The John Quinn Letters
Peter Kavanagh published The John Quinn letters: a pandect in 1960. The book consisted of extracts from the letters of the lawyer John Quinn who had corresponded with many famous literary figures such as James Joyce, W.B. Yeats, T.S. Eliot, etc.
The book is a literary oddity not because of its subject matter but because of the way that Kavanagh collected the extracts. He gained access to Quinn's letters in the manuscript room of the New York Public Library. But he was only allowed to read the letters, not take any notes on them. So he transcribed them, from memory, outside the library.
It was a form of spite publishing because the library had forbid the publication of any of Quinn's letters until 1988, and Kavanagh disagreed with this on principle. Also, he published the book on his own handmade printing press. The NYPL promptly sued him and barred distribution of the book.
I don't think it's possible to buy a copy of Kavanagh's book today, but a few libraries have copies of it. I believe there are only 12 copies of it still in existence.
More details from Life magazine (Feb 8, 1960):
The book is a literary oddity not because of its subject matter but because of the way that Kavanagh collected the extracts. He gained access to Quinn's letters in the manuscript room of the New York Public Library. But he was only allowed to read the letters, not take any notes on them. So he transcribed them, from memory, outside the library.
It was a form of spite publishing because the library had forbid the publication of any of Quinn's letters until 1988, and Kavanagh disagreed with this on principle. Also, he published the book on his own handmade printing press. The NYPL promptly sued him and barred distribution of the book.
I don't think it's possible to buy a copy of Kavanagh's book today, but a few libraries have copies of it. I believe there are only 12 copies of it still in existence.
More details from Life magazine (Feb 8, 1960):
When he died in 1924, Quinn bequeathed his letters to the New York Public Library, but the courts construed his will as barring publication in any form until 1988. Scholars who have been permitted to read them in the library's Manuscript Room have to sign a special form agreeing not to use direct quotation, and are forbidden to take notes.
But to Kavanagh, these restrictions were outrageously unjust...
In the Manuscript Room, he had no compunction about signing the pledge not to quote from the letters. "To me," he explains, "that paper had no more validity than posting a sign in my flat, 'Not responsible if the roof falls in.' I was driven and had no choice."
For 13 days Kavanagh pored over the letters. Unable to take notes, he simply memorized salient passages, then rushed outside to jot them down. When he had all he wanted he went on to the most arduous task of all: hand-setting the book and printing it...
Kavanagh had not sold a single copy of the Quinn Letters when the library served him with a restraining order, preventing him from distributing the edition and demanding its confiscation. At that point, Kavanagh made a heartbreaking decision.
"I don't want their bloody hands on my book," he said, and on the morning of the hearing he systematically hacked 117 volumes with a shoemaker's knife, shearing them down the middle. "It's like tearing my heart out," he said...
Kavanagh arrived in court with a briefcase crammed with the literary remains. He approached the bench and addressed the judge as "your lordship." Then he upended his briefcase and scattered his shredded copies as evidence that he had obeyed the injunction. The judge explained that he was not "his lordship" and gave Kavanagh permission to keep two unshredded copies of the book for himself.
But to Kavanagh, these restrictions were outrageously unjust...
In the Manuscript Room, he had no compunction about signing the pledge not to quote from the letters. "To me," he explains, "that paper had no more validity than posting a sign in my flat, 'Not responsible if the roof falls in.' I was driven and had no choice."
For 13 days Kavanagh pored over the letters. Unable to take notes, he simply memorized salient passages, then rushed outside to jot them down. When he had all he wanted he went on to the most arduous task of all: hand-setting the book and printing it...
Kavanagh had not sold a single copy of the Quinn Letters when the library served him with a restraining order, preventing him from distributing the edition and demanding its confiscation. At that point, Kavanagh made a heartbreaking decision.
"I don't want their bloody hands on my book," he said, and on the morning of the hearing he systematically hacked 117 volumes with a shoemaker's knife, shearing them down the middle. "It's like tearing my heart out," he said...
Kavanagh arrived in court with a briefcase crammed with the literary remains. He approached the bench and addressed the judge as "your lordship." Then he upended his briefcase and scattered his shredded copies as evidence that he had obeyed the injunction. The judge explained that he was not "his lordship" and gave Kavanagh permission to keep two unshredded copies of the book for himself.
Windsor Star - Jan 18, 1960
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Category: Literature | Books | Lawsuits | 1960s