When paper became more accessible in the 15th and 16th centuries, people began keeping little books full of recipes, psalms, quotes, and prose called commonplace books, in an attempt to organize and filter what they felt was a barrage of information raining down upon them after the introduction of the printing press. (Imagine what they’d think of the internet?) They became, like their name, quite common, and the method–commonplacing– was even taught in universities. What probably began as a private practice grew into a hobby intended to be shared with any willing reader, to help them navigate a large amount of text– like a cross between CliffsNotes, Reader’s Digest, and Tumblr.
Of course, like most other things, the practice was still limited to those who could afford blank books or paper (which were still quite pricey for the average person) and who had the time and education to dedicate to it. Women, therefore, were largely excluded–most early commonplace books, especially those still extant, were made by men, scholars mostly, though merchants and artisans kept them as well. There are more recent exceptions to this–for example, Kate Chopin’s 19thc commonplace book survives as published in Kate Chopin’s Private Papers and Milcah Martha Moore’s Revolutionary War era commonplace book is also in print. But the farther back in history you go, the rarer women’s commonplace books become.
Women were more likely to have books of household recipes and maybe herbal cures for common illnesses, like Jane Baber’s 17th century book of recipes below:
Another example of a woman’s recipe (called “receipt” back then) book from the 1600s:
A stickler would say that housewives’ collections of recipes, cures, and the occasional prayer or personal musing aren’t commonplace books, but they serve the same purpose for the early modern woman as a philosopher’s notes on Biblical passages or the budding poet’s collection of bits of prose and quotes. (These books were also called miscellanies.)
Over time, commonplacing became something of an art, with great care spent in choosing passages and organizing them for an audience. They were often given as gifts and some were published and studied, like John Locke’s A New Method of Making Common-Place-Books (1706) and Commonplace Book to the Holy Bible (1725).
If you’d like to see one in person, plenty of old commonplace books can be found in research libraries and universities, as long as you qualify for a reader’s card. For instance, the Newberry Library in Chicago requires a valid photo I.D. (age 16+) and a relevant research interest to access their collection and some universities may allow non-students to use theirs.
Commonplace books are often referred to as antique blogs (and what are blogs, but an attempt to organize a barrage of text and information?), though technically blogs are often are more like diaries or newspapers. Tumblr and Pinterest are probably the closest thing in the blogosphere to commonplace books.
But even before the internet was widely available, I had my own scrapbooks, and I know a lot of people did the same. I realized recently that they were pretty much commonplace books, in that I collected various poems, quotes, and images that appealed to me, and that I wanted to remember. Unlike my diary, there were no personal passages, just clips from articles, pictures from magazines, and a lot of poetry cut from Sassy magazine. But there was no rhyme or reason to the order, and it wasn’t intended to be particularly pretty. Nor was it organized with any theme in mind other than “things that caught the eye of a 1990s teenage girl”:
This fabulous modern commonplace book was created by DeviantArt user Madelei in honor of the movie 9:
Do a quick search and you’ll find that commonplacing is having a bit of a comeback. If you would like to start your own commonplace book, website Self-Made Scholar has an introduction and tutorial here. Or you could go the digital route and start a Tumblr account, if you haven’t already.
Leave your mark for future historians studying everyday life in the 21st century. Who knows? Your work could be immortalized in Harvard’s special collections.
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