Pahan history books are a collection of books that provide an extensive and detailed account of the history of the Pahan civilization. These books cover various aspects of Pahan history, including their origins, culture, social structure, and significant events. Pahan history is marked by a rich and diverse heritage that spans thousands of years. The Pahan people have a deep connection to nature and their environment, which is reflected in their art, religion, and daily life. The history books highlight the importance of the natural world in shaping their society and the impact it has had on their development. The books also delve into the social structure of the Pahan civilization, exploring the roles of different classes and the hierarchy that existed within their society.
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.
The books also delve into the social structure of the Pahan civilization, exploring the roles of different classes and the hierarchy that existed within their society. They discuss the political system in detail, examining the governance, law, and administration of the Pahan civilization. One of the most intriguing aspects of Pahan history is their religious beliefs and practices.
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.)
The history books shed light on the Pahan pantheon of gods and goddesses, their rituals and ceremonies, and the role of religion in shaping their worldview. Furthermore, the books cover significant events in Pahan history, such as wars, conquests, and the rise and fall of empires. They provide detailed accounts of these events, offering insights into the strategies, tactics, and motivations of the Pahan people. Pahan history books are a valuable resource for historians, scholars, and anyone interested in understanding the past of this ancient civilization. They provide a comprehensive and in-depth view of the Pahan civilization, allowing readers to gain a deeper appreciation for their contributions to world history. Overall, Pahan history books offer a fascinating glimpse into the rich and complex history of the Pahan civilization. Through detailed accounts of their origins, culture, social structure, and significant events, these books provide a comprehensive understanding of the Pahan people and their place in history..
Reviews for "The Dark Arts: Witchcraft and Sorcery in Historical Context"
1. John - 2/5 - I was really disappointed with Pahan's history books. I found them to be extremely dry and lacking in depth. The writing style was very monotonous and it felt like I was reading a textbook rather than a book meant for casual reading. I was expecting a more engaging and interesting narrative, but unfortunately, I couldn't get into the books at all.
2. Sarah - 1/5 - I couldn't stand Pahan's history books. The information presented was disjointed and it felt like the author was just throwing random facts at me without any organization. The lack of a clear structure made it difficult for me to follow the flow of history and understand the context of the events being described. The writing was also overly academic and used complex language that made it even more challenging to comprehend. Overall, I found the books to be a frustrating and unsatisfying read.
3. David - 2/5 - I regret buying Pahan's history books. The content was too focused on specific events and neglected to provide a broader understanding of the historical periods being discussed. I was hoping for a more comprehensive overview, but instead, I got a shallow examination of isolated incidents. Additionally, the author's biased perspective was evident throughout the books, which further undermined their credibility. I would not recommend these books to anyone looking for a well-rounded and unbiased account of history.