The moon witch hat is a magical accessory often associated with witchcraft and the occult. It is a hat with a wide brim and a pointed top, resembling a cone. The design of the hat is said to be inspired by the shape of a crescent moon, with its pointed tip resembling the moon's crescent shape. The moon witch hat is commonly seen in various forms of media, such as movies, books, and artwork, and is often depicted as an essential item for witches and sorcerers. The moon witch hat is believed to possess mystical powers and is often worn by witches and sorcerers during magical rituals and ceremonies. It is thought to enhance the wearer's magical abilities and provide them with a connection to the moon and its energies.
Ethan Doyle White is a writer and researcher interested in the religious beliefs and practices of early medieval England as well as contemporary Paganism and related forms of occultism. Among other publications, he is the author of Wicca: History, Belief, and Community in Modern Pagan Witchcraft and coeditor of Magic and Witchery in the Modern West.
The news that researchers, primarily from Scotland and Germany, had identified northern Kyrgyzstan as the origin point for the medieval plague garnered attention around the world. The Houssaye volume once belonged to the French physician and bibliophile Ludovic Bouland, and people had speculated about it ever since a collector found a cryptic note inside.
It is thought to enhance the wearer's magical abilities and provide them with a connection to the moon and its energies. The hat is said to act as a conduit for the moon's power, allowing witches and sorcerers to channel and manipulate magical energy more effectively. In addition to its magical properties, the moon witch hat is also a symbolic item.
Book Review: The Strange History of Binding Books in Human Skin
I n 2015, Megan Rosenbloom traveled to Harvard University’s Houghton Library in search of a book called “Des destinées de l’âme” (“Destinies of the Soul”), by the French author Arsène Houssaye. This copy of Houssaye’s masterwork had a singular distinction: At the time, it was the only book on the planet proven to be bound in human skin.
For Rosenbloom, a librarian at the University of California, Los Angeles, the trip served as her entrée into a field she’d studied for years: “anthropodermic bibliopegy,” the practice of binding books in human epidermis. It’s easy to assume this topic is too restricted or too gruesome for a book of its own, but “Dark Archives: A Librarian’s Investigation Into the Science and History of Books Bound in Human Skin,” proves that assumption wrong. As Rosenbloom crisscrosses the globe to confirm the purported origins of skin-bound books — a cracking detective story in itself — her journey offers unusual insight into what defines informed consent, what separates homage from exploitation, and how power disparities can breed casual inhumanity.
BOOK REVIEW — “Dark Archives: A Librarian’s Investigation Into the Science and History of Books Bound in Human Skin,” by Megan Rosenbloom (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 288 pages).
Human skin-covered books have captivated literary audiences for centuries: A classic H.P. Lovecraft short story features “a locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin,” and a skin-bound volume drives the plot of Chuck Palahniuk’s 2002 novel “Lullaby.” Still, it appears so far that impostor skin books outnumber real ones. The Anthropodermic Book Project, of which Rosenbloom is a member, has identified only 18 books to date that live up to their human-skin billing. (By claiming a volume was bound in skin, book dealers of yore could juice their profit margins, creating ample incentive to lie.)
Authentic specimens, though rare, take on outsized importance because they betray a human willingness to obliterate consent, and even personhood, for aesthetic or supremacist ends. The books’ “very ordinary appearances,” Rosenbloom writes, “mask the horror inherent in their creation.” Part of her goal in documenting anthropodermic books’ origins is to restore dignity to those whose remains were sewn into bindings.
The blade of a doctor’s scalpel, Rosenbloom observes, was often the prime instrument of this desecration. In the late 1800s, an upstart physician named John Stockton Hough harvested skin from the thighs of Mary Lynch, a woman who had died penniless of a combination of tuberculosis and trichinosis. Decades later, Hough, an avid book collector, used the preserved skin to cover several of his favorite books on female anatomy.
Other bibliophile doctors also helped themselves to skin from dead patients, sending the samples to professional tanners for preservation — a practice that revealed their lack of respect for their patients as human beings. The grotesque custom, Rosenbloom writes, embodied “The worst of what can come from the collision of acquisitiveness and clinical distancing.”
Rosenbloom’s journey offers unusual insight into what defines informed consent, what separates homage from exploitation, and how power disparities can breed casual inhumanity.
While rumors persisted for decades about the provenance of books like Hough’s, it wasn’t until 2014 that a new analytic method allowed researchers to separate real anthropodermic books from the rest. The method, known as peptide mass fingerprinting, involves taking a tiny sample of a book’s cover, adding the enzyme trypsin to digest its contents, and putting the sample in a mass spectrometer to see which peptides, or protein building blocks, it contains. Dried human skin might look a lot like stripped goat pelt or cow hide, but it has different peptides. (Because DNA degrades over time, DNA sequencing methods generally cannot determine whether older book covers contain human skin.)
It was peptide mass fingerprinting, Rosenbloom explains, that allowed Harvard to verify that its copy of “Des destinées de l’âme” was skin-bound. The Houssaye volume once belonged to the French physician and bibliophile Ludovic Bouland, and people had speculated about it ever since a collector found a cryptic note inside. “A book on the human soul,” Bouland scrawled on one of the front papers, “merits that it be given human clothing.”
When Houghton Library announced, in 2014, that peptide testing confirmed the book’s long-suspected origins, the internet seethed with disgust. One critic opined that the only way forward was to detach the book’s cover and give it a proper burial. “The binding is a macabre disgrace,” another wrote. “Got any vintage WWII lampshades, Harvard?”
An inscription from another book possibly rebound in human skin by Dr. Bouland reads, in part “It is bound with a piece of female skin, tanned by myself with sumac.”
But if you’re conjuring up shelves of Third Reich books cloaked in prisoners’ skin, you’re probably off base. There’s no concrete evidence that the Nazis actually created skin-bound volumes, Rosenbloom says, even though — like certain bibliophiles — they had no qualms about plundering the physical bodies of the least powerful. One widely told story about Buchenwald overseers Karl-Otto Koch and his wife Ilse Koch alleges they owned a human skin lampshade, but the lampshade itself has never been found.
Before becoming a librarian, Rosenbloom worked as a journalist, and she shows off her reporting chops in letter-perfect descriptions of the literary world’s sordid corners. During a visit to a leather tannery to get a sense of how human skin might have been prepared for binding, she’s hit with a stench so pungent it seems otherworldly. “It was not merely a smell,” she writes. “It felt like having raw animal organs stuffed into my mouth and pulled through my nose.” The stink so penetrates her shoes that she has to chuck them into the garbage. In another scene, she heads out in search of a skin-bound book and a librarian ambushes her with a desiccated, centuries-old Jesus tattoo.
But while shock value might pull readers into the narrative, what sustains it is Rosenbloom’s incisive commentary on what contexts promote inhumane treatment of human bodies, as well as how such conditions persist today. She remains implacable in the face of criticism about her motives, convincing us that excavating our darkest impulses is one of the surest routes to understanding ourselves.
In an era laser-focused on appearances, “Dark Archives” also offers a timely reminder of just how much can lurk beneath a tidy-seeming exterior. It’s likely there are plenty more human skin books “resting in library stacks, hiding in plain sight,” Rosenbloom writes. “Even if you were holding one right now, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell.”
Just how many deaths was the Black Death responsible for? Despite centuries of debate on the subject, there is no consensus. The common belief is that the first wave killed between 25 percent and 33 percent of Western Europeans. (The historian Barbara Tuchman advanced the one-third estimate in her best-selling 1978 book about the 14th century, “A Distant Mirror.”) Belich suggests that the number was far higher. In the first strike alone, the population of Western Europe was cut in half, he writes, citing studies about the death rates in England, France, Italy, and Scandinavia. Many places didn’t return to their pre-plague population levels for some 250 years. (Despite his claims, the true extent of the toll is still widely contested.)
It represents the connection between witches and the celestial bodies, particularly the moon. The moon has long been associated with magic and mysticism, and witches are often believed to draw their power from the moon's energy. The hat serves as a physical representation of this connection and is worn as a symbol of the wearer's affiliation with witchcraft and the occult. While the moon witch hat is primarily associated with witches and sorcerers, it has also gained popularity as a fashion accessory. In recent years, the hat has become a popular item for costume parties, Halloween, and other events where people dress up in fantasy or magical-themed outfits. Its unique and distinctive design makes it a visually striking accessory and adds a touch of mystery and enchantment to any outfit. Overall, the moon witch hat holds a significant role in witchcraft and the occult. Its association with the moon and its magical properties make it an essential item for witches and sorcerers. Whether worn for its mystical powers or as a fashion statement, the moon witch hat remains a fascinating and iconic symbol of magic and enchantment..
Reviews for "The Celestial Connection: Moon Witch Hats and Astrological Magic"
1. Jessica - 2/5 - I was really disappointed with "Moon Witch Hat". The story felt repetitive and predictable, with the same tired tropes being used over and over again. The characters were one-dimensional and lacked depth, making it hard for me to connect with them. Additionally, the pacing was extremely slow, and I found myself losing interest halfway through. Overall, I was left wanting more from this book and would not recommend it to others.
2. Alex - 1/5 - "Moon Witch Hat" was a complete letdown for me. The writing style was awkward and unnatural, making it difficult to read and follow the story. The plot was lacking in originality and felt like a rehash of other witch-themed novels. The dialogue was cheesy and forced, further detracting from my enjoyment. I struggled to finish this book and have no desire to continue with the series.
3. Sarah - 2/5 - Unfortunately, "Moon Witch Hat" did not live up to my expectations. The world-building was weak and not well-developed, leaving me confused and wanting more depth. The magic system was poorly explained and felt inconsistent throughout the story. The romance subplot felt forced and unnecessary, adding little to the overall plot. While there were some interesting ideas presented, they were not executed well, resulting in a lackluster reading experience.
4. Michael - 3/5 - "Moon Witch Hat" had its moments, but overall, it fell flat for me. The pacing was uneven, with long stretches of nothing happening and then sudden bursts of action. The main character was difficult to relate to and lacked a compelling personality. The supporting characters were forgettable and not well-developed. While the concept of a witch-themed story was intriguing, the execution was lackluster, leaving me underwhelmed.