or words to that effect) and also in Paul Sorrentino’s Stephen Crane: A Life of Fire.” (It’s probably also in Stephen Crane Remembered, a copy of which I own but can’t find right now.)
This is what I’d always read and seen: one day in 1893, after Garland had introduced Crane to Howells, Crane visited Howells at home and Howells read to him from Emily Dickinson. It’s a pretty great story.
But what’s the source? Here’s one of those down-the-rabbit-hole searches that’s always more fun than whatever writing you’re doing at the time. Here are some of those paths, numbered so that you can see the process; if you’re not interested, skip to the end.
Mildly dead ends:
- Garland talks about meeting Crane in Roadside Meetings (1930), but he apparently didn’t discuss this. (I say “apparently” because I can’t find my copy of the book.)
- Selected Letters of Hamlin Garland (ed. Keith Newlin & Joseph McCullough) doesn’t mention Dickinson and Crane except to say that Garland mistakenly thought he had met Dickinson (he met her niece).
- Hamlin Garland: A Life (Newlin) doesn’t mention Dickinson in the index but does state that Garland “had arranged an introduction to Howells in April 1893, hoping that the senior writer could help Crane place his poetry with Harper’s Monthly” (192).
- The Stephen Crane Encyclopedia (Stanley Wertheim) has no entry for Emily Dickinson.
- Susan Goodman and Carl Dawson’s William Dean Howells: A Writer’s Life does not repeat the WDH reading to SC episode, but it does report that Crane’s excursions into flophouses and breadlines were at the urging of Howells and Garland and includes this intriguing detail: “With Crane and other friends or by himself, Howells roamed New York’s ethnic neighborhoods” (342). Howells was about 60 at the time, but it’s a great image to think of him with Crane roaming the neighborhoods together, though WDH would probably not have gone at night when Theodore Roosevelt as police commissioner was checking up on the policemen on the beat.
Howells reading Dickinson’s poems to Crane is in the Sorrentino biography: “Garland insisted that Crane show the poems to William Dean Howells, who already knew of Crane’s interest in poetry from their meeting a year earlier, when Crane had been impressed with Emily Dickinson’s creativity as Howells read her poetry to him” (130). The note references The Correspondence of Stephen Crane, p. 54
- On to the Correspondence (edited by Stanley Wertheim and Paul Sorrentino). Here’s what’s on p. 54 as a footnote to a letter from Howells to Crane dated April 8, 1893 that reads in part “Personally I know nothing of you except what you told me in our pleasant interview”: “Wearing a suit borrowed from his journalist friend John Northern Hilliard, Crane had tea or dinner with Howells in his home on what is now Central Park South one evening in the first week of April 1893. Howells read Crane some of Emily Dickinson’s verses at this time, and her terse, cryptic lines may have influenced the style of The Black Riders.” There’s no citation for this event, however.
In The Crane Log: A Documentary Life of Stephen Crane 1871-1900, p. 90, there’s more detail: “Early April. Wearing a suit borrowed from his friend John Northern Hilliard, Crane visits Howells in his home at 40 West 59th Street, New York City. At this time, or perhaps on a later visit, Howells reads some of Emily Dickinson’s poems to him, and Crane is deeply impressed (Barry, 148).”
- The citation is to John D. Barry, “A Note on Stephen Crane.” Bookman 13 (April 1901): 148. If you have access at the University of Virginia, or if you are time traveling in the year 2000 and looking this up prior to whenever they took all their public access stuff offline and hid it behind a firewall, you can get it here: https://search.lib.virginia.edu/catalog/u2739147. <editorial rant> A great resource was lost to literary studies once UVA sealed up its collections. </editorial rant>
Here it is!
Here is the original passage *that apparently inspired the anecdote about Howells reading Dickinson to Stephen Crane: “One evening while receiving a visit from Mr. Crane, Mr. Howells took from his shelves a volume of Emily Dickinson’s verses and read some of these aloud. Mr. Crane was deeply impressed, and a short time afterward he showed me thirty poems in manuscript, written, as he explained, in three days” (148).
How credible is this source?
John D. Barry knew Crane, and according to The Stephen Crane Encyclopedia, “On 14 April 1894 Barry read some of the poems that would comprise The Black Riders in front of the Uncut Leaves Society at Sherry’s since Crane was averse to public speaking and refused to read them himself. Barry believed that Crane’s poetry had been inspired by Emily Dickinson, whose verses, Barry maintained, had been read to him by William Dean Howells” (20). (bold for emphasis)
But look at Wertheim’s language here: “believed, maintained.” Wertheim has a point, which he emphasizes with this hedging language: All we really have is Barry’s word, not quite a year after Crane’s death on June 5, 1900, about Howells reading to Crane.
Should we believe it?
On one hand, Barry knew Crane and was quite severely critical of Maggie, calling it “morbid” and “unhealthful.” He believed in Crane’s poetry, however, and seems to have discussed it with him. It wouldn’t have been unusual for Howells to read aloud; to argue by analogy, Henry James and Edith Wharton did this all the time. Howells’s kindness to young authors was legendary, and Barry was writing shortly after Crane’s death when memories were fresh.
On the other hand, Barry was a novelist, a playwright, and an instructor at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts. Perhaps the story was embellished because it would make more of an impression for the point he was trying to make in the article: that Stephen Crane should not be classed with the (French) symbolists because he was inspired by that most American of poets (aside from Whitman), Emily Dickinson.
*With a little digging, you can find Bookman (not The Bookman, published in London and available at Hathi Trust) at archive.org here: