Madeline Kripke’s first dictionary was a copy of Webster’s Collegiate that her parents gave her when she was a fifth grader in Omaha
in the early 1950s. By the time of her death in 2020, at age 76, she
had amassed a collection of dictionaries that occupied every flat
surface of her two-bedroom Manhattan
apartment—and overflowed into several warehouse spaces. Many believe
that this chaotic, personal library is the world’s largest compendium of
words and their usage. April White, Atlas Obscuraaltro articolo interessante questa settimana:
In the first decade of the 20th century, it was both virtually
impossible and virtually unheard of for a Jewish person, irrespective of
their individual talents, to be hired for any job at a major American
publishing company—even if they were Ivy League graduates, heirs to
family fortunes, and had brilliant literary minds. They couldn’t get
hired on the editorial staff of a widely circulated American magazine,
or be granted a professorship in an English department at a prestigious
university, either. But all that started to change in the decades after
the 1910s, when Jews entered the industry en masse. In addition
to founding many of the today’s largest publishing companies, Jews
became so influential throughout the industry that by the 1960s American
writers as different as Truman Capote, Jack Kerouac, Katherine Anne
Porter, and Mario Puzo began to complain about a “Jewish literary
mafia.” In short, a minority group went from almost complete exclusion
to full literary enfranchisement in a matter of decades. Josh Lambert, Public Books