Beale Papers: solved (or not)?

Here's a claimed solution to the Beale Papers (but press Cancel on the login popup, and if browsing there under Windows, I wouldn't advise installing the ActiveX control that pops up) which I didn't know about until very recently. I thought I'd mention it here because, as any fule kno, the Beale Papers are one of the few encrypted historical mysteries to parallel the Voynich Manuscript to any significant degree.

To be precise, the Beale Papers comprise not one long ciphertext (putting the VMs' thorny Currier A-B language continuum issue to one side) but three short codetexts, all allegedly dating from 1819-1821: part 2 was publicly announced in 1885 already solved (for its codebook, the encoder used a slightly mangled/miscopied version of the Declaration of Independence)... but the directions to the buried treasure were in the undecoded part 1, while the shorter (and also undecoded) part 3 listed the people involved. Of course, only someone who has broken the two remaining codes would know if all of this is true or not. :-)

So, it's basically a kind of Wild West bandit take on a pirate treasure map (which to me sounds like an Alias Smith and Jones script, oh well) but made obscure with some kind of dictionary code: all of which is reassuringly familiar if you've just read PopCo. Confusingly, some people argue that the Beale Papers are a fake (possibly by the promoter of the 1885 pamphlet, or even by Edgar Allen Poe, etc), claiming justification from statistical aspects of the cryptography and/or on claimed anachronisms in the language, etc: but a definitive answer either way has yet to be found.

For what it's worth... my opinion is that, as with the VMs, cries of hoax are more Chicken Licken than anything approaching an ironic postmodernist reading. Really, it does look and feel basically how a home-cooked Victorian code-text ought to, with an emphasis towards lowish numbers (up to 350) plus a sprinkling of higher numbers (possibly for rare or awkward letters): Jim Gillogly's observation (in October 1980 Cryptologia) of an alphabet-like pattern in part 1 (if you apply part 2's codebook) seems to me more like a clue than a reason to reject the whole object as a hoax. As an aside, a few years ago I heard (off-Net) whispers of one particular cryptographic solution that had yet to be made public: but Louis Kruh in Cryptologia reported several such plausible-looking solutions as far back as 1982, so what can you say?

However, all of this is an entirely different claim to the "Beale Solved" code solution linked above, which was (re)constructed by Beale treasure hunter Daniel Cole (who died in 2001). Even though the dig that was carried out as a result of Cole's decryption revealed an empty chamber (the website claims), the cryptographic details (ie, of how the codetext links with the plaintext) have yet to be released... which is a tad fishy.

A quick check of the first page of Cole's version of part 3 reveals that he didn't read it as a simple cipher or codebook, because repeated code-numbers only rarely get decoded as the same letter (for example, the five instances of '96' get decoded as "s / e / r / h / n"). Yet this seems somewhat odd: if there was some kind of strange offsetting going on, the distribution of code-numbers would not need to so closely resemble the kind of distribution you see in code book ciphers.

But once you confess to having taken a single step down the whole "it's actually a strange cipher pretending to be a codebook code" route, nobody will believe a word you say, right?

Voynich proto-optics...?

I've been reading up on the pre-history of the telescope recently (hence my reviews of Eileen Reeves' Galileo's Glassworks and Albert van Helden's The Invention of the Telescope), but have omitted to mention why I thought this might be of relevance to the Voynich Manuscript.

The answer relates to Richard SantaColoma's article in Renaissance Magazine #53 (March 2007) with the title "The Voynich Manuscript: Drebbel's Lost Notebook?", which claimed to find a persuasive familial similarity between the curious jars arranged vertically in the pharma sections and Renaissance microscopes, specifically those described or designed by Cornelius Drebbel. His (updated) research also appears here.

The biggest problem with Voynich hypotheses is that, given 200+ pages of interesting stuff, it is comparatively easy to dig up historical evidence that appears to show some kind of correlation. In the case SantaColoma's webpage, this category covers the stars, the hands, braids, caps, colours, four elements, Francis Bacon's New Atlantis and handwriting matches suggested: none of these is causative, and the level of correlation is really quite low. All of which is still perfectly OK, as these parallels are only presented as suggestive evidence, not as any kind of direct proof.

It is also tempting to use a given hypothesis to try to support itself: in the 1920s, William Romaine Newbold famously did this with his own circular hypothesis, where he said that the only way that the manuscript's microscopic cipher could have been written was with the aid of a microscope, ergo Roger Bacon must have invented the microscope. All false, of course. Into this second category falls the "cheese mold", "diatoms" and "cilia" of SantaColoma's webpage: if these are to used as definitive proof of the presence of microscopy in the VMs, the level of correlation would need to be substantially higher. But these parallels are, once again, only presented as suggestive evidence, not proof.

Strip all these away, and you're still left with the real meat of SantaColoma's case: a set of striking similarities between 17th century microscopes and the curious devices in the Voynich Manuscript's pharma section. Even if (as I do) you doubt that all the colouring on the pages was original (and upon which some of SantaColoma's argument seems to rest), it's an interesting observation.

Having said that, no actual proof or means of proof (or disproof) is offered: it is just a set of observations, resting upon a relatively little-tested tranche of history, that of the microscope. Can we do better? I think we can.

Firstly, modern telescope historians (I'm thinking of Albert van Helden here, though he is far from alone in this respect) now seem somewhat dubious of the various Janssen family claims: and so I'm far from comfortable with placing the likely birth of the microscope with the Janssens in 1590. As Richard SantaColoma points out, Cornelius Drebbel is definitely one of the earliest documented microscope makers (from perhaps a little earlier than 1620, but probably not much before 1612, I would guess).

Secondly, it is likely that the power of the lenses available for spectacles pre-1600 was not great: Albert van Helden calculated that a telescope made to della Porta's (admittedly cryptic) specification could only have given a magnification of around 2x, which would be no more than a telescopic toy. I would somewhat surprised if microscopes constructed from the same basic components had significantly higher magnification.

Thirdly, the claimed presence of knurled edges in the VMs' images would only make sense if used in conjunction with a fine screwthread, to enable the vertical position of an element along the optical axis to be varied: but I'm not sure when these were invented or adapted for microscopes.

All in all, I would assert that if what is being depicted in the VMs' pharma section is indeed microscopes from the same family as were built by Drebbel from (say) 1610 onwards, there would seem no obvious grounds for dating this to significantly earlier than 1610: even if it all came directly from Della Porta, around 1589 would seem to be the earliest tenable date.

The problem is that there is plenty of art historical data which places the VMs circa 1450-1500: and a century-long leap would seem to be hard to support without more definitive evidence.

As always, there are plenty of Plan B hypotheses, each of which has its own unresolved issues:-
(a) they are microscropes/telescopes, but from an unknown 16th century inventor/tradition
(b) they are microscropes/telescopes, but from an unknown 15th century inventor/tradition
(c) they're not microscopes/telescopes, they just happen to look a bit like them
(d) they're not microscopes/telescopes, but were later emended/coloured to look like them
(e) it's all a Dee/Kelley hoax (John Dee was Thomas Digges' guardian from the age of 13)

Despite everything I've read about the early history of the telescope and microscope, I really don't think that we currently can resolve this whole issue (and certainly not with the degree of certainty that Richard SantaColoma suggests). The jury remains out.

But I can offer some observations based on what is in the Voynich Manuscript itself, and this might cast some light on the matter for those who are interested.

(1) The two pharma quires seem to be out of order: if you treat the ornate jars as part of a visual sequence, it seems probable that Q19 (Quire 19) originally came immediately before Q17 in the original binding.

(2) The same distinctive square "filler" motif appears in the astronomical section (f67r1, f67r2, f67v1), the zodiac section (Pisces, light Aries), the nine rosette page (central rosette), and in a band across the fifth ornate jar in Q19. This points not only to their sharing the same scribe, but also to a single (possibly even improvised) construction/design process: that is, the whole pharma section is not simply a tacked-on addition, it is an integral part of the manuscript.

(3) Some paint on the pharma jars appear original: but most seems to be a later addition. For example: on f99v, I could quite accept that the palette of (now-faded) paints used to colour in the plants and roots was original (and I would predict that a spectroscopic or Raman analysis would indicate that this was probably comprised solely of plant-based organic paints), which would be consistent with the faded original paint on the roots of f2v. However, I would think that the bolder (and, frankly, a little uglier) paints used on the same page were not original.

Put all these tiny fragments together, and I think this throws doubt on one key part of SantaColoma's visual argument. He claims that the parallel hatching inside the ornate jar at the top of f88r (the very first jar in Q17) is a direct indication that it is a lens we are looking at, fixed within a vertical optical structure. However, if you place Q19 before Q17 (as I believe the original order to have been), then a different story emerges. The ten jars immediately before f88v (ie at the end of Q19) all have vertical parallel hatching inside their tops, none of which looks at all like the subtle lens-like shading to which SantaColoma is referring. For reference, I've reproduced the tops of the last four jars below, with the final two heavily image-enhanced to remove the heavy (I think later) overpainting that has obscured much of the finer detail.

This is the "mouth" of the top jar on f102r: the vertical parallel hatching seems to depict the back wall of a jar, ending in a pool of faintly-coloured yellow liquid (probably the original paint).

This is the mouth of the bottom jar on f102r, which appears to have vertical parallel hatching right down, as though the jar is empty near the top (or perhaps its contents are clear).

This is the top jar on 102v, enhanced to remove the paint. I think some vertical hatching is still visible there: it would take a closer examination to determine what was originally drawn there.

This is the bottom jar on f102v, again heavily enhanced to remove paint. Vertical hatching of some sort is visible.

Voynich miscellany (again)...

The Voynich Manuscript meme continues to tap at our cultural windows, asking politely to be let in from the rain. And sometimes people do...

For example, here's a knitted squid sitting on a copy of Gawsewitch's "Le Code Voynich" (don't be put off by the LiveJournal 14+ age warning, it really is a knitting page).

Over at evilbore, Eric P is getting cross about how the VMs is sneaking in under the cultural radar: "What's caused this subconscious societal permeation of this obscure text?" he asks, before linking to Voynich News (good call!)

Or alternatively, here's someone called Malcolm starting a game of Lexicon based around a (fictional) deciphering of the VMs. Lexicon is an RPG where players take on the role of cranky scholars building a faux Wikipedia (one letter at a time, hence the name) around a fictional world, while trying not to cite themselves. Errrm... just like the real Wikipedia, then. ;-)

Norbert R. Ibanez has posted up some thoughts on the VMs in 'English' (with a PDF you can download): though his ideas may be basically OK, I don't like his automatic translator much. :-(

And finally, I've had some visitors from a posting about my VQ ("Voynich Quotient") page put up on the Yog-Sothoth forums (dedicated to H. P. Lovecraft and Call of Cthulhu players). One poster mentions "Keeper's Companion Vol. 1, p.63", where it presumably links the VMs to the Necronomicon: add that to the ever-growing web of Voynich references out there.

Updated reading list...

"Shopping in the Renaissance", Evelyn Welch [finished, still need to write review]

"Astrology: a history", Peter Whitfield [about half-way through, lots of good stuff]

"Elizabeth's Spy Master", Robert Hutchinson [80 pages in, but a bit of a dour character to read much about]

"The Renaissance in Europe: A Reader", Keith Whitlock [Still not yet started this, beginning to wonder if I ever will]

"Decipher" Stel Pavlou [33 pages in, a nice bit of superficial fun, shame I don't have a beach holiday to take it on]

"History of Magic & Experimental Science" Vol. IV (Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries), Lynn Thorndike [20 pages in, but everything else has to go on hold while I read it]

New Byzantium book...

Over the years I've spent looking at the Voynich Manuscript, I've become progressively more accustomed to its ways, to the point that it is no longer an enciphered grimoire to me, but simply a book we cannot as yet read. When learning to juggle, the primary force which keeps the ball in the hand is not gravity but fear: all the while people see the VMs as a dark, Necronomicon-like repository of ancient evil (basically, confusing unreadable with unspeakable), their fears prevent them from grasping what it actually is.

Yet there's still something odd about how the Voynich Manuscript is rooted, upon what it stands: specifically, it seems to my eyes to have one foot in early modern European (specifically Northern Italian, I would say) culture and the other in late medieval Byzantine culture. Though I'm still unable to satisfactorily express how this works, what I can say is that many of its herbal drawings have a structural quality that is neither medieval European (slavishly copied, overstylised, unrealistic) nor Renaissance European (emblematic rather than symbolic, abstract). The closest match I've found is in Byzantine herbals, many of which are drawn from life, but which have a kind of secret inner numericality: not Kabbalah, but topology / geometry.

I'm therefore always on the lookout for good stuff relating to Byzantium, but its 1000-year history is fascinating for many other reasons: the rich seam of inspiration the Romantic poets found in the marvellous decay of Venice was perhaps but a shadow of the irony and wonder to be discovered in Byzantium's own history.

And so a book I'm looking forward to is "Byzantium: The Surprising Life of a Medieval Empire" by Judith Herrin (Princeton, 2007), which seems to have exactly the kind of overall historical narrative all the fragments of Byzantine history I've ever read lacked. There's a helpful review here: the hardback's £25 RRP is a little hard to swallow, for sure, but what can you do? (Errrm, wait for the paperback?)

Voynich magic circles (Part 1)...

I'm just collecting my thoughts after an exhilarating lecture by William Kiesel (the publisher and editor of Ouroboros Press) on magic circles at Treadwell's in Covent Garden (Christina's post-lecture blog entry is here). William presented a long series of images of magic circles (manuscripts diagrams, woodcuts, paintings, etc) from the Middle Ages right through to the 19th century, including many of John Dee's strange diagrams.

Voynich Manuscript, page f57v (the 'magic circle' page)

The reason I've been trying to find out about magic circles for years is because, as you can see above, page f57v in the Voynich Manuscript apparently contains one. Or (more precisely), whatever f57v actually contains, it seems on the surface to follow the constructional rules and layout of genuine magic circles. However, this is hard to research because the topic of magic circles has attracted relatively little academic interest over the years, Richard Kieckhefer's (1997) Forbidden Rites (an in-depth study of a 15th century necromancer's manual) being one of the few honourable exceptions. Which is why I was so excited about the lecture.

Having said that, there are many things about f57v that cast doubts on its 'magic circle-itude'. For example, I could find no other magic circle with the directional spirits given faces rather than simply named: depictions in every other magic circle I had seen were instead abstract diagrammatic renderings (swords, pentacles, rings, sigils, etc), and names of the directions (to help orient the circle, the first thing any proper necromancer would want to do). But even more brutally: when magic circles are all about the power of names, why ever would someone want to replace them with images?

And so... after the lecture, I asked William for his thoughts on f57v (which, delightfully, he had looked at before). As far as the directional faces go, he agreed that this was pretty much a unique feature: though a tiny number of magic circles he had seen do have sigils shaped to broadly resemble faces, that would seem to be a completely different strand of development to that which we see in the VMs. Overall, even though he did note that it was intriguing thatthe postures of the four "people" on f57v were all different, the main impression the page left him with was that each of the four faces faced in a different direction (though he didn't know what that meant).

On the train home, I sat there wondering what this might have caused this, letting all the various aspects swirl around me (though, no, I didn't have any of Treadwell's wine that night). And then all the bits clunked into place, with that sound very familiar to any Simpsons fan: "d'oh!"

I should explain. Perhaps the biggest trap Voynichologists fall into is that of overthinking issues: when many complex explanations for a given phenomenon exist, sometimes simple ones gets overlooked, or (worse) rejected for appearing too simple. And the simplest explanation here is that, because almost every magic circle has the directions of the compass written on it, that would be both the first thing you would want to keep and the first thing you would want to hide. And so it seems highly likely to me that the four faces on f57v code for N/E/S/W. In short, I think that (like the VMs' "Naked Lady Code" I described in my book) the four faces employ a misleadingly elaborate way of enciphering something very simple - the compass directions. But which is which - and how - and why?

• The left figure is facing forward-left
• The top figure is facing backward-right
• The right figure is facing forward-right (and holding a ring / egg)
• The bottom figure is facing backward-left

But how do these four map onto N/S/E/W? The first thing to notice is that magic circles are very often written in Latin, with the four points written Oriens [E], Meridies [S], Occidens [W], Septentrio [N]: and so an encipherer would only need to hide one in order to hide them all.

While I don't know for sure... I do predict that the nose and eyebrow of the left figure's face was elaborated around an "S" to denote "Septentrio" [i.e. North]: and that the only useful information is that a ring (as rings are far more common than eggs in magic circles, The Black Pullet notwithstanding) should be placed opposite it [i.e. South]. The flower-like shape at the centre is probably an elaborated shape around the central o-shapes, which probably denote locus magistri, the place where the exorcist / conjuror / master of the magic circle should stand. Finally: might the heavily-drawn straight line on the shoulder of the ring-carrying person denote a sword? Very possibly.

Voynich Manuscript, page f57v - four central figures

This doesn't answer every question about f57v (how could it?): but it does give a good snapshot of my current thoughts on how (beneath all the deception) it is actually a magic circle (though perhaps not as complex a magic circle as you might initially think).

Part 2 will move on to the VMs' other magic circles...

Review of "PopCo"...

I'm a lousy fiction reviewer, probably for two main reasons: (1) creative writing classes taught me how to spot when writers are cheating (in order to make me a more honest writer myself); and (2) years of Voynich Manuscript-related research has made me constantly alert for infinitesimal details upon which the answer might just hinge.

Put these two together (a lie-detector and an adrenaline-fuelled eye for detail), and you have a completely unfair toolkit for reading novels, simply because novels are very rarely actually "novel" - they're more often an assembly of ideas.

Take Scarlett Thomas' "PopCo" (FourthEstate, 2004), for example. Superficially, it's like a 500-page anagram of my life (BBC Micro / chess / maths / philosophy / Godel's Incompleteness Theorem / videogames / business / marketing / cryptography / cryptology / secret history / Voynich Manuscript / etc), together with a load of other untaken doors (Bletchley Park / SOE / crosswords / vegetarianism / vegan / Go / low-level drug-use / homeopathy / etc), and it's written quite well: so I really should be engaged by it, right?

Problem #1 is one of construction: the first tranche is basically Douglas Coupland (specifically Microserfs), the second tranche Iain Banks (his fiction rather than his science fiction), then a bit of Martin Gardner's puzzle columns and Simon Singh's The Code Book: there's a kind of teenage girls' magazine section along the way, and a rather clunky historical pirate romance, before it all flips out into Thomas' fictional take on Naomi Klein's No Logo... Yet to me, a book needs to be more than merely a collage of influences, a narrated scrapbook: but perhaps that makes me too old-fashioned for contemporary fiction. If you wanted to be kind, you might compare it with Kurt Schwitters' Merz, carefully arranged collections of found objects (forged Merz pieces get placed on eBay all the time): but sorry, Thomas is no Schwitters.

Problem #2 is the lack of parents. The other day, while watching (the original TV series of) Batman on BBC4, my four-year-old son asked me where Batman came from. Well, I said, a man called the Joker killed both Bruce Wayne's parents, and when a bat bit him in the caves beneath his mansion, he somehow gained a super crime-fighting ability. OK... so where did Spiderman come from? Well, I said, after both Peter Parker's parents died, he was bitten by a radioactive spider, and gained amazing spider-like powers. My son paused, looking back at the screen. But what about Robin, he asked. No, don't tell me, I know: both his parents were killed... Before he had a chance to say "(and he was bitten by a radioactive robin)", I suggested we look Robin up on Wikipedia (though sadly he was basically correct). In PopCo, the main character Alice Butler is basically Crypto Girl, a sort of Elonka-lite: her mother dies and her dad runs away, and she gains her m4d cryptological and prime factorisation sk1llz from her grandad. Put it that way, and it all looks a bit comic-book thin, doesn't it?

Problem #3 is that I'm wise to novelistic conceits. I know that in a cryptological novel, someone called A[lice] is going to communicate with someone called B[en], who will pass on what she says to someone called C[hloe]: and this kind of spoils it. Incidentally, Ron Rivest denies that he used "Alice" and "Bob" (in his 1978 paper introducing RSA public-key cryptography) in any kind of homage to the film "Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice" (which is actually a bit of a shame). It would also have been cool if PopCo's Alice had been born in 1978 and openly named in crypto homage to Ron Rivest's paper, but I think she's too old (is she 29? I can't find the page, rats!).

Problem #4: cringeworthy logic/maths puzzles. To give texture to her story, Thomas brings together loads of lateral puzzles and mathematical ain't-that-amazin' fragments, the kind of thing that you sometimes hear being trotted out at student parties. For example:-Two men go into a restaurant and order the same dish from the menu. After tasting his food, one of the men goes outside and immediately shoots himself. Why? (p.109) The explanation given for this in PopCo is ludicrous (it involves an albatross and a dead child, don't get me started): but why is one not simply a food-taster for the other? Fugu: mmm, delicious... hey, what's that trainee doing in the kitchen... aaaarrgggh!

Problem #5 (probably the biggest of all for a Voynichologist) is that PopCo uses the Voynich Manuscript as a MacGuffin (or do I mean a "Philosopher's Egg MacGuffin"?). Alice's grandfather spends years on the VMs, and even gets her to count the words and letters on each page (and later to factorise large numbers): perhaps washing his car would have been a better way to earn pocket money. Alice says that she's learnt so much from the journey, from the search for the heart of the VMs: but really the manuscript is no more than occasional wallpaper for the narrative. The Beale Papers also make a brief appearance: my guess is that Scarlett Thomas would have used them as the central hook, had there been more than a paltry $20million dollars' worth of treasure linked to them: the alternative "Stevenson/Heath" pirate cipher mystery Thomas constructs is a bit thin when held up against real ones, regardless of the size of its haul.

...and so on. I feel in a bad place: I really wanted to like PopCo, but all I can do is whinge (and I haven't even moaned about her merging Alberti's and Vigenere's cryptography, etc). Other reviewers (such as here and here) seem basically to like the book: and compared to Dan Brown's Digital Fortress (where I wanted to kill all the main characters by the end of Chapter One, all the minor characters by the end of Chapter Two, and the publishers by the end of Chapter Three) it's Shakespeare.

Cryp-lit like this requires a certain kind of technical devotion from the reader, and if you are a diehard crypto-geek PopCo is something you really ought to read. But only if you've read the good stuff (like Neal Stephenson's excellent Cryptonomicon) first.

"The Invention of the Telescope" update...

OK, so it's not exactly Wikileaks: but following on from my very recent review of Albert van Helden's monograph, a (how shall I put it?) well-placed insider has dropped me a line...

Apparently, the American Philosophical Society is planning to republish "The Invention of the Telescope" in an "augmented edition" next year (2009, the International Year of the Telescope), for which van Helden has been asked to put together a new introduction. My guess is that this will come out at about the same time as the book on Galileo's sunspots which Eileen Reeves and van Helden have been working on (which itself was delayed by Reeves' "Galileo's Glassworks", according to her acknowledgments section).

However, I should flag that a big problem with long publishing pipelines like this is that it only takes one really interesting piece of work to come out to make everything in it seem instantly outdated: and with the 400th anniversary of Galileo's telescopic breakthroughs imminently upon us, right now there are doubtless several (2? 5? 10?) historians out there finishing up their shocking alt.history revisionist accounts of the telescope's genesis.

For me, the most surprising aspect of this whole story is that van Helden's work has lasted 31 years without being significantly overturned (as far as I can see): but in the field of ideas, things can change (and they often do, rapidly). We shall see what happens next...

Incidentally, I wish I knew of a book like the first half of "Galileo's Glassworks" that covered the literary prehistory of the microscope, and/or an equivalent of van Helden's monograph covering the microscope's birth. Was the romantic lure of seeing tiny things ever as great as that of seeing afar?

All of a sudden, I'm transported Proust-like to the Trigan Empire comic strip in the "Look & Learn"s of my childhood, where one storyline revealed whole subatomic galaxies to explore (might Oli Frey have drawn that?)...

Review of "The Invention of the Telescope"...

It may seem a little odd to be reviewing a 31-year-old monograph, but stick with it, you'll see where I'm going soon enough...

The whole sequence starts with the review I posted here of Eileen Reeves' brand new "Galileo's Glassworks: The Telescope and the Mirror" (2008, Harvard University Press). Though overall very fascinating, one aspect of this book confused me: why it should be structured in two so radically different (dare I say almost schizophrenic?) halves. You see, while the first 50% covers the amorphous literary pre-history of the telescope, the second 50% deals with the textual minutiae of who told Galileo what and when, and what Galileo probably believed in 1608-9: so the book swings sharply from a super-broad cultural reading to an ultra-close textual reading. An uncomfortable mixture.

Now, the first half particularly intrigued me, so it made sense for me to move on to Reeves' major source for it: Albert van Helden's (1977) brief (but magisterial) "The Invention of the Telescope". If you want your own copy, there are still a couple under £25 available on BookFinder.com (though be quick, the rest are over £50).

Van Helden (for whom Dutch is his first language) had started out by translating Cornelis de Waard's relatively little-known book "De uitvinding der verrekijkers" (The Hague, 1906), which laid out a lot of new evidence on the genesis of the telescope as we know it in the Netherlands: much of the story revolved around the town of Middelburg (which held one of the largest glassworks in Europe), with nearly all key documents written in Dutch.

But de Waard's conclusions - that the telescope had probably been invented in Italy circa 1590, that Raffael Gualterrotti had built such a device in 1598, and that one of which had surfaced in Holland circa 1604, before being replicated by various spectacle-makers and inventors in 1608, leading to an unseemly patent rush - seemed to van Helden not quite to be supported by the evidence. And so he decided to take a fresh look at the documents: and his 1977 monograph was the result.

Having said that, van Helden's final conclusions are practically the same as de Waard's, though not quite as specific: that Giovanbaptista della Porta's claim to have built a telescope (to which his "Magia naturalis libri XX" (Naples, 1589), Book XVII, Chapter 10, p.269 circumspectly alludes) probably does hold up, as does Gualterrotti's claim (perhaps more weakly), though given that the best magnification possible pre-1600 would (argues van Helden) have been only around 2x, the resulting device would have been unspectacular - a telescopic amuse-bouche, rather than the Galilean feast that was to come. And so van Helden concludes that Italians (specifically della Porta) probably did invent the telescope, though they didn't realise it at the time.

Thirty years on, and I think van Helden's monograph stands as a great piece of writing: clear, lean, thoughtful, honest. Best of all, the majority of it (pp.28-64) consists of transcriptions (and English translations) of the important sections of all the relevant documents; so if you don't like his conclusions, feel free to go right to the primary sources (they're pretty much all there), knock yourself out. Perfect.

It should now be clear what I think happened with "Galileo's Glassworks". The elephant in the room (who was not mentioend, but around whom all the furniture was carefully arranged) was van Helden's monograph: this forms a bridge between Reeves' two distinct sections. And so if you add the two books together, you get what amounts to a single coherent work, going from medieval and early modern notions and claims of vision-at-a-distance and burning mirrors (Reeves), through to the myriad claims and counterclaims of the Dutch "inventors" (van Helden), through to Galileo's reception of the new device (Reeves again). At only 231 pages (with endnotes starting on p.167), Reeves' book originally felt to me to be about 60-70 pages short: how curious to find that van Helden's monograph exactly fits the dimensions of that lacuna.

In her acknowledgments, Reeves says that she "benefited most of all... from the intellectual guidance and constant friendship of Albert van Helden, whose own work... is the basis of and inspiration for my own" (p.220). I'd say that while Reeves' book gives context and consequence to van Helden's monograph, reading the former without the latter doesn't really make sense. In fact, I would strongly recommend to Harvard University Press (who publish "Galileo's Glassworks") that they negotiate with the American Philosophical Society to reprint Reeves' book with van Helden's excellent (but scarce) work as an appendix. Now that would be a book truly worthy of the International Year Of The Telescope.

When hoaxes go bad...

Years ago, I was told that in Greece, gamblers who pull off a big coup are feted: there, making money for nothing is apparently seen as a kind of heroic alchemy, something to which everyone should aspire. And because hoaxes - stunts carried out not for art's sake, but to swindle - surely fall into this category just as much as many of the historical alchemists' "projections", it should be obvious why some Voynich researchers should link the swindler/alchemist Edward Kelley with the manuscript.

However, one good reason to be wary of Voynich hoax hypotheses is that, in the real world, the people (and the stories) behind hoaxes do tend to surface: as Shakespeare wrote, "but at the length truth will out". Tricky things tend to be collaborative, even if in only a loose way: I can say from my experience in the games industry that being a "lone gunman" on a high complexity project is a hard gig, like being an uomo universale with a spaceship to build. Anyway, where's the fun in conspiring on your own?

Regardless, all of this hoax-based free association was triggered by the article this month by Philip Mantle on the people behind the famous "Alien Autopsy" hoax. As you'd expect, all kinds of collaborative technical trickery was required to make it seem even remotely feasible: and the main technician behind the story (Cypriot-born video wizard Spyros Melaris) is now emerging to tell his story.

There's a longer transcript of the interview here: but if you simply have to know more, you'll probably be more interested in Spyros Melaris' book "ALIEN AUTOPSY: The True Story". It's a bit pricy (£37.50), comes with a DVD, though doesn't yet seem to be available: email AATrueStory@DIGInetUK.com for more details (allegedly). Confusingly, there's a (different) 2006 DVD out there with exactly the same name, presented by Eamonn Holmes: and you already know about the Ant & Dec "Alien Autopsy" film, so I'll skip past that too. Just so you know.

The punchline here is that, in the fullness of time, the only certain way to get participants in a big hoax to keep quiet is to kill them all, Hollywood stylee... and I don't really think that happened with the VMs. It also seems to me that Kelley gives the impression of having an enormous ego and a big mouth, particularly near the end of his life (he was a golden knight, after all), and if there was one iota of self-aggrandisement to be had out of his association with a strange manuscript, he would have done his best to extract it. But the record is silent.

The "visual poetry" of the Voynich Manuscript...

It must seem like I'm fixating on everything apart from the VMs itself, but sometimes that's how blogging works: and, indeed, how life itself works. This June 2005 entry from visual poet Geof Huth's "dbqp: visualizing poetry" blog takes a confidently sideways angle on the manuscript from most people.

Geof talks of the Voynich's "hypnotic beauty" and wonders whether "the draw of this book is that we must treat it as a child treats a picture book: We read the images and look at the text." Yet I happen to believe that there is more visual poetry to be found in the VMs than even he thinks, many miles beyond the limited horizons of "The Friar and the Cipher" (which he had just read).

Geof also suggests that the VMs might have influenced the DIY cultural anarchist mIEKAL aND. Certainly, there's some visual overlap with the fonts here (one grabbed from the Rohonczi Codex), but as for the VMs' influence on the "crossmedia beliefware" here, his Zaum Gadget and other hypertoys at Qazingulaza, and according to this page, "THE DRIFTLESS GROTTO OF WEST LIMA, a permanent public grotto/park/installation which when finished will feature a bird-operated time machine in a 25 ft blue glass tower", I really couldn't say.

I'd never really thought of it before just now, but to me the Voynich does have the same kind of deep structure as poetry: that ineffable feeling of polished granite blocks effortlessly grinding past each other in an unseen topology, far below the surface. And a kind of coruscating anti-etymology too, that elegantly hunts down and destroys the patterns our magpie eyes feverishly search out.

Burning flames, dead stars humming:
Rhythm of a dance? Each thing
Is lost inside this packed-in future -
The one you tried to grasp so much.
We throw our words, our empty hopes,
And foolish dreams upon this pyre,
To keep you living in your fire.

Make of it all what you will.

"Codex", by Lev Grossman...

"Codex" (2005) , another Voynich-ish thriller to add to the Big Fat List, is by New-York-based writer Lev Grossman who you might know as the author of the "When Words Fail" article (a nice introduction to the Voynich Manuscript) in April 1999's Lingua Franca I have favourably cited here several times.

In his novel, an investment banker gets roped in by a wealthy couple to track down a medieval travel narrative, which may or may not be a fraud. Lev's website says (of his own book) that "It’s also an unusual love story, as well as a love letter to the mysteries and wonders of the Book, the death of which has been wildly exaggerated": sounds plausible to me. :-)

Oh, and it genuinely does appear to be an international bestseller, as evidenced by the 25 copies of it in my local libraries (where most interesting books don't even merit a single copy, sadly).

"Codice Voynich", by Claudio Foti...

There's a new book just out, self-published through lulu.com, called "Codice Voynich" by Claudio Foti. It's 143 pages long, 6" x 9", and in Italian - though fewer pages, it has the same dimensions as the VMs and, who knows, perhaps even the same language. ;-)

But printing is basically easy now: and so the big issue for publishers and self-publishers is sales and marketing - getting people to buy your wares. Yet for print-on-demand business wrappers like Lulu, the economics are somewhat suspect: unless you've got absolutely killer content that large numbers of people need right now and can be compressed into a tiny number of pages (like, say, "Getting Laid with Facebook"), who is going to pay £13.15 for a softback? Yeah, Voynich completists like me, sure: but are there really more than 20-30 of those in the world?

For my own Voynich book, I worked out that for digital printing to make good economic sense, it could sensibly have no more than 240 pages, and I could charge no more than £9.95 per copy, no matter what I actually put inside it. And so I'll be very interested to see what makes Claudio's book worth more for 90+ less pages.

Incidentally, typical keywords Claudio has flagged are: magic alchemy Prague Rome medieval Middle Ages manuscript codex Atlantis Bacon Kelley mysterious rune Lovecraft Necronomicon Nostradamus Dee Voynich. No huge surprises there: which itself is a bit of a shame. If it had been "Voynich Facebook Smurf Cheeseboard Helicopter", well...

Current reading list...

Here's my current reading list: make of it what you will.

"Shopping in the Renaissance", Evelyn Welch [just finished, will review here soon]

"Of Grammatology", Jacques Derrida [100 pages in, which is about 98 pages more than most people... but it's a desperately slow read]

"The Occult Sciences in Byzantium", Paul Magdalino and Maria Mavroudi [about halfway through: a fascinating (if piecemeal) collection of essays]

"Secrets of the Code", Dan Burstein [150 pages in: an interesting compilation of snippets, but all a bit off-topic for a Voynichologist - I was more interested in figuring out how to to compile a Voynich reader, like a more text-based version of D'Imperio]

"PopCo", Scarlett Thomas [50 pages in: will review this shortly]

"Lucrezia Borgia", Sarah Bradford [I've not yet started this: but it seems to have lots of interesting Quattrocento texture to look forward to]

"Elizabeth's Spy Master", Robert Hutchinson [Not yet started]

"The Renaissance in Europe: A Reader", Keith Whitlock [Not yet started]

"History of Astrology", Peter Whitfield [Not yet started: I liked his "The Mapping of the Heavens" and "Mapping The World", so I have high hopes for this]

Yet more Voynich "solutions"...

I recently found a German Voynich Lexicon wiki-page, with lots of nice things that appear almost nowhere else (such as a link to my Compelling Press Voynich book page, *sigh*).

It has quite a light touch, reminiscent of my old Voynich friend Elmar Vogt: for example, it has a short "Newbold of the month" section pointing to two latter-day Voynich "solutions", neither of which I'd heard: Erhard Landmann's book, and Dirk Schroeder's kabbalistic numerology.

Perhaps more usefully, the site also has a list of Voynich media mentions, going from 2001 all the way up to 2008. OK, it's in German: but even so, you can get a good idea of what's being said about the VMs (and where). There's a link there to a 2007 Suddeutsche article I was interviewed for (and which I'd forgotten about until I saw it there just now).

But here's the punchline: the more Voynich coverage from around the world I see, the more it seems to me that the English-speaking world doesn't currently give a monkey's about the whole issue. With all due respect to the army of novelists out there slaving away on their Voynich-themed soon-to-be-masterpieces, you might consider avoiding making them too parochial: the translations may well make you more money...

Incidentally, I'm now 50 pages into Scarlett Thomas' novel "PopCo": I'll post a review here as soon as I've finished it...

Dutch Voynich hoax bloggery...

I just stumbled across part 1 and part 2 of a long-ish Dutch blog entry on hoax theories of the Voynich Manuscript, specifically Gordon Rugg's Cardan grille nonsense. If, like me, you don't speak Dutch, note that Google Translate's Dutch-to-English translation appears not to be working, and so use FreeTranslation.com instead (which does work fine).

Actually, I do (thanks to Tanya) have a single Amsterdam survival phrase, which I learnt long before I was married: "Zeker niet, mevrouw: ik word getrouwd!" Anyway, moving swiftly on...

What tickled me about the Dutch bloggery was the fact that the people commenting on it were amused by f78r's "qokedy qokedy dal qokedy qokedy" sequence, with one of them asking "Wat dacht je van de smurfen?" All of which prompted (Proust-stylee) long-buried memories of the abysmal Smurf collectible figurines BP gave away as promotional items in the 1970s (and which are doubtless now worth the GDP of Morocco each) to surface. I just never dreamed I'd join Smurfs and the Voynich Manuscript in the same sentence. Life is strange.

Incidentally, 2008 marks the 50th anniversary of the Smurfs' burf: thankfully, the movie tie-in has been delayed to 2010 (though if we're really lucky, Paramount will cancel it first). But here's a blog entry on them that does ring true (oh, and here's a working Smurf Name Generator).

"The Spiderwick Chronicles" and the VMs...

You may not have heard of them, but the six books in The Spiderwick Chronicles - stories that follow a group of kids in their everyday struggles with elves, goblins and boggarts - have (according to a piece in this week's MCV, which seemed to have been written by Vivendi's PR folk) sold six million copies worldwide, more than a million of which were in the UK. Oh, and the US box office release of the movie grossed nearly $25m: and there's a computer game imminent, too.

LA-based blogger Martin van Velsen caught the film's opening: and was struck by the title-sequence, during which Arthur Spiderwick constructs a book, one page every day, by gluing down small objects and animal (mostly insect) parts and writing a commentary around them. Martin wonders if the Codex Seraphinianus and the Voynich Manuscript (both of which he describes as "pure works of fiction, a flight of fantasy out of control... [yet] based... on the real world") were effectively the real Spiderwick Chronicles.

"When browsing the Voynich Manuscript I tend to find myself wonder what was drawn true to life and what was made up. More importantly, did the author deliberately stay on the edge as to lure the reader into believing some of the imaginary depictions are actually real?"

All good thoughts. He ends his blog with a rather splendid quote from H. P. Lovecraft:-

"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age."

This whole blog entry warmed my heart, simply because here we have a blogger who really gets the Voynich. OK, he's into H. P. Lovecraft and Luigi Serafini too, so it wasn't a massive jump sideways: but all credit to him regardless. :-)

The cult of Leonardo?

(...da Vinci, not di Caprio, in case you think I've lost my mind).

Sure, Leonardo was a lovely guy, great technique, cutting edge, a bit flaky - but he was a Quattrocento Florentine, and (if you read Jacob Burckhardt only a little bit too literally) they were pretty much all like that back then. So what is the modern-day 'cult of personality' surrounding Leonardo really about?

An old friend's Italian partner once told me that people in Italy generally rated Brunelleschi over Leonardo: and I can quite see (Brunelleschi's famous sinking barge aside) why that might well be true. For me, there are two raw types of genius: visionary (who can see how things ought to work with a clarity the rest of us don't have access to) and practical (who make the impossible actually happen). Sure, Leonardo was a visionary genius, who managed to 'ship a few products': but Brunelleschi's genius comes across as both visionary and practical.

And so it seems to me that sometime over the last century, we (as a society) began to value the visionary over the practical (and the inspiration over the perspiration), as if we can somehow subsist on ideas without action. The cult of Leonardo merely rides this cultural wave, not unlike a carved figurehead on the prow of the ship we're sailing in: he was simply a good match for the impractical historical non-hero archetype we happened to be looking for.

Which is not to say that I don't value all the wonderful books on Leonardo out there: my two current favourites are the epic 3d model-fest "Leonardo's Machines" by Mario Taddei and Edoardo Zanon (Giunti, 2005), and Martin Kemp's splendid "Leonardo da Vinci: Experience, Experiment and Design" (V&A Publications, 2006). But rather, I see Leonardo as being the poster-child for modern anti-practical sentiments, chosen centuries after his death: and the modern worshipping of his life and work as being part of an ideological programme I don't really understand. The culture preceded the cult, if you like.

I can't also help wondering if the study of Leonardo is somehow holding back our notion of early modern history, as if we cannot but help look at the Quattrocento through the knotted cluster of ideas about invention we project so strongly onto da Vinci. Perhaps we can do better...

Anyway, today's gratuitous Leonardo link comes courtesy of The Guardian: a story about film director Peter Greenaway quite literally projecting his own story onto the Last Supper. Having said that, Leonardo would probably have approved: his career in Milan revolved not around painting or engineering, but around designing dramatic entertainments for the Sforza court and its visitors - he was essentially a film director without film.

Incidentally, I recall a Philip K. Dick short story where a whole sequence of "Mona Lisa"s are discovered, along with a huge wooden machine in a cave for "playing" them, like a gigantic zoetrope: which then reveals the (surprisingly saucy) secret behind her smile... But perhaps I just dreamt it. :-)