Most preconquest British literature was produced and consumed in monasteries and abbeys, communities of Christians dedicated to the service of God.  The following video lecture gives a short introduction to this important culture:

Books and their Makers

By Nicholas Hoffman

The Codex

The development of the medieval codex was a cultural watershed. As moderns, we may take for granted the intense labor and ingenuity that goes into writing a book by hand.

To participate in the Abrahimic religions (medieval or modern), you need books. For the medieval Christians of England, books provided access to the Bible, written prayers, devotional music, the liturgy, and other rituals.

Book culture in the Middle Ages wasn’t strictly about religious observance, either; treatises on medicine, the natural world, mathematics, astronomy, and other noticeably “secular” literature can be found alongside the religious texts we tend to associate with the medieval past. Diverse texts are often found alongside one another in medieval codices, and it can be increasingly difficult to draw a line with any degree of certainty between what is “religious” or “secular” at all.

We can think of the medieval book as a piece of technology—an “open source” system, where scribes, often anonymously, collected materials, re-organized them, and annotated them for future readers.^[1] Regrettably, of this vast archive of medieval information, much has been lost. It’s humbling to remember that many of the most celebrated texts from the early Middle Ages, like Beowulf, only survive in one copy!

How to Make a Medieval Book

Medieval books were written, compiled, and bound on parchment—animal skins that have been cleaned, scraped, stretched, dried, and finally cut into sheets. Vellum was especially popular (a type of parchment made from calf). It’s strange to think of medieval books as animal products, but we are dealing with a time when writing a text required a serious consideration of resources. Think of it this way: one sheet of parchment from a sizeable animal could be folded twice, making just four double-sided pages (just eight pages in total). The process of making a complete codex could be understandably lengthy.

Here are some of the steps our pre-conquest scribes had to consider:

1. Once you’ve got some good parchment (here’s a video of the process, for the morbidly curious), cut and fold it to uniform size. You will be left with a collection of small booklets to be stitched together later.

2. After folding your parchment, you have to get it organized. Remember, vellum didn’t come with pre-made lines! A scribe could draw the lines in (including frames for illustrations) or poke tiny holes in the surface to act as a guide (a process called “pricking”). Watch this video on the structure of a medieval manuscript for a run-down of the process.

3. Now it’s time to add the text and decoration. Books often had more than one scribe working in tandem with illustrators. The script, or handwriting style, of a manuscript (or even a particular scribe) can tell us quite a bit about the book’s origins and dating. For example, scholars have traced the handwriting of one scribe with a tremor across numerous manuscripts. Meanwhile, decoration could take many forms, including color illustrations, gold leaf, and illuminated initials.

4. There was no delete button (but you could scrape ink away with a sharp blade). Either way, it’s a good idea to correct your manuscript (maybe…). Scribes also provided gloss (marginal or interlinear notes/translations) to make the book user-friendly. Where do you think we got the term “glossary”?

5. Finally the separate booklets are ready to be sewn together and given a protective (or sometimes ostentatiously decorative) cover.

The Riddle of the Book

Trans. Paul Franklin Baum [link]

An enemy came      and took away my life

and my strength also      in the world; then wetted me,

dipped me in water;      then took me thence;

placed me in the sun,      where I lost all my hair.

The knife’s edge cut me—      its impurities ground away;

fingers folded me.      And the bird’s delight

with swift drops      made frequent traces

over the brown surface;      swallowed the tree-dye

with a measure of liquid;      traveling across me,

left a dark track.      A good man covered me

with protecting boards,      which stretched skin over me;

adorned me with gold.      Then the work of smiths

decorated me with strands      of woven wire.

Now may the ornaments      and the red dye

and the precious possessions      everywhere honor

the Guardian of peoples.      It were otherwise folly.

If the sons of men      wish to enjoy me,

they will be the safer      and surer of victory

and the stronger of heart      and the happier of mind

and the wiser of spirit.      They will have more friends,

dearer and closer,      truer and better,

nobler and more devoted,      who will increase

their honor and wealth,      with love and favors

and kindnesses surround them,      and clasp them close

with loving embraces.      Ask me my name.

I am a help to mortals.      My name is a glory

and salvation to heroes,      and myself am holy.

And here it is in the original Old English. . .

Below is the text of the same riddle in the original Old English. I’ve prepared an audio recording with a short discussion of the riddle, its language, and why it looks so strange to us today.

Mec feonda sum     feore besnyþede

woruldstrenga binō     wætte siþþan

dyfde on wætre     dyde eft þonan

sette on sunnan     þær ic swiþe beleas

herum þam þe ic hæfde     heard mec siþþan

snað seaxses ecge     sindrum begrunden

fingras feoldan     ⁊ mec fugles wyn

geond sped dropum     spyrede geneahhe

ofer brunne brerd     beamtelge swealg

streames dæle     stop eft on mec

siþade sweartlast     mec siþþan wrah

hæleð hleobordum     hyþe beþenede

gierede mec mid golde     forþon me gliwedon

wrætlic weorc smiþa     wire bifongen ·

nu þa gereno     ond se reada telg

⁊ þa wuldorgesteald     wide mære

dryhtfolca helm     nales dol wite ·

gif min bearn wera     brucan willað

hy beoð þy gesundran     ⁊ þy sigefæstran

heortum þy hwætran     ⁊ þy hygebilþran

ferþe þy frodran;     habbaþ freonda þy ma

swæsra ⁊ gesibbra     soþra ⁊ godra

tilra ⁊ getreowra     þa hyra tyr ⁊ ead

estum ycað,     ⁊ hy ār stafum

lissum bilecgað     ⁊ hi lufan fæþmum

fæste clyppað ·     frige hwæt ic hatt

niþum to nytte;     nama min is mære ·

hæleþum gifre     ⁊ halig sylf

The Lindisfarne Gospels

Now that you’ve analyzed an Old English riddle about a gospel book–that book that will make its readers “safer and surer of victory, “stronger of heart” and “happier of mind”–it’s time to turn to the “real thing”: one of the most spectacular books ever made.  It was produced at Lindisfarne Abbey, located on the Isle of Lindisfarne off the northeastern coast of England, and created in honor of Saint Cuthbert, who died in 687.

Cuthbert, the honoree of the Lindisfarne Gospels, was one of several famous “alumni” of Lindisfarne. Narratives about his life emphasized his penchant for solitary contemplation and a closeness with animals. The coastal, monastic retreat of Lindisfarne seems the ideal place for a person like Cuthbert to cultivate his spiritual life, surrounded by coastal birds, wildlife, and a striking landscape.

From a geographical standpoint, Lindisfarne is fascinating. As mentioned above, the Holy Island is only accessible at ebb-tide, when the causeway is clear of water. The remoteness of the island made it a space of spiritual significance, fostering an isolated, contemplative space for the monastics that called it home. Its coastal isolation also made it a tantalizing target for Viking raiders.

An interesting, eco-critical aside: eider ducks would have been a common sight for the denizens of Lindisfarne Abbey. In fact, you’ll find them tucked into the elaborate designs of the Lindisfarne Gospels! These ducks are known as “Cuddy ducks” after Cuthbert, who, according to legend, protected the birds from thieves looking to steal their eggs. In one video a modern conservationist explains why he considers Cuthbert the “Father of conservation.”

The Book of Kells

Another elaborate Gospel book is the Book of Kells, dating from circa 800. The artists of this Book shared Eadfrith’s genius and his quirky sense of humor.  Below is the famous “chi rho” page in the manuscript, so called because it consists of two decorated Greek letters, chi and rho, the first letters of the word Christ. Can you spot the human faces in the decoration?  How about some mice playing tug-of-war with a communion wafer under the auspices of a pair of cats? Mischievous critters playing within the letters spelling out Christ? Mice nibbling a communion wafer, considered to be the body of Christ? This page’s blending of the sacred with what many people today consider profane can be found in much medieval religious art.

If the artists of the Book of Kells were alive today, I suspect they would be making animated movies, which require the same flights of fancy.  The Book of Kells, indeed, inspired a delightful animated movie, The Secret of Kells (2009), which imagines how the Book of Kells might have come to be produced. The movie concludes by “translating” the medieval manuscript into a dazzling animated sequence.