The Literature of Music Bibliography: An Account of the Writings on the History of MusicPrinting &Publishing by D. W. KrummelReview by: Stanley BoormanNotes, Second Series, Vol. 51, No. 1 (Sep., 1994), pp. 60-65Published by: Music Library AssociationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/899173 .

Accessed: 14/06/2014 15:11

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp

.JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org.

.

Music Library Association is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Notes.

http://www.jstor.org

This content downloaded from 62.122.73.34 on Sat, 14 Jun 2014 15:11:21 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

BOOK REVIEWS EDITED BY MARK GERMER AND MARJORIE HASSEN

The Literature of Music Bibliography: An Account of the Writings on the History of Music Printing & Publishing. By D. W. Krummel. (Fallen Leaf Reference Books in Music, 21.) Berkeley: Fallen Leaf Press, 1993, c1992. [xix, 447 p. ISBN 0-914913-21-2. $75.00.]

Bibliography, as a mode of enquiry, is one of the most curious of humanistic fields, always in danger of remaining at one remove from study of the contents of the book. The art historian and the student of poetry, working with a printed source, is primarily concerned with the content of the document, with its historical values and social background. The historical scholar, whether examining political or social his- tory, looks at the sources again as providing essential material for study, rather than as topics for research themselves.

The bibliographer does not have to do this: after all, even in the field of music we have persuaded enough other specialists that detailed study of the printed docu- ments themselves is a worthwhile exercise; our colleagues recognize that much can be learned from these sources about more general cultural and social trends and is- sues, in addition to the things that can be learned from their content. We have been able to use our freedom to study truly bib- liographical matters as well, and a number of musicologists have built a place in the discipline on the strength of their biblio- graphical expertise. However, in achieving this recognition, we sometimes forget that the history of printing, of publishing, of the circulation of ideas through print is dan- gerously capable of becoming an end in itself, a self-justifying study, supported by the needs of librarians and specialist schol- ars of printing and publishing. Instead, I believe, it is only of value when it also looks at the ideas that are so circulated, and at the impact on larger issues presented by the presence of texts in printed editions of greater or lesser beauty or reliability.

In writing in this manner, I am not trying to belittle the study of bibliography for its own sake (which, after all, I too practice),

or those many (and often very gifted) scholars who spend their lives on biblio- graphical issues (so that their colleagues may be better informed about the content). I am merely insisting that the history of bibliography (or of writings about it) also includes the history of how its conclusions have been used in the study of the content -in this case, music.

From early in his career, Donald Krum- mel has sought to extend his thinking (and that of his readers) beyond the work in hand, and towards a discussion of what bib- liography is doing. He has been concerned to show where bibliography might or should be going, in the process often re- vealing his own special interests (in typo- graphical evidence or publishing history). If I feel that his work is perhaps still too often centered in bibliography as a subject, and not enough in it as a tool for other subjects such as the history of music and its dissemination, I am not thereby trying to denigrate either the author or his work -there is room for all sorts of specialists, and he has frequently shown how a com- paratively circumscribed approach can be very fruitful in unexpected ways. Yet, a book with the title of the one under review here, or with the intentions announced in its subtitle, needs to view all the many as- pects of bibliography and its application. I am not sure that this volume really does that, although I see ways in which Krum- mel tries to come to terms with such a pos- sible criticism.

In essence, Krummel has tried to write a report on the state of music bibliography, intending to survey the published second- ary literature in such a way that it reveals what he sees as an "agenda" for the disci- pline, while at the same time providing a wide range of references to that litera-

60

This content downloaded from 62.122.73.34 on Sat, 14 Jun 2014 15:11:21 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

Book Reviews

ture. The result is a book that is invalu- able, though not always easy to use: its con- tents are continually stimulating, although also often frustrating. It should be on the shelves of every music bibliographer, and consulted often by all those who regularly work with printed music sources. Krummel has read widely, pursued the goals of this book through many foreign libraries, and turned up much obscure but important and interesting material. Even a reader well versed in the subject will frequently come across references that are new, and cita- tions that promise to be both stimulating and worth chasing. At the same time the prose introductions and commentaries will provoke thought and suggest new lines of enquiry.

In his preface, Krummel suggests that he has had two goals in writing the book (it is not adequate even to suggest that his work has merely been an act of compila- tion): "first, a rigorous definition of scope [of musical bibliography and its writings], so as to clarify the agenda of questions that have and have not been addressed and that might, should or can never be addressed through bibliographical evidence; and sec- ond, a sense of intellectual structure of the domain of music bibliography" (p. ix).

This in itself will be enough to indicate what readers will quickly discover: that, in fact, this is much more an "account" of the writings on bibliography than it is a cata- logue of them. There is no listing of the writings on individual printers or publish- ers, no guide to the studies of Ricordi's publishing or Senefelder's techniques. There need not be, for these are readily available in the Norton/Grove Handbook on Music Printing and Publishing, edited by Krummel himself, with Stanley Sadie (New York: W. W. Norton, 1990). Nor is there discussion of technical terms, which can be found in the handbook as well. Nor again are there catalogues of editions or libraries -which can of course also be found else- where.

Instead, and in support of his two goals, Krummel arranges his text around a series of topics. These are carefully chosen, and should stimulate both music bibliographers and musicologists to new ideas and modes of thought. Some are obvious, and would occur to nonspecialists faced with con- structing a bibliography of the subject:

"Historical Surveys of Music Printing"; "The Technology of Music Printing"; or the series of lists of "National Literatures," covering printing and publishing in differ- ent areas.

Two other chapters are more stimulating both in concept and execution: "Printed Music as Graphic Art"; and "Musical Com- merce and Property." Both of these are in practice catchall titles, allowing Krummel to collect together (on the one hand) cata- logues of exhibitions, and material on title pages and covers, and (on the other) writ- ings on copyright and performance rights, on the practices of publishing and selling, and on the relations between publisher and composer. In these (as in the other) cases, Krummel has had to be selective: in sup- port, he offers brief introductory essays on each issue, on the problems it raises for bibliographers, and on some of the aspects yet to be addressed in the literature.

These essays are often highly provoca- tive, in the best sense, forcing readers to confront limitations in their own views. The introduction to the chapter on tech- nology stresses the need to distinguish orig- inal instruction manuals from modern analyses of printing practice. In line with some other recent literature, Krummel is here silently respecting a concern to be found in modern writings outside music- that our reconstructions can be logically sound, and even informed by a grasp of the mechanics of printing, and yet be entirely wrong. Thus, Krummel concentrates on the "original," on manuals prepared by or for printers and their contemporary pub- lic: if, in so doing, he were to lead readers to shortchange modern scholarship, that would be unfortunate. In the last fifty years, much has been learned about the techniques of earlier printing, and has been published by many scholars. In Krummel's book, the representative examples of that work have to be sought elsewhere, under a number of different headings. Here, the desire to avoid excessive duplication of the bibliographical work in the handbook has clearly made the present volume less easy to use.

By contrast, the introductory essay for the chapter on "Musical Commerce and Property" is admirable, raising the important issues, even when they have not been the subject of previous research. (I am

61

This content downloaded from 62.122.73.34 on Sat, 14 Jun 2014 15:11:21 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

NOTES, September 1994

fairly sure that I do not agree with all the author's opinions and arguments in this section, but that is beside the point: he has raised a number of interesting issues, and he has the basis of much study and ex- pertise behind him. I am glad to be forced to rethink them.)

In a similar manner, the very few ref- erences to the important role of women in music printing and publishing serve to highlight the extent to which it has not been studied. Clearly, as Krummel ac- knowledges, women have always had some sort of function within the realm of print- ing and publishing music. Also, and he can cite one reference here, they took an im- portant place as engravers of music, par- ticularly in France from at least the mid- eighteenth century. However, they were probably active as managers of printing shops and as publishers during the Italian Renaissance, hiding behind such formula- tions as "heirs of . . .". The German sev- enteenth century apparently allowed them to sign books, for several printers were fol- lowed by their widows. How far these ex- amples are typical, in presenting women as being allowed by the guilds to continue shops that were already active, we cannot yet tell. The subject seems to be significant, in a number of ways, as does the later pat- tern of women engravers. It may well be that there is no deeply gender-oriented topic here, and that the patterns reflect no more than general trends. But Krummel does well to raise the subject. Indeed, he continually does raise such topics through- out his series of short essays.

The arguments in these essays are spe- cifically related to his "Agenda of Music Bibliography," an attempt at stating where bibliography has been, and how far it has come. This is presented by Krummel in a first chapter on "The Theory of Music Bibliography," where it is divided into a series of nine headings: "description, dat- ing, plate numbers, other internal and [sep- arately] external evidence, text [accuracy and editorial procedure], terminology, im- pact, and motivation [of the scholar, not of the printer or publisher]" (p. 6). These are all concerned with the state of bibliographic thinking, and not with the subjects them- selves: Krummel implicitly admits this when he introduces his agenda with the sentence "What questions do music bibli- ographers ask in the course of their work

with the music they study?" Thus the dis- cussion of dating is primarily centered on what we as observers or historians have thought about the issue, and that of text with the existence (or dearth) of musical writings on textual criticism. There is little attempt at discussing what the original printers and publishers thought about these various issues. In some cases this is partly covered in his Guide for Dating Early Published Music (Hackensack, NJ.: J. Boo- nin, 1974), although usually it lies beyond the scope of that volume, also. Thus, it is a lack not easily covered here or elsewhere.

This is a pity, for Krummel is as well qualified as anyone to write such an over- view. What he does say is often cogently presented, and almost always thought- provoking, although it does show his own biases and predilections. Sometimes, this is valuable, for Krummel is not above intro- ducing his own unpublished knowledge or approaches to a problem. In these cases, his strengths and special research interests give particular impact to the issues they illu- mine, and make the book more valuable.

But, behind it all there are two aspects of the book that must give alert readers pause. One lies in the nature of the choices for Krummel's "agenda." It seems to me that these nine choices are more typical of a field in the process of formation than they would be of one that has a distinguished history of achievement. They are not consis- tent and, even while they purport to cover the whole field, they in fact betray a view that reflects more the serendipity of past publication and interest than any consistent view of what bibliography might be about. To some extent, they are even arranged in an order that reflects the librarian's and systematic bibliographer's sequence of con- cerns. "Description" and "Terminology," separated in Krummel's list, are really two parts of the same issue: how do we describe a printed book? and, what words can we use in the process? "Dating" and "Plate Numbers" seem equally to be two aspects of the twin issues of chronology and pub- lisher's output. Indeed, I would tend to re- gard the latter as a special case of the for- mer, whether the end product is to be a date for an edition or a history of the press. In both these pairs of cases, however, it so happens that different scholars and differ- ent modes of thought have tended to be in- volved. The describers of books have nec-

62

This content downloaded from 62.122.73.34 on Sat, 14 Jun 2014 15:11:21 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

Book Reviews

essarily had to adopt some internally consis- tent form of terminology, while the think- ers about terminology have tended to look for problems and avoid detailed descrip- tion. The student of the plate number seems not always to be the person working on the history of the edition or the status of its contents in the history of music. (I recognize that these are sometimes the same people-but they often do the work in different places. Indeed, there are dis- tinguished exceptions to these remarks, and they receive due credit in Krummel's book.)

Others of his list are evidently looking outward, away from any tightly drawn con- fines for the subject of bibliography. These include "Text" and "Impact," the former concerned with textual criticism, and the latter with cultural history. The slim (al- most reluctant) coverage of both of these highlights the extent to which Krummel responds to his own special interests, which are largely bibliographical-in the sense of studying details of the printer's technique and technology, and the book's presenta- tion and style-and (as with all of us) stron- ger in some areas than others. In short, his response is less outward-looking than the captions would seem to require.

While Krummel has, as I say, read and searched for material very widely, his view of bibliographical research, and of where it is going, is bound to be colored by this slightly unbalanced view. Worrying is the extent, for example, to which his thinking (though not his coverage) is oriented here (as in the IAML Guide) to music prepared after ca. 1700. It is not enough to suggest that problems of dating are only of interest after such a date: this betrays a lack of awareness of many types of bibliographical problems and analysis. These may rarely be as easily addressed as are the problems found in engraved or overtly undated mu- sic, though for that reason they need more subtle modes of approach from the scholar. A purely bibliographical approach will not provide the answers: as with other issues, the content, the musical function of the book, or the accuracy of the readings (some form of textual criticism being involved) will often illumine the purely bibliograph- ical problem.

This leads directly to my other main con- cern, the extent to which Krummel depicts musical bibliography as an end in itself,

that is, as a topic for research without ex- tensive ramifications for the historian of music. This is most apparent in the final "Epilogue." Here Krummel does two things, of which the first is excellent. It offers a series of comments on what he sees (rightly) as the main issues facing music printing and publishing today: the need for printing at all, the impact that publishing and the publisher has on the quality of music, the range of repertories, and so on. His trenchant comments are welcome and perceptive. They lay out the polemical positions and show their weaknesses, each in turn.

Indeed, some of the more central issues are only addressed in the epilogue. Even here, however, there are reflections of the strengths and weaknesses to which I have already referred. The first polemical dis- cussion, for example, opens with the sen- tence: "Publishing renders the art of music anemic, less exciting and less imaginative" (p. 366). Of course, one may say that this is true for any repertory in which, or any publisher for which, profit is the principal concern: not surprisingly, Krummel refers principally to Trivialmusik. But I do not be- lieve this generalization holds generally: to take the most obvious examples, it is almost certainly not true for sixteenth-century It- aly, where a great variety of styles was printed, where complex lute music appar- ently had a sale, where the first examples of basso seguente or basso continuo certainly stimulated both the market and individual composers, and where the actual art of music seems not to have been unduly re- strained by the printed text. It cannot be true, either, for the last thirty or forty years of our own time, in which composers (not least behind the former Iron Curtain) ben- efited from and were more exploratory as a result of exposure to editions foreign to their own traditions. I doubt it was true in the early decades of this century, when Claude Debussy, Aleksandr Skryabin, Arnold Schoenberg, or Ferruccio Busoni (though not Kaikhosru Sorabji) could be studied by any other composer, and had corresponding effect.

Most of the other points are treated in a similar manner, both in tone and in ref- erences that only cover the eighteenth, nineteenth, and early twentieth centuries. Of course, there was a change during the eighteenth century: but there is no reason

63

This content downloaded from 62.122.73.34 on Sat, 14 Jun 2014 15:11:21 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

NOTES, September 1994

to believe that it was sudden or that it im- pinged on all aspects of the subject. Cer- tainly the balance of costs in the printing shop changed drastically, and the advan- tages to be gained from distant agencies increased, both in large measure as a result of changes from type to engraving. But while a few of the resulting elements (decisions as to viable repertory, for ex- ample) probably did change rapidly, others (among which I would include editorial procedures, marketing strategies, or the growth in printed musical ephemera) cer- tainly changed much more slowly, as a study of the seventeenth-century entries in the relevant volumes of Repertoire Inter- nationale des Sources Musicales would im- ply, and indeed as the evidence of some of the last publishers to abandon type makes clear.

The second objective of the epilogue is to return to Krummel's "Agenda," and ex- amine the future of each of his nine topics: it is here that I am most perturbed by the author's view of the breadth (or rather nar- rowness) of the subject. He asserts that the prospect of music bibliography's becoming an "autonomous discipline" is, "if not un- desirable, at least very unlikely" (pp. 371- 72). (I find the weakness of the first clause highly significant.) At the same time, in go- ing again through the agenda, he ignores important ramifications of a conceptually broad interpretation.

This is most apparent under the heading of "Textual Criticism," which goes little further than suggesting the importance of the work of W. W. Greg and James Thorpe, before suggesting that bibliogra- phers should continue to collect data, in the hopes that they may be useful. Yet, the field is an exciting one, and one in which the bibliographer needs to know how the ev- idence might be interpreted. Without de- tailed studies of printing procedure, of chronology of editions, or of house edi- torial practice, the textual critic has little hope of making sense of the readings-in particular the variant readings-that sur- vive. The relationship between textual crit- icism and bibliographical analysis, widely recognized and sometimes feared outside music, cannot be dismissed. There is in fact a fairly extensive literature, concentrated on earlier sources. It is true that a major part of this literature discusses manuscript

transmission; but there have also been at- tempts at considering the place of the printed source, and textual criticism has sometimes turned the tables, and has itself been invaluable in studies of the printing history of music.

Much the same needs to be said about the author's comments for the future under the heading "Other Internal Evidence." These are concentrated in the area of pa- per and ink analyses and studies of wa- termarks. (I am sure that Krummel would himself add studies of type founts and dec- orative material.) Yet much of the most important material we need to be exam- ining is in the other areas of internal evi- dence, those pointing to house practice, to orders of work, to changes of plan, to cor- rections and revisions in the printed book. None of these things will help date a book, or make it easier to catalogue. All of them are essential if bibliographers are going to care about either the intent of a printed volume or the vagaries of the musical texts it contains.

In other parts of this revised agenda, I see (perhaps erroneously) the concerns of the cataloguer and printing archivist given precedence over the concerns of the analyst and musicological explorer. The agenda is not, therefore, an optimistic document, one in which the bibliographer can find assur- ance that this scholarship will affect either music or music history.

For me, this is the central problem of the book, not so much in what it does achieve (which is impressive), but rather in what Krummel seems to have decided to ignore. Given its balance and coverage, its defined aims and its final agenda, I find little reason for scholars of music to find themselves persuaded of the importance of bibliogra- phy for their work. To the Krummel of this book, bibliography and the study of pub- lication history is almost too obviously an end in itself. He does, as I suggested at the start of this review, look beyond the "mere" study of the documents: he is concerned to show many of the ways in which the music book did communicate with its readers. But he does not consider the wider ramifica- tions of bibliography in enough detail to make this book a trailblazing attempt at discussing those issues.

Krummel's general exclusion from this volume of other views of the utility (rather

64

This content downloaded from 62.122.73.34 on Sat, 14 Jun 2014 15:11:21 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

Book Reviews Book Reviews

than self-sufficiency) of bibliography are reinforced by the question, in his preface, "When can a particular writing be said to be about music printing and publishing?" (p. xii). Fortunately, he has not restricted himself to writings that conform to this criterion. While the premises behind this book do not offer an adventurous view of

than self-sufficiency) of bibliography are reinforced by the question, in his preface, "When can a particular writing be said to be about music printing and publishing?" (p. xii). Fortunately, he has not restricted himself to writings that conform to this criterion. While the premises behind this book do not offer an adventurous view of

where we might want bibliography to be going, the citations and annotations are in- valuable. Representing much labor and thought, they will facilitate the work, and encourage the enquiring mind, of anyone who uses this book.

STANLEY BOORMAN New York University

where we might want bibliography to be going, the citations and annotations are in- valuable. Representing much labor and thought, they will facilitate the work, and encourage the enquiring mind, of anyone who uses this book.

STANLEY BOORMAN New York University

Wireless Imagination: Sound, Radio, and the Avant-Garde. Edited by Douglas Kahn and Gregory Whitehead. Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press, 1992. [xi, 452 p. ISBN 0-262-11168-3. $35.00.]

Wireless Imagination: Sound, Radio, and the Avant-Garde. Edited by Douglas Kahn and Gregory Whitehead. Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press, 1992. [xi, 452 p. ISBN 0-262-11168-3. $35.00.]

Modernism, like every intellectual or artistic movement, has thrived on myths of its own invention. By now, we should all know these myths by heart: the story of Modernism's teleological pursuit of progress; the story of Modernism's repu- diation of tradition and its oppressive au- thority; the story of Modernism's coura- geous exploration of the unconscious. Within the domain of music, one of the most cherished stories is that of the con- quest of sound. This liberation narrative has been told and retold by such heroic figures as Edgard Varese, Charles Ives, and John Cage, and takes as its ultimate goal the appropriation of all sounds for music. According to this narrative, deeply reso- nant of Modernism's masculine bias, the world is full of sounds that lie dormant, awaiting the ordering principle of musical composition.

Douglas Kahn and Gregory Whitehead, the editors of Wireless Imagination: Sound, Radio, and the Avant-Garde, attempt to tell a very different kind of story. Through historical documents, commentaries, and theoretical essays, they ask that we consider an alternative conception of sound and au- rality, and an alternative sonic history, one that is undoubtedly related to music, but is arguably quite distinct. They tell the "his- tories of sound once removed" (p. 1): re- moved by phonographic inscription, radio transmission, or compositional strategy. This is a bold ambition, to say the least. Though the editors stress in their preface that Wireless Imagination "should be read not as a Last Word but rather as a collection of first utterances still looking for an au- tonomous language" (p. xi), the collection is nonetheless bewilderingly vast in its scope. Reading the book straight through

Modernism, like every intellectual or artistic movement, has thrived on myths of its own invention. By now, we should all know these myths by heart: the story of Modernism's teleological pursuit of progress; the story of Modernism's repu- diation of tradition and its oppressive au- thority; the story of Modernism's coura- geous exploration of the unconscious. Within the domain of music, one of the most cherished stories is that of the con- quest of sound. This liberation narrative has been told and retold by such heroic figures as Edgard Varese, Charles Ives, and John Cage, and takes as its ultimate goal the appropriation of all sounds for music. According to this narrative, deeply reso- nant of Modernism's masculine bias, the world is full of sounds that lie dormant, awaiting the ordering principle of musical composition.

Douglas Kahn and Gregory Whitehead, the editors of Wireless Imagination: Sound, Radio, and the Avant-Garde, attempt to tell a very different kind of story. Through historical documents, commentaries, and theoretical essays, they ask that we consider an alternative conception of sound and au- rality, and an alternative sonic history, one that is undoubtedly related to music, but is arguably quite distinct. They tell the "his- tories of sound once removed" (p. 1): re- moved by phonographic inscription, radio transmission, or compositional strategy. This is a bold ambition, to say the least. Though the editors stress in their preface that Wireless Imagination "should be read not as a Last Word but rather as a collection of first utterances still looking for an au- tonomous language" (p. xi), the collection is nonetheless bewilderingly vast in its scope. Reading the book straight through

is a bit like attending a loosely organized symposium: all the essays relate to a few central themes, yet they move in too many directions and fail to develop any of the themes in sufficient depth. Kahn attempts in his introduction to provide some kind of unity, but is excessively abstract and ram- bling; rather than concentrating on the var- ious links that connect the volume's essays, he goes off on numerous tangents, only increasing the sense that Wireless Imagina- tion cannot withstand its own centrifugal force.

Fundamentally, Wireless Imagination is concerned with the crisis of the bourgeois subject and representation. From the Mod- ernist perspective, the subject stands at the center of both creation and reception; technology is viewed as an extension of the body, a tool used to expand the sub- ject's psychological and material dominion. From the essentially postmodern perspec- tive of Kahn and Whitehead, the subject is both shaped and destabilized by its own creative efforts; new technologies radically transform human nation and, by impli- cation, human nature as well. The pho- nograph, for example, one of the most prominent symbols of nineteenth-century technological mastery, is presented in Wire- less Imagination as a kind of doppelganger, holding up an enduring trace of the self even as the subject disappears.

Charles Grivel asserts in his essay, "The Phonograph's Horned Mouth," that "man only invents in his own image" (p. 32). The phonograph promised a kind of transcen- dence, the establishment of a permanent trace: the inscription of the voice on a wax cylinder meant everlasting life-life for the inscription, however, if not for the voice itself. Yet the phonographic impression is

is a bit like attending a loosely organized symposium: all the essays relate to a few central themes, yet they move in too many directions and fail to develop any of the themes in sufficient depth. Kahn attempts in his introduction to provide some kind of unity, but is excessively abstract and ram- bling; rather than concentrating on the var- ious links that connect the volume's essays, he goes off on numerous tangents, only increasing the sense that Wireless Imagina- tion cannot withstand its own centrifugal force.

Fundamentally, Wireless Imagination is concerned with the crisis of the bourgeois subject and representation. From the Mod- ernist perspective, the subject stands at the center of both creation and reception; technology is viewed as an extension of the body, a tool used to expand the sub- ject's psychological and material dominion. From the essentially postmodern perspec- tive of Kahn and Whitehead, the subject is both shaped and destabilized by its own creative efforts; new technologies radically transform human nation and, by impli- cation, human nature as well. The pho- nograph, for example, one of the most prominent symbols of nineteenth-century technological mastery, is presented in Wire- less Imagination as a kind of doppelganger, holding up an enduring trace of the self even as the subject disappears.

Charles Grivel asserts in his essay, "The Phonograph's Horned Mouth," that "man only invents in his own image" (p. 32). The phonograph promised a kind of transcen- dence, the establishment of a permanent trace: the inscription of the voice on a wax cylinder meant everlasting life-life for the inscription, however, if not for the voice itself. Yet the phonographic impression is

65 65

This content downloaded from 62.122.73.34 on Sat, 14 Jun 2014 15:11:21 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions