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| Lizzie isn't holding a cake knife. Or a letter opener. |
Guys, this one is way cool.
Ever see the 1940 version of Pride and Prejudice with Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier? Great MGM film, with a polished Aldous Huxley screenplay. I’d seen it about a dozen times. The last time it was on, I dropped what I was doing to enjoy a famous scene again, after Elizabeth has barged into Netherfield Park to care for her sister Jane, who’s ill. All and sundry, Darcy, the Bingleys and Elizabeth, are gathered in the Netherfield library. The dialog, I’m sure fans will remember, is charmingly acidic. (“I’m no longer surprised, Mr. Darcy, at your knowing only six accomplished women; I wonder at your knowing any.”) Greer Garson is very relaxed, about to read the book in her hand. What she does with it always escaped me - I was laughing too hard. But watch the scene carefully, as I finally did.
She’s perusing the open book, and finds a funky page. Then she reaches for this flat thing on the desk, the size of a big feather, but solid. She slips it into the book and then flicks it smoothly up the page. I suddenly realized she wasn’t turning the page. She was cutting it.
Books used to be made by hand, full sheets of paper with two or four or eight pages printed on it that were then folded for binding, and it was common for some to accidentally remain uncut. They were like folded pamphlets before being gathered and bound, with names like quarto, octavo, or just folio. When I started collecting old books, I’d see this problem now and again, a dead giveaway that the book had never been read. One rainy weekend I was trying to get through a 1912 edition of The Ships and Sailors of Old Salem, and about every dozen or so pages I was coming across one that, to my annoyance, couldn’t be read because it hadn’t been cut. Cutting them with scissors was a nightmare. I kept accidentally slicing into pages, because I needed something much sharper.
Seeing this scene again set me on a quest, and I finally found the answer, in the only book ever published on the subject – Reading and Writing Accessories, by a very clever New Zealand gentleman named Ian Spellerberg. He set the antiques world on its ear in 2016, when dealers supposedly knowledgable about history were referring to these odd devices as “letter openers” for an age that didn’t use envelopes as a rule. Spellerberg properly identified them as “paper knives,” a large, flat, sharp-edged device that was a common part of a Regency desk set. You slipped it in between the pages, moved it to the fold, drew up and out, and easily razor cut those uncut pages. Brilliant! You can still find versions of them in online stationers, though they tend not to be so elegant. Most look more like X-acto knives.
As far as I know I’ve never seen a paper knife being used in any other films, including the many versions of Jane Austen I’ve seen. MGM had great art directors on staff, but it helped that some of these guys were old enough to remember the 19th century. In the end, it’s amazing how quickly everyday things are forgotten as technology changes. Amazing how many things that were an ordinary part of my own life are now museum pieces. Go on YouTube and watch two teenage boys try to figure out how to use a rotary dial phone. It will make you feel very old.
Books used to be made by hand, full sheets of paper with two or four or eight pages printed on it that were then folded for binding, and it was common for some to accidentally remain uncut. They were like folded pamphlets before being gathered and bound, with names like quarto, octavo, or just folio. When I started collecting old books, I’d see this problem now and again, a dead giveaway that the book had never been read. One rainy weekend I was trying to get through a 1912 edition of The Ships and Sailors of Old Salem, and about every dozen or so pages I was coming across one that, to my annoyance, couldn’t be read because it hadn’t been cut. Cutting them with scissors was a nightmare. I kept accidentally slicing into pages, because I needed something much sharper.
Seeing this scene again set me on a quest, and I finally found the answer, in the only book ever published on the subject – Reading and Writing Accessories, by a very clever New Zealand gentleman named Ian Spellerberg. He set the antiques world on its ear in 2016, when dealers supposedly knowledgable about history were referring to these odd devices as “letter openers” for an age that didn’t use envelopes as a rule. Spellerberg properly identified them as “paper knives,” a large, flat, sharp-edged device that was a common part of a Regency desk set. You slipped it in between the pages, moved it to the fold, drew up and out, and easily razor cut those uncut pages. Brilliant! You can still find versions of them in online stationers, though they tend not to be so elegant. Most look more like X-acto knives.
As far as I know I’ve never seen a paper knife being used in any other films, including the many versions of Jane Austen I’ve seen. MGM had great art directors on staff, but it helped that some of these guys were old enough to remember the 19th century. In the end, it’s amazing how quickly everyday things are forgotten as technology changes. Amazing how many things that were an ordinary part of my own life are now museum pieces. Go on YouTube and watch two teenage boys try to figure out how to use a rotary dial phone. It will make you feel very old.
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