Everyone enjoys the moment, laughing, and wishing the evening could continue for longer, because books and the discussions around them are a good break away from the busy modern world. 

Now, while book clubs are ways in which modern people socialize and take breaks from work, it’s important to remember what led to the rise of book clubs. This isn’t to say there’s been a major shift in the spirit of book clubs.

No, humanity’s search for community and context remains the same, and this is the bedrock of book clubs. However, it’s time to look closer at the circumstances that birthed the idea of book clubs as we know them today. 

The Radical Roots of Rebellion

Modern day is great because any gender can actually be intellectual, publicly, and privately. However, things were different in the early days. For instance, in the early 17th century, Anne Hutchinson in 1634 had to create book clubs where women gathered weekly in the Massachusetts Bay Colony to discuss the week’s sermons and theological texts.

Unlike modern day, these gatherings came with immense danger for the participants, because this meant that women could begin interpreting scriptures on their own. This ran against every traditional notion of those days that scripture interpretation was a role for men. 

Expectedly, Anne Hutchinson was tried and banished for this. Her creation of a book club was a rebellion in the eyes of the authorities at the time. So, it’s safe to say that gathering to discuss books and bodies of texts wasn’t just a hobby.

The Blue Stockings Society

By the 18th century, book clubs began to gain rounds again, taking on a more polite, yet transformative form. The Blue Stockings Society was a social and educational movement where women and a few men gathered to discuss books and art. This was a substitution for gossiping, playing cards, or doing other fun activities considered normal in that era. 

Thanks to this community of people, it was established that conversations are the most important part of the arts. A great work of art is one that drives discussion amongst those that consumed it. The name “Blue Stockings” was because one of the members wore a casual blue worsted stocking, which symbolized the fact that the quality of mind was more important than the formality of the dress. This was the foundation of modern book clubs.

A Path to Self-Improvement

Up until the 19th century, the early forms of book clubs were largely for the religious and secular elites who had access to books and all. However, thanks to the Industrial Revolution of the 19th century, it became important for people to become literate. Owing to these, groups that referred to themselves as ‘mutual improvement societies’ began to pop up amongst the working-class people. Suddenly, everyone wanted to know more. So, groups of laborers, for instance, began to pool money to purchase expensive books and divided them amongst themselves to read. 

At the time, books were very costly. So, it only made sense for the clubs to have a collective library where people gathered for read-aloud sessions and had subsequent discussions. Thanks to these clubs, it became a common place for anyone seeking knowledge and context to gain it.

The Modern Spin of Book Clubs

It’s 2025, and it’s now easier than ever to find a book club or a reading tribe. Towards the end of the 20th century, Oprah Winfrey blessed the world with her Oprah Book Club, which led to books enjoying what we call the Oprah Effect. Simply, Oprah’s endorsement of a book always led to commercial success, as she leveraged her followership and community of fans to help great writers promote their books. And since the books were discussed briefly on her show, her recommendations sparked conversations around the world on the particular book she endorsed. 

Following in the footsteps of Oprah, a lot of people with a large following and an interest in books have also gone ahead to create book clubs. These include Read with Jenna by Jenna Bush, the Service95 Book Club by Dua Lipa, and even a book club on Goodreads.

Beyond these book clubs, new systems of book recommendations and discussions have risen thanks to the popularity of “BookToks.” These digital forums make it easy to find great books just by scrolling on mobile devices, which is incredible considering the idea of book discussions was once a means to freedom.

Fortunately, it didn’t matter how many evolutions book clubs had to go through; the core tenets remained: to meet, connect, and learn. Now, no one has to worry about finding the next great book to read, because freedom of speech has birthed many awesome writers, and global information access makes these books easily accessible and recommended. Whip out a Kindle, or visit a bookshop, and the next great read is somewhere there on the shelf. 

The post The Secret History of Book Clubs No One Talks About appeared first on Magazine.

Born in 1882 and passing away in 1956 at the age of 74, A.A Milne was a complex, sometimes conflicted writer with a remarkable line-up of books and plays to his name. With his works still culturally relevant to date, it’s only right to get to know the man. And what better way to celebrate what would have been his 144th birthday than by exploring these six fascinating facts about his life and legacy.

1. A Humorist Turned Storyteller

Before the fame of Winnie-the-Pooh, A.A Milne had a solid reputation as one of the funniest men in Britain. With an impressive line of work writing witty adult stories and plays, Milne moved in the highest literary circles of London. 

Despite his later occupations as a writer, poet, and playwright, Milne graduated from Trinity College, Cambridge, with a B.A. in mathematics.

It is also important to note that Milne only decided to write children’s literature thanks to his son, Christopher Robin. The creative mind of Milne wanted to create poems and tales about toys for his son, which ultimately led to the birth of the iconic bear creation.

2. Powerhouse of the Punch Magazine

His career began by contributing to the Punch magazine, before he went on to become an assistant editor for the publication. Punch was known for its humor and satire, and that’s Milne’s expertise. For the publication, A.A Milne wrote punchy and sharp essays, deeply observational, and highly respected and sought after. 

Although not yet named, Winnie-the-Pooh first appeared in A.A. Milne’s poem “Teddy Bear” (Poem IX in When We Were Very Young), which was originally published in Punch magazine in 1924.

3. H.G. Wells Was One of A.A. Milne’s Teachers

As a young student, A.A Milne attended a small school in London where his teacher was H.G Wells. For the uninitiated, H.G Wells is widely regarded as the father of modern science fiction. Wells taught Milne science, and the two writers remained friends for a long time. The gap between the chosen genres is what makes this link a surprising one. 

4. Winnie-the-Pooh’s Success Became a Personal Burden for Milne

The publication of Winnie-the-Pooh brought Milne a level of fame and financial success he had not anticipated. Yes, the character and the world he created for them brought him immense financial success and fame. But according to Milne himself, he often felt trapped by these very characters. The concept of a creator feeling trapped by the creature he made for his son is not something one heard of every day. 

As the years passed, Milne grew increasingly uncomfortable with being labeled solely as a children’s author. Beyond Winnie-the-Pooh, he had several works he’d rather be known for, including The Red House Mystery. However, public attention remained firmly fixed on Pooh.

Beyond the fact that his children’s stories swallowed his grown-up comical literary reputation, Milne had a very strained relationship with his son. Christopher Robin struggled with the attention that came from his father’s fame and faced teasing at school, which deeply affected him. This reality stands in contrast to the gentle world portrayed in Winnie-the-Pooh.

Christopher Robin later described his childhood as one shaped by his father’s success, feeling that it came at a personal cost. And till Milne’s death, the father-son relationship didn’t see much improvement.

5. A.A. Milne Served in Both World Wars and Wrote for the Stage

Typical of almost everyone who grew up in Milne’s era, he experienced the horrors of war firsthand. Unsurprisingly, the battle experiences shaped his worldview, evident in his writing.

Milne served in both world wars, working as an officer in the Royal Warwickshire Regiment during World War I. He was present at the Battle of the Somme, where the British and French empires fought the Germans.

Though he was a pacifist at heart, his sense of duty caused him to serve. Following his time served in WWI, he wrote both Peace with Honour (1934) and War with Honour (1940). His sense of duty remained true during the Second World War, when he served in the Home Guard despite being in his late 50s.

Beyond ensuring the safety of his homeland, A.A Milne was deeply committed to the country’s entertainment. Between 1916 and 1935, he wrote and created about 25 plays, with the most famous being Mr. Pim Passes By. The play lit up the London stage, expected from someone deemed to be the master of the ‘drawing-room comedy’.

6. The Hundred Acre Wood Was Inspired by a Real English Forest

Many of the locations of the fictional Hundred Acre Wood derive directly from the real Five Hundred Acre Wood in Ashdown Forest, and these locations now serve as popular tourist spots. The forest, located in East Sussex, was a place Milne frequently visited with his son Christopher Robin, and several recognizable landmarks from the stories can still be found there today.

Fans can walk the same paths that inspired Pooh’s adventures, visit Poohsticks Bridge, and explore areas believed to have influenced key settings in the books. Over time, Ashdown Forest has become closely associated with Winnie-the-Pooh, attracting readers from around the world who want to experience the landscape that brought the Hundred Acre Wood to life.

Beyond the Honey Pot

As with many figures defined by immense success, it is easy to view Milne solely through the lens of Winnie-the-Pooh. For instance, it’s easy to assume the writer was as sweet and simple as his stories. But far from that, Milne had his fair share of struggles, all completely masked by the literary success he enjoyed. 

To gain a fuller understanding of the man and his work, his essays and novels, including The Red House Mystery, are well worth reading. Seeing through his struggles, wartime service, and life’s frustrations offers an appreciation for the amount of warmth he put into Winnie-the-Pooh.

More than anything, Milne’s life and work remind us that even the most joyful creations can emerge from lives shaped by complexity and quiet resilience.

The post Six Things You Didn’t Know About A.A. Milne, the Mind Behind Winnie-the-Pooh appeared first on Magazine.

From Trains To Titles

Our tale starts way back in the late 19th century, in the golden age of the expanding London Underground. The original station, called Osterley & Spring Grove, opened in 1883 on the District Line. Back then, the area was practically countryside, and the station served the small, genteel community of Osterley and neighbouring Spring Grove.

The architecture had that classic Victorian charm: brick arches, tiled interiors, and a sort of robust elegance that even now you can still see peeking through the later changes. Steam trains would’ve puffed in and out of the platforms, carrying passengers into central London, their hats and parasols fluttering in the smoky breeze.

But London never stays still for long. As the Underground expanded and the Piccadilly Line pushed westward, newer, more modern stations cropped up. By 1934, the original Osterley & Spring Grove station was closed, replaced by the new Osterley station a little up the line, designed with all the streamlined flair of 1930s modernism.

And just like that, the old building’s railway chapter came to an end.

Wartime Resilience

When the trains stopped running, the station didn’t fall silent for long. During the Second World War, like so many sturdy buildings across London, it was repurposed. It’s believed to have been used by soldiers stationed in the area, possibly as temporary accommodation or storage space.

Imagine that for a moment. The ticket hall that once buzzed with commuters now echoes with the sounds of wartime boots and the murmur of servicemen swapping stories. London was a city in flux, and the old station, like its people, simply adapted.

The Artistic Revival of the 1960s

Fast-forward a few quiet decades to 1967, when a couple named Tony and Pennie, both artists, came across the disused building. They saw beyond the peeling paint and forgotten corners, recognizing its potential as a creative space. Their dream was to open a gallery or art studio.

But there was a small snag: local planning rules required that the building remain a retail premises of some sort. So, with the sort of resourceful flair that makes for great stories later, Tony and Pennie decided, “Why not sell books?”

And just like that, Osterley Bookshop was born, part necessity, part serendipity, and entirely delightful.

What started as an art project evolved into one of West London’s most characterful independent bookshops. Over the years, the shop filled up with second-hand books, antique maps, postcards, curiosities, and, of course, stories, both those written between covers and those shared among friends and guests.

What Makes Osterley Bookshop Special?

Imagine wandering into a former turnstile area or ticket hall, and instead of trains and commuting bustle, you find shelves, stacks, and piles of books reaching up old walls. You find yourself surrounded by layers and layers of history: the architecture of the station, the echoes of the past, and the quiet hum of bibliophiles browsing in the present.

Inside you’ll find an eclectic collection: second-hand books (some dating back to the 1700s), antiques, and knick-knacks. It’s the kind of place where you could spend an unplanned afternoon and emerge with one (or six) obscure titles you never knew you needed.

A Nearly Lost Local Landmark

Earlier this year, the bookshop announced it would permanently close. But thanks to a wave of local support (the kind of community spirit you love to hear about), the plan changed. Now, the shop will continue operating, albeit scaled back, moving to weekend-only hours from November. That makes a visit feel a little more precious: it’s not just a quirky find, it’s a bit of a treasure.

How To Get There, And What To Expect

The bookshop can be found at 168A Thornbury Road, Osterley. It’s just outside of central London, and yet still very easily reachable, and feels like a little escape from the usual tourist trails.

When you walk in, expect shelves crammed with books, stacks on the floor, and an atmosphere that is more like stepping into someone’s endless library than a polished chain bookshop. It’s not minimalist. It’s gloriously ramshackle. It encourages rummaging. You might find a book that catches your eye because you weren’t expecting it; that’s kind of the magic.

This is not a sleek, busy city-centre store. This is a neighborhood gem. One with a story. One that invites you to linger. Maybe you’ll pick up a volume on local London history (aptly enough) or a novel you’ve never heard of. Maybe you’ll just browse, sit for a moment, soak in the ambiance.

Perfect For Book Lovers and History Nerds

If you love books, this place is an obvious stop: second-hand books, odd editions, and plenty of character. But if you also love hidden bits of London’s past, you’ll appreciate that the building itself is a piece of history. A former Tube station building isn’t something you stumble upon every day. It links to London’s transport heritage, architectural change, wartime history, and community memory.

It’s the kind of place where you can imagine: commuters of old bustling in, the era of steam and early underground trains; then wartime adjustments; then artists taking over; and now readers browsing shelves. The layers are all there in the walls. Choosing a book here feels just a little more meaningful when you realize where you are.

The post How an Abandoned London Underground Station Became a Beloved Bookshop appeared first on Magazine.

Where Do These Book Recommendations Come From?

Carl Sagan was known to be a big reader; in fact, at one point, he said that “a book is proof that humans are capable of working magic.” In an essay titled The Path to Freedom, published just before he died, he lamented about books, saying that they “permit us to interrogate the past,” “to understand the point of view of others, and … to contemplate … the insights, painfully extracted from nature, of the greatest minds that ever were.”

It makes sense that he would have a large library and read plenty in his lifetime, which we have plenty of proof of. One such piece of proof is his handwritten college reading list from 1954.

Now, of course, there are a number of books on this list that are strictly course-related, and there isn’t a whole lot of fiction. It was, after all, the reading list of a man who became one of the greatest famous scientists America knew in the 20th century. Still, there are plenty of interesting things on the list, and definitely texts worth picking up if you want to understand Sagan’s mind that little bit more!

Carl Sagan’s Fiction Suggestions

There isn’t a whole lot of fiction on Carl Sagan’s 75-year-old reading list, but there are a few texts that allowed Sagan to lose himself a little. The notable fiction texts on Carl Sagan’s reading list include STAR science fiction stories, an anthology by Frederik Pohl.

It was published in 1953 and includes works by William Morrison, C. M. Kornbluth, Lester del Rey, Fritz Leiber, Clifford D. Simak, John Wyndham, William Tenn, Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, Judith Merril, H. L Gold, Robert Sheckler, Henry Kuttner, Murray Leinster, and Arthur C. Clarke.

Also on the list was Young Archimedes and Other Stories by Aldous Huxley. This is a collection of six stories, considered to be somewhat autobiographical. The stories were originally published under the title “The Little Mexican and Other Stories.” The stories are set in Europe and offer thoughtful discourse on childhood, love, life, death, and society.

The Immoralist is a confessional account of a man who is seeking the truth of his own nature. Michel, the story’s protagonist, marries Marceline out of his duty, only to meet a young Arab boy on their honeymoon. He discovers a new freedom in living his own life, but also tackles the burden that comes with that freedom.

Finally, the last full-length fiction piece on Carl Sagan’s college reading list was Julius Caesar by none other than William Shakespeare. The famous play sees Jealous conspirators convincing Caesar’s friend and confidant, Brutus, to join their assassination attempt against Caesar, in the hopes of stopping him from gaining too much power.

Sagan’s Philosophies

Where there were only a few fiction titles, there were significantly more philosophical titles. It seems that Sagan valued philosophy greatly, even though it was a scientific course he was about to undertake.

Some of the philosophical titles on his list include Who Speaks for Man? by Norman Cousins, a text exploring the debate of humanity and nuclear disarmament.

He then had multiple pieces by Plato. First on the list was Symposium, a dialogue that follows a man telling a story he heard from another man about a symposium (a party). Also on the list was Timaeus, an elaborate account of the formation of the universe, and The Republic, Plato’s examination of justice, order, the city-state, and man.

Non-fiction On Sagan’s List

There were other non-fiction titles on Carl Sagan’s list, too. These were, in fact, the majority. Of the non-fiction texts on the list, there were several course-related scientific journals and textbooks, but there were also a number of other texts.

For example, Death Be Not Proud. This 1949 memoir was written by an American journalist, John Gunther. The memoir follows the decline and, ultimately, the death of Gunther’s son Johnny. Johnny suffered from a brain tumor and died an untimely death at the age of 17.

In addition to this memoir, there was a detailed account of the J. Robert Oppenheimer Security Clearance Hearing. Looking into the work of Robert Oppenheimer at the Manhattan Project and the following court case that established concern that Oppenheimer might be an “agent of the Soviet Union.”

Another interesting piece on Sagan’s reading list is Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds by Charles Mackay. The book was published in three volumes: National Delusions, Peculiar Follies, and Philosophical Delusions. Each of the books sees Mackay, a Scottish journalist, debunk alchemy, duels, fortune-telling, haunted houses, the influence of politics on the shapes of bears, prophecies, relics, and crusades.

The post Celebrating 91 Years of Carl Sagan Through the Books That Made Him a Legend appeared first on Magazine.

If you’re just dying to know more, then you’re in the right place.

What Exactly Is “Harvard’s Book Made of Human Skin?”

Let’s begin with the basics. The “book made of human skin” refers to a copy of Des destinées de l’âme (in English, Destinies of the Soul), a French meditation on the soul and life after death written by Arsène Houssaye in 1879. Harvard’s particular copy is infamous because, at some point after the printed book was delivered, its owner, a French physician and bibliophile named Ludovic Bouland, decided to bind it using human skin.

Many years later, Harvard eventually acquired the volume, and the revelation of its binding caused a stir. Shockingly, though, this isn’t that unique. It’s an example of a rare (and macabre) historical practice called anthropodermic bibliopegy: binding books in human skin.

Who Was Ludovic Bouland, and What Motivated Him?

Bouland was a medical practitioner and book lover. According to a handwritten note inside the volume (inserted by Bouland himself), he believed that “a book about the human soul deserved to have a human covering.” The note goes further, describing how he prepared the skin for binding, and even suggesting that one could “distinguish the pores of the skin.”

But here’s where things get ethically murky: the skin came from a deceased female patient, likely without her consent, from a psychiatric hospital where Bouland had worked and studied. We don’t know the woman’s name, or whether any relatives were aware or consented (the evidence suggests not).

How Did Harvard Even Come to Own It?

The book was first acquired by John B. Stetson Jr., an alumnus of Harvard. In 1934, he gave it to Harvard on deposit. After that, it moved around: from the general collections to the rare books division, and finally, it became a permanent fixture after being donated as a gift in 1954.

Interestingly, Harvard had long suspected that the book’s binding might be human skin. In 2014, they conducted tests using peptide mass fingerprinting to confirm that the binding was indeed human in origin. That test was fairly definitive, ruling out most other animals and concluding that the sample was extremely likely human.

Harvard’s Reassessment and Removal

Once you realize that a human being’s remains were used, without known consent, and kept in the library collection for decades, you start to see the whole thing as, well… deeply uncomfortable. So how did Harvard confront it?

In the fall of 2022, Harvard’s Steering Committee on Human Remains in University Museum Collections issued a report prompting libraries and museums to examine whether human remains in their holdings should remain under institutional care. Houghton Library then formed a task force, reviewed the provenance, engaged stakeholders (students, faculty, external researchers), and weighed the ethics.

In March 2024, Harvard announced that the human skin binding would be disbound (i.e., removed) and placed in secure, respectful storage. The library concluded that the human remains “no longer belong in the Harvard Library collections,” given the ethically fraught nature of how they were obtained and the ongoing question of dignity to the person whose skin it was.

Harvard also acknowledged mistakes: historically, the library handled the book in ways that treated it as a curiosity or a museum oddity, rather than centering the humanity of the person involved.

Respectful Disposition and Ongoing Research

The removed skin is currently in secure storage while Harvard and relevant French authorities undertake further provenance and biographical research. The goal is to learn who the anonymous woman was, under what circumstances the skin was taken, and how best to provide a respectful disposition. Additionally, the university is consulting with stakeholders in France (where the act likely occurred) to determine how to lay the remains to rest, perhaps through reburial or another culturally respectful treatment.

Meanwhile, the text block of Des destinées de l’âme (i.e., the pages, minus the binding) is now separate, and while the book is temporarily unavailable for in-person access, researchers can still access the digital scans via Harvard’s online system.

The Intersection of Medicine, Ethics, Libraries, and Human Remains

This book highlights a rarely discussed (and very niche) overlap: libraries, as custodians of artifacts, sometimes hold human remains (bones, tissue, hair), especially in medical or anthropological collections. Decisions about how to care for, display, hide, or remove them often involve moral, historical, cultural, and legal judgments. The Harvard bookcase shows examples of what happens when this need arises.

It also illustrates how the medical community in previous centuries sometimes treated bodies as raw “material” rather than dignified persons. The woman whose skin was used was not accounted for in history; her remains were reduced to a binding. That reduction is exactly what many modern ethical reviews aim to undo, and what Harvard is actively pushing for in this case.

The Limits of “Curiosity” and “Collection”

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Many older museums and libraries accumulated strange or grotesque items under the banner of “curiosity” or “scientific interest.” But it seems that, over time, shifting norms are forcing these institutions to reconsider: was collecting justified? Who is or has been harmed? What is dignity owed to the dead?

Other Examples of Anthropodermic Binding

Harvard’s book is not the only known case of anthropodermic binding. But it is now one of the most visible, partly due to Harvard’s prominence. Some previously suspected human-bound books have later been found to be animal leather (sheep or goat) upon scientific analysis. If you’re interested in this tradition, check out Dark Archives, a book by Megan Rosenbloom that examines the phenomenon, what it reveals about medicine and death, and the ethics of keeping the books all these years later.

Harvard University is certainly not alone in its possession of such books. The Wellcome Library in London once held several suspected human-skin bindings, though scientific testing later proved some were made of sheep or goat leather. The Mütter Museum in Philadelphia has a verified human-skin-bound book titled The Highwayman: Narrative of the Life of James Allen, which Allen himself reportedly requested be bound in his own skin after his death. The Brown University John Hay Library also possesses a confirmed human-skin-bound volume of Practicarum Quaestionum Circa Leges Regias Hispaniae, a legal text from the 1600s.

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Marsh’s Library – Dublin, Ireland

Located behind Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, Marsh’s Library is Ireland’s oldest public library dating back to the 18th century. Made up of two long galleries joined by a reading room, the inside of the building has remained, for the most part, untouched over time. But this library has more than just elegant oak bookcases, old books, and ladders among the shelves – it also has ghosts.

Patrons and staff have reported seeing the ghost of an old man rummaging through the shelves, believed to be that of Archbishop Narcissus Marsh, the library’s founder. The story goes that Marsh’s favorite niece, Grace, who he raised from a young age, fell in love with a sea captain at the young age of just 19.

Marsh made it clear he didn’t approve, which resulted in Grace running away and eloping. Grace left a note for her uncle explaining why she had eloped and asking for his forgiveness, but she hid the note among the thousands of books so he couldn’t find it in time to stop her. Legend has it, Marsh continues to search for the note in the afterlife.

Throughout the Middle Ages, chained libraries were common to keep expensive books safe. In Marsh’s Library, however, readers were locked in cages to keep them from nicking the books. You can still see these cages in the library, very much adding to the eerie atmosphere. Next door, in Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, are the bodies of author Jonathan Swift and girlfriend Stella. Copies were made of their skulls and Stella’s was placed in one of the cages at the back of the library, while Jonathan’s remains in St. Patrick’s. Some say Swift’s ghost ventures to the library to pay Stella a visit.

Marsh’s Library is open to the public, and upon visiting we recommend taking a look at the visitor book for the signatures of authors Bram Stoker, Johnathan Swift, and James Joyce.

Andrew Bayne Memorial Library – Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

If you find yourself perusing the Andrew Bayne Memorial Library, there’s a chance you may run into Amanda Balph, the former owner of the library who passed away in 1912. Built in 1875, this Victoria-style home holds roughly 14,000 print volumes, as well as a residential spirit that is as kind as she is mischievous.

The building was originally the home of Amandy Bayne Balph, the daughter of Allegheny County Sheriff Andrew Bayne, and was donated after her death to be used as a library and a park under the stipulation that no trees were to be removed from the property; however, after a 300-year-old tree on the grounds had to be removed due to Dutch elm disease, some very spooky things started happening around the library including lights and ceiling fans turning off and on, computers and other electronics being played with, and books, keys and other items being hidden from staff members.

But don’t get too spooked, as long as you ask her nicely, she’ll stop.

Combermere Abbey Library – Cheshire, England

Built sometime around 1113, Combermere Abbey is a former monastery, that later served as a country house for the family who took ownership in the 16th century. More recently in 1998, the building was entered into English Heritage’s “Buildings at Risk” register. While the abbey is partially occupied and restored, work has been ongoing since 2010 to save the building. Now, let’s get to the spooky stuff because a building that has been around since 1113 is bound to have a ghost story or two.

The most famous ghost story has been around since 1891 when Abbey owner Lord Combermere passed away after being run over by a horse-drawn carriage. During his funeral on December 5th at St. Margaret’s Church in Wrenbury, Sybell Corbet took a photo of the library with a long exposure camera. After the photo had been developed, Sybell noticed the image of a man’s upper body sitting in one of the chairs of the library, which was peculiar since the house was empty at the time the photo was taken.

Lord Combermere’s children said the apparition not only looked like their late father but that it appeared to be sitting in his favorite chair. Abbey staff members still report a number of ghostly sightings and other paranormal activity.

Peoria Public Library – Peoria, Illinois

Our story begins in the 1830s when Mrs. Gray gained custody of her nephew after the death of her brother. Unfortunately, her nephew had a mind of his own, to say the least, getting into trouble at every opportunity. Mrs. Gray, a widow who had little money to her name, decided that it would be best to hire a lawyer to attempt to get her nephew out of his legal troubles. David Davis took her house as collateral to cover his fees and when the bill came, Mrs. Gray was unable to pay and Davis sued to collect the mortgage for his fees.

In a fit of anger, Mrs. Gray kicked her nephew out of the house while she battled her own court case. Soon after, her nephew’s lifeless body was found floating in the Illinois River, the cause of death unknown. A devastated Mrs. Gray didn’t blame herself, but instead blamed Davis and cursed the property and all future occupants.

The lore is after Davis took over the property, nothing would grow on the land, despite the fact Mrs. Gray had beautiful gardens. Davis was also known to wake up suddenly throughout the night to a banging on the door, finding Mrs. Gray’s nephew outside, begging to be let in, only to immediately disappear.

In 1894, the city of Peoria purchased the property and built a public library. The first three directors of the library died under suspicious circumstances including a streetcar accident, a heart attack during a board meeting, and suicide after swallowing arsenic. While these could all be coincidences, Mrs. Gray’s curses were always at the forefront of locals’ minds. The original library was torn down in 1966 and rebuilt, but library visitors still report seeing Mr. Wilcox wandering the halls, staff have reported seeing his face in doorwards, their names called when nobody else is around, and have felt cold spots where there should be no drafts.

Houston Public Library – Houston, Texas

One morning in November of 1936 the librarians of the Houston Public Library arrived to find the night watchman/handyman/gardener, Jacob Frank Cramer, dead. Eventually, the cause of death was determined to be a lung hemorrhage. Since his death, all peculiar instances reported at the library have been attributed to Cramer. 

Cramer had rented a small apartment in the basement of the library where he lived with his beloved German Shepherd, Petey. In his spare time, Cramer loved to play the violin and could often be found serenading the building that he loved and cared for. Patrons and staff have reported finding violin sheet music on the basement floor, as well as hearing a scratching sound as if a dog was digging and the sound of a dog’s toenails tapping on the floor. Staff have also reported seeing shadows, that disappear when directly looked at, lights flickering on and off, and trees sprouting up in freshly planted locations around the building.

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The Return (Better Late Than Never)

In July 1943, someone borrowed a book called Your Child, His Family, and Friends by Frances Bruce Strain. The due date was supposed to be 28 days later. But, as is all too often the case, that book never came back… or so everyone thought.

Fast-forward to June 2025, and the library received, rather shockingly, that exact same book, complete with a letter from a person in Oregon. The writer explained they had found it while going through their late father’s belongings.

Apparently, the borrower decades ago was their grandmother, who had moved to Mexico City for work at one point, and the book had stayed in the family ever since.

So yes, a book borrowed during World War II finally returned during the 2020s. What a wild adventure that little book has had.

What the Note Said

The letter accompanying the book is part apology, part explanation, part lighthearted remark. The writer said they noticed the San Antonio Public Library stamp and thought, “Hey, this belongs back there.” They also mused something along the lines of: “I hope there is no late fee for it, because Grandma won’t be able to pay for it anymore.” Ouch! But fair enough, nobody wants to have to pay out for Granny’s 80-year library fine!

The library’s staff was amused and touched. According to Scott Williams, Marketing Manager of SAPL, the content of the book is a bit of a relic; it is a self-help book about parenting from the 1940s, after all, so it doesn’t exactly align with modern parenting ideas. But it’s still a fascinating snapshot of its era.

So… What Was the Cost?

You might wonder: if the book was 82 years late, how much would the fine be? Some libraries charge as much as 20 cents a day, and we don’t even want to try and figure that one out.

Fortunately for the returner, it turns out that question is moot. The San Antonio Public Library eliminated fines for overdue books in 2021, in an effort to reduce financial barriers to library use.

Back in 1943, the fine was three cents per day. But to calculate a true number across decades, you’d have to take into consideration differing library policies, inflation, lost book rules, replacement cost rules, and more. It just would be far too complicated!

At one point, if a book became “lost,” the borrower would have to pay for replacing it, but in this case, that process obviously never played out.

What Happens Now?

With the book being as old and probably outdated as it is, so what happens next?

Here’s where it gets fun. For the month of August 2025, “Your Child, His Family, and Friends” will be displayed in the lobby of the Central Library in San Antonio. It’ll get a moment in the spotlight, just for the sheer brilliance of its return home.

Eventually, the library plans to donate it to the Friends of San Antonio Public Library, who will likely sell it in the used bookstore in the library’s basement. In other words, it’s going to end up in someone else’s hands soon (but this time, it’ll be official).

A Walk Down Memory Lane: 1943 vs. 2025

Let’s take a quick step back and imagine what life looked like when this book first left the shelves. It was July 1943. The world was in the thick of World War II. In San Antonio, people were rationing food, gas, and supplies. Soldiers were shipping out from military bases all around the area. Families were writing letters by hand and waiting weeks for news.

And in the middle of all that, someone was reading a parenting book. Think about that for a second: even in wartime, people were trying to figure out how best to raise their kids, and they turned to the library for answers. That alone makes this story feel a little poignant.

Fast forward to today, 2025. Parenting advice now is found on podcasts, TikTok channels, and parenting blogs. But back then, this book might have been a lifeline for a new parent. The very fact that it survived moves, lived through generations, and decades of cultural change almost feels like a little miracle.

The Charm of Late Book Stories

Here’s the thing: this isn’t the first time a library has gotten a book returned decades late, and it won’t be the last. Every so often, a headline pops up about a dusty volume being rediscovered in an attic, tucked into a box of keepsakes, or left behind in an old piece of furniture.

And each time, people smile. Why? Because these stories remind us that libraries are not just about books. They’re about the threads of connection that run through generations. A novel or parenting guide that belonged to Grandma in 1943 has now made its way back in 2025, and who knows who flicked through it in between. But now, it’s back home, where it can spark joy and conversation for strangers.

That’s the magic of it. Libraries aren’t just warehouses of books; they’re memory banks. And sometimes, memories come wandering back home, even after 82 years.

The post The Most Overdue Book Ever? San Antonio Library Gets Surprise Return appeared first on Magazine.

A.S.W. Rosenbach is about as close as we can get to an exception here. While his name is not as recognizable as those of Harper Lee, Jane Austen, or Charles Dickens, his remarkable career has made him one of the most celebrated booksellers in history.

This is largely thanks to his incredible knack for finding some seriously sought-after books, including several copies of one of the most sought-after.

A Legendary Bookseller’s Background

A.S.W. Rosenbach was born Abraham Simon Wolf Rosenbach in Philadelphia in 1876. His interest in books – in particular, old and rare books began when he was still young. While attending the University of Pennsylvania in the late 1890s, he located a copy of Dr. Samuel Johnson’s prologue for the opening of the Drury Lane Theatre in 1747. It was a first edition, and highly valuable, but Rosenbach picked it up for only $3.60.

This would be around $137.77 today – a not-inconsiderable sum for a book. Several years later, however, Rosenbach would refuse an offer of $5,000 for it, which would equate to almost $200,000 today.

Understanding that he had a knack for this kind of thing, Rosenbach started the Rosenbach Company in 1903, with his brother Philip. Philip took care of antique items, while Abraham hunted down valuable books.

Over the years, A.S.W. Rosenbach became known as the foremost book collector in the world. Working with the likes of Henry Huntington and J.P. Morgan, Rosenbach tracked down and secured many of the world’s most elusive titles. His purchase of The Bay Psalm Book in 1947, for $151,000 (almost $2.2 million in 2025) represented the highest fee ever paid for a book at the time.

The Gutenberg Bible

The Gutenberg Bible is among the first mass-produced books in history and was published around 1450 by Johannes Gutenberg. Also known as the 42-Line Bible, Gutenberg’s work used movable type to accelerate and revolutionize the book printing and distribution process.

Though the book was mass-produced, there actually weren’t that many copies published during the 15th Century.

Somewhere between 160 and 185 copies seems to be the academic consensus.

Of these copies, only around 49 are still extant to this day, and only 25 are actually complete.

The fragmented copies vary in quality – some just have a couple of pages missing, others are significantly depleted.

There are also a few individual pages still in existence, which may suggest a further 16 copies. This would bring the total number of surviving Gutenberg Bibles – in one form or another – up to 65.

A.S.W. Rosenbach and The Gutenberg Bible

One of Rosenbach’s many claims to fame is that he bought and sold eight Gutenberg Bibles over his career. In other words, almost one-third of the surviving copies of the Bible, and between 4% and 5% of all the copies that have ever existed, passed through Rosenbach’s hands.

Many of the Gutenberg Bibles that are preserved in museums and collections to this day have been safeguarded thanks to Rosenbach’s work.

Other famous professional coups for Rosenbach include his acquisition of Shakespeare’s First Folio – something he did not once, but thirty times. In total, all of the book purchases he made over his life are estimated to be over $75,000,000.

An Incredible Career

As well as being a bookseller, Rosenbach was a prolific writer. He wrote a number of essays for publishers like the Atlantic, and also wrote two books: Books and Bidders: The Adventures of a Bibliophile in 1927, and A Book Hunter’s Holiday: Adventures with Books and Manuscripts in 1936.

But it is Rosenbach’s expertise as a book dealer for which he is most remembered. He famously presented a huge collection of children’s books to the Free Library in his native Philadelphia and established the Rosenbach Fellowship in Bibliography at his alma mater, the University of Pennsylvania.

So, to bring us full circle to the question that kicked off this post, yes, one bookseller did handle eight Gutenberg Bibles. That bookseller’s name was Abraham Simon Wolf Rosenbach, and those Bibles are just one achievement across his glittering career.

The post Meet The Lucky Man Who Held More Gutenberg Bibles Than Anyone in History appeared first on Magazine.

The Ancient Flood… or One of Them, Anyway

Imagine the scene: It’s 1872, and a room full of stiff-collared Victorian scholars is gathered at the British Museum. Then, a young Assyriologist named George Smith stands up, reads from a recently translated clay tablet, and drops a bombshell. The tablet tells a story about the gods planning to destroy the world with a massive flood. One man is warned, builds a huge boat, saves his family and animals… Sound familiar?

It was pretty much the story of Noah’s Ark. But here’s the twist: this tablet came from ancient Mesopotamia, and it was at least a thousand years older than the biblical Book of Genesis. The differences don’t stop there, either. On this tablet, the flood hero wasn’t Noah, it was a man named Ut-napishti. Oh, and the story happened to be a part of the famous historical tale: The Epic of Gilgamesh.

When it was revealed to the public, people went crazy. Newspapers ran with headlines. People were amazed and unsettled. People were asking whether or not the Bible had borrowed this story from an earlier source, or if perhaps both stories were preserving the story of a real historical flood.

A Piece of the World’s Oldest Literature

To get the obsession and fascination with this tablet and the story on it, you have to understand where it came from and how old it is. The tablet came from the Library of Ashurbanipal (that’s basically the even more ancient version of the Library of Alexandria). Ashurbanipal was a king of Assyria way back in the 7th century, and he was a famous scholar, as well as a warrior. During his reign, he collected thousands of tablets that covered everything from science to myth… including this flood story.

But even when the king had the tablet made, it was already ancient. Versions of the story of the Mesopotamian flood had been told for over 2,000 years before the tablet itself was inscribed. To put that into context, it’d be like someone today writing down a story that had been passed around since way before even the pyramids were built!

It is thought that The Epic of Gilgamesh, of which this tablet is a part, is the first great epic in world literature. It follows Gilgamesh, a divine king who embarks on a quest for immortality after the death of a close friend. He battles monsters, visits faraway lands, and meets Ut-napishti, our flood survivor, who tells him about how the gods once tried to wipe out humanity.

Ut-napishti: the original Noah

Ut-napishti is a fascinating figure. He’s not a righteous preacher like Noah, instead, he’s a clever man who happens to be in the right place at the right time. In the story, the gods decide humans are too noisy and chaotic, so they plan to flood the world (sounds familiar, right?). But the god Ea has a soft spot for Ut-napishti and whispers a warning to him through a dream.

So what does Ut-napishti do? He builds a gigantic boat (described in impressive detail on the tablet), loads it with his family, skilled workers, and “the seed of all living things”, essentially a Mesopotamian version of two of every animal. The storm rages, mountains disappear under water, and for seven days and nights, the world is in chaos.

Eventually, the waters recede, and the boat comes to rest on a mountaintop. Ut-napishti sends out birds to find dry land (sound familiar again?), and when the coast is clear, he steps out and offers a sacrifice to the gods. They’re pleased and grant him and his wife immortality. It’s this story he tells Gilgamesh, who’s desperately seeking a way to live forever.

You can see why people were amazed, or even still are. The parallels to the story of Noah are too striking to ignore!

What Does It All Mean?

So, what do we make of all this today?

Well, for one thing, the discovery of the flood tablet has been a game-changer in how we understand ancient history and religion. It reminded scholars (and the rest of us) that the Bible didn’t appear in a vacuum, that it isn’t the only ancient scripture out there. It reminded lots of people that the ancient world was interconnected and that myths, stories, and religious ideas flowed across borders, just like trade goods and armies.

It also highlighted the power of storytelling. When we see these common tales across ancient history, we can start to formulate an idea of the past. Flood myths pop up in many cultures: from the Greek story of Deucalion to flood legends in India, China, and the Americas. It’s possible they all stem from a real ancient flood (or several) that left a deep mark on human memory. Or maybe floods, being such dramatic and terrifying events, naturally inspired these kinds of cautionary tales.

Either way, the Mesopotamian flood story helps us see that ancient people wrestled with the same big questions we do: Why are we here? What is our place in the universe? Why do disasters happen? And can we, somehow, be saved?

It also shows us how long-lasting and influential ancient literature can be. The Epic of Gilgamesh may have been lost for centuries, buried under the ruins of Nineveh, but it survived, on clay tablets, long enough to speak to us today. And thanks to one curious 19th-century scholar, we now know that long before Noah, there was Ut-napishti, sailing a giant boat into literary immortality.

The post Buried for Centuries, This Tablet Tells a Story Older Than the Bible appeared first on Magazine.

In a world of gramophones and print newspapers, the rise of the television set was a real revelation. And it set imaginations running wild as people wondered what would come next.

So, between 1958 and 1963, Arthur Radebaugh put pen to paper to create a series of illustrations for the Chicago Tribune, entitled “Closer Than We Think!” Radebaugh’s drawings were eye-catching in their own right, but their content would have been seriously exciting for newspaper readers at the end of the ‘50s. But, more than 60 years later, was he correct?

Closer than We Think: Arthur Radebaugh’s Vision

Radebaugh’s Closer Than We Think series spanned several years in the late 1950s and early 1960s and tantalized audiences with visions of the near future. Robot Railroading dealt with fully-automated public vehicles, the One-World Job Market focused on remote working and telecommuting, while Highway to Russia is pretty self-explanatory.

It’s the Electronic Home Library that is most relevant to us, though. Released in February 1959, the image paints a picture of a sprawling home entertainment system, covering a wealth of different media and cultural works.

As her mother and father recline on couches, a young girl selects a title from this library. The image’s commentary describes how moving pictures will be recorded and stored, and how televisions will reproduce images in three dimensions. Meanwhile, microfilm books will be projected onto huge spaces – the ceiling, in this particular image – and accompanied by electronic voice technology to help students and other readers.

Who Was Arthur Radebaugh?

Born in Coldwater, Michigan, in 1906, Arthur Radebaugh was a skilled illustrator and airbrush artist. His charming images demonstrate his proficiency and are stunning examples of the retro-futurist art style that became so popular in the post-war years.

But he was not just an artist. Radebaugh’s background in industrial design and automotive development made him well-qualified to make technological predictions about the state of future society.

This is perhaps why Radebaugh’s visions are a little more measured than those we may be used to.

The idea of wild optimism after the dark days of World War II has been much parodied, and we’re still waiting for the personal jetpacks and teleportation devices we were promised. Instead, Radebaugh’s speculations seem to be grounded in the technological reality he knew well.

Was Arthur Correct?

At first glance, Arthur’s predictions seem startlingly accurate. Automated vehicles and devices are very much a real thing. Automated grocery stores and self-checkouts are a real thing, too, although their benefits are enjoyed by all genders, not just the ‘housewives’ repeatedly mentioned in Radebaugh’s illustration.

But what about the Electronic Home Library? Well, as anyone who ended up with mountains of DVDs, CDs, and VHSs can attest, this one seems pretty accurate too. It’s unclear if projecting a book onto a ceiling ever really took off, but electronic books and e-readers are definitely a thing.

Of course, we’ve surpassed this vision now. Through digital streaming services, we have access to an untold amount of music, movies, TV shows, books, video games, and any other piece of digital media you care to mention. The living room depicted in Arthur’s illustration is nice and spacious, but even that couldn’t house a library of this size.

Radebaugh’s vision of the near future has become our vision of the recent past.

Behind the Wizard’s Curtain: Radebaugh’s Secret

Arthur Radebaugh: skilled artist, technological visionary, occasionally proponent of outdated gender roles? Yep, Radebaugh was all these things. But let’s focus on his technological vision. What was his secret? How did he get so much right?

Well, in truth, Radebaugh had an advantage. A lot of the technology he mooted was in fact already on its way. The robo-train illustration, for example, premiered in 1960, but automatic trains were being tested on the New York subway in 1959. As for the Electronic Home Library, published in 1959, the first magnetic tape video recordings were made as early as 1951, and the technology was developing pretty rapidly by the end of the decade.

So Arthur Radebaugh wasn’t so much dealing with “Closer Than We Think” as “Pretty Much Already Here.” Although this should take nothing away from Radebaugh, and his brand of practically-viable visions of the future is more useful than things like bowling alleys in space or a tiny nuclear reactor in every home.

As for the illustrations themselves, they still look great. Perusing the artworks these days offers a fascinating trip into the psyche, innovation, and aesthetic of the post-war world.

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