Books and Bookcases: Intellectual Culture and the
American Middle-Class in the Mid-Nineteenth Century
Jim Safley

Born in Fauquier County, Virginia, on January 17, 1806, Beverly Randolph McKennie was the first child of a middle-class Methodist family. His father, an established physician, died when he was six years old, leaving his mother and grandmother to his upbringing. Wanting her son to follow in her husband’s footsteps, Beverly’s mother encouraged him to become a medical doctor. However, upon reaching maturity, Beverly’s aspirations turned to journalism, and he took jobs at the local Whig newspaper while helping care for his family.

To his mother’s chagrin, in the late 1820’s Beverly moved from Fauquier County to Knoxville, Tennessee, under the employment of Mr. Heiskell, a small book publisher. His first few years working as an office foreman were difficult. At one time he even considered his mother’s attempts to lure him back to Virginia to become a physician’s understudy:

It seems by Sister’s letter that it is your wish for me to come to Virginia, provided I undertake the study of medicine; sister also intimates that you wish for me to study with some person whom you have in contemplation. I should be very much indebted to you if you would inform me who the person is – on what terms I could get to study with him – his standing, i.e. as a physician. Say whether he would charge me any thing or not for the use of his books.[1]

Even though he ultimately did not return to his home state, he gave it serious thought. What is significant in this passage is his concern over the price of textbooks. Though his concern was genuine at the time (simply the sound economic awareness of a young professional), unbeknownst to him, in twenty years he would possess an entire library of books.

While in Knoxville it was Beverly’s wish to settle himself “in some way, and profitably and respectably if I can.” But times were hard: “Business here, is now extremely dull. Money much scarcer than was ever before known.”[2] Without enough experience or resources to begin his own publishing business, he acquiesced to his fate – and to his commitment to journalism – and remained in Knoxville until a better situation presented itself. He knew, without hesitation, that his job under Mr. Heiskell would not be a permanent one, but he did not know to where his next job would take him.

Whatever his intentions for the future, Beverly learned much about the book publishing industry in Knoxville. There he established an advantageous network of publishers, printers, and authors, many of whom appreciated Beverly’s professionalism and virtuous demeanor. “I have the happiness to believe you honest in your professions,” a business associate once expressed to Beverly. In typical poetic fashion, the same person elaborated his respect for the young publisher: “If I were the sketches of nature’s beauty, I would not know where to find a better model, than I discover in you, my friend and quondam associate.”[3] Such an emphasis on the respectability of the person in relation to both business competence and personal character was common in the nineteenth-century.

Ironically – considering Beverly’s career choice as a publisher – one of the most essential measures of respectability during this time was the exaltation of books. Historian Richard L. Bushman claims that “no single item was more essential to a respectable household than a collection of books.” No one knew more than Beverly and his associates the importance of books to the development of American culture. Indeed, their profession fully depended upon the quality and continuity of literature. Books instilled their owners with a certain cultivation not easily achieved without them. Universally they implied erudition and sensibility, which in turn “placed and defined their owners.”[4]

Early in the century, new publishing methods emerged from the innovative spirit of the Industrial Revolution. The power-driven cylinder press and new paper making processes, for example, dramatically reduced the price of books, making them affordable to a greater number of people. Moreover, improvements in transportation and communication introduced a wide range of literature to a broad, national audience. According to historian Joan Shelly Rubin, from these innovations came an “abundant print culture characterized by the casual, widespread reading of fiction, journalism, and instructional volumes on myriad subjects.”[5]

The proliferation of publishing houses during the nineteenth-century facilitated this more democratic view of books and reading. There was a great demand for books, not only for their intellectual content, but also for their aesthetic value. The mere presence of well-crafted books in a home denoted the homeowner’s refinement. Poor quality books did not convey the same respect, and publishers were hard pressed to produce high quality publications. For example, an author of a book published by Mr. Heiskell expressed his disappointment in the quality of the printing: “The book is printed horridly” and the printer “is no workman” and “Heiskell… is a d__d rascal.”[6]

It is no wonder that the display of books nearly became as important as the literature itself. “A book-case filled with well selected and well bound volumes,” a contemporary novelist wrote, was the “one luxury which long habit and well cultivated taste had rendered essential to happiness.”[7] In this sense it seems that there was no obligation to read or comprehend books – the importance rested merely in the ownership and presentation of them. Moreover, during this time, the purchase of bookcases by the middle-class rose sharply, contributing to this notion that display of books took precedence over reading them.

Yet, at the same time, reading was prescribed by almost every contemporary guide to respectable living as a panacea for ignorance and want of culture. And, according to Bushman, there was “no activity more effectual for refinement and personal improvement than reading.”[8] This was especially true for intellectual literature – that is, histories, biographies, and a selected few fictions. Why, then, did the middle-class come to desire intellectual literature? Was it a genuine search for intellectual improvement? Or was it simply an attempt to obtain elite status in American culture by emulating the traditionally more educated upper class? The emphasis on book craftsmanship and the increasing use of the bookcase leads us to believe the latter argument. However, as I will demonstrate, people tended to transcend this superficial perspective, and a new intellectual culture, contingent on reading and comprehension, emerged within the American middle-class.

Beverly Randolph McKennie adhered to this intellectual culture, particularly after moving to Nashville, Tennessee in the late 1830s. Using loans and money he saved from his work in Knoxville, he founded his own newspaper, The Nashville Whig (forerunner to the now defunct conservative newspaper, Nashville Banner). He also purchased a large house in the Greek Revival style on several hundred acres of cropland, probably worked by slaves. Any respectable house of that time contained equally respectable furnishings, and Beverly saw to it that his house reflected his own middle-class refinement. Among other elegant items, he purchased early Victorian furniture, including a marble-topped wash stand, a chiffarobe, a canopy bed, and a glass-front bookcase. The bookcase and the books therein, more than anything, represented his desire for intellectual culture.

Only ten years before, a young Beverly was worried whether he could afford books, now he had his own collection of “well selected and well bound volumes” housed within an ornate glass-front bookcase. The bookcase, with its double swing-out glass doors and elaborately trimmed rosewood veneer, bespoke his taste for fine furnishing. Yet the bookcase represented something more. “One measure of serious devotion to books,” Bushman writes, “was the purchase of a bookcase, not just to hold books but to display them.”[9] Guests to his house could easily see his dedication to intellectual culture by perusing through his ample collection of histories, biographies, and classical literature.

So why did Beverly feel the need to display his books in such a beautiful and elaborate container? The answer lies in a growing trend in nineteenth-century middle-class culture: beautification. In order to distinguish themselves from the poorer classes, those who desired refinement aimed to identify with genteel culture, which visibly manifested itself as an emphasis on beauty and aesthetics. In time beautification campaigns stretched to every limit of middle-class culture, including books and bookcases.[10] As has been pointed out, it was essential that books be “well bound” and aesthetically pleasing; and naturally this focus extended to the furniture that housed the books. His beautiful bookcase, therefore, symbolized Beverly’s serious commitment to his books, which in turn revealed his commitment to refinement.

But underneath the outward – and some might say superficial – beauty of books and bookcases was a profound desire for knowledge and wisdom. Now that the middle-class enjoyed unfettered access to literature, as well as an inclination to possess books and bookcases, there was an unprecedented opportunity to develop an intellectual culture. The Industrial Revolution supported, and in some ways defined, this development. It engendered a feeling that every step in the process of life invariably led to an improved state. Reading, for example, was seen as the necessary step to an improved and cultured state of mind.[11] Thus, in this new age of industry and progress, is no wonder that books became prime symbols for mental improvement.

The middle-class devotion to intellectual culture was confirmed by their willingness to read books, not just enjoy their presence. One of Beverly’s close friends once expressed his fondness for reading: “I expect to have but little leisure time, and should devote that to reading.”[12] The reading public even demanded tools to assist them in the selection of great books. Fulfilling this demand were the proclaimed “literary moral elite” – that is, intellectuals “charged with defining and exemplifying culture.”[13] Ralph Waldo Emerson, for example, envisioned a “literary club” in which members would read books and evaluate their worth.[14] Also during this time, prescriptive texts on reading attempted to render some coherent order to the influx of books in the American market. One such book by Noah Porter, Books and Reading: Or What Books Shall I Read and How Shall I Read Them, listed books deemed intellectually worthwhile to read.[15]

Looking through Beverly Randolph McKennie’s bookcase, one would find a wide assortment of intellectual literature that certainly would have been recommended in prescriptive texts. He owned histories such as Charles Rollin’s famed Ancient History, science texts such as The Horticulturist, literary anthologies such as The Works of Hannah More, and newly popular travel books such as John L. Stephens’ Incidents of Travel in Yucatan. His collection of nonfiction books was certainly impressive, particularly for its broad range of topics.

Beverly’s eclectic choice of books reflected the growing repudiation of specialization that emerged from institutions of higher education in the mid-nineteenth century. Daniel Coit Gilman, president of Hopkins University, expressed his concern of specialized education: “We must beware, lest we make our schools technical instead of liberal, and impart a knowledge of methods rather than principles.”[16] A “liberal culture” thus developed, based on the belief that refined individuals should be “exemplars of broad knowledge, humanistic feeling, and proper conduct.”[17] “The cultivated person,” Bushman asserts, “knew something of virtually everything.”[18]

Of course not all books of this time could be classified as “intellectual.” Emerging from the reading glut of the mid-nineteenth century came a new, and very popular, form of literature: sentimental fiction. These stories were better suited to reach a broad public than intellectual literature because of their universal appeal and down-home charm. People identified with the recognizable characters and settings, and were captivated by the sensational themes and stereotypes. They even went as far as to emulate certain aspects of the stories they read. Literary historian Janet Todd clarifies this peculiar bond between fiction and real life: “In all forms of sentimental literature, there is an assumption that life and literature are directly linked, not through any notion of a mimetic depiction of reality but through the belief that the literary experience can intimately affect the living one.”[19]

Some critics objected to the sweeping popularity of fiction because they believed it to be purposeless and mind numbing. In 1894 one such critic begrudgingly reminisced:

It may well be questioned whether the invention of printing, while it democratized information, has not also leveled the ancient aristocracy of thought…. [I]t has supplanted a strenuous habit of thinking with a loose indolence of reading which relaxes the muscular fiber of the mind…. The costliness of books was a great refiner of literature…. The problem for the scholar was formerly how to acquire books; for us it is how to get rid of them.[20]

In this view, the “literary moral elite” was hard pressed to counteract the “pernicious” effects of fiction on the impressionable public.

However, this broad argument against fiction overlooks the structure and content of certain types of fiction, notably sentimental fiction. Though not considered intellectual in the traditional sense, sentimental fiction did indeed contribute to the growth of intellectual culture. Writers of this form of fiction always reflected genteel values in their stories, providing the reader a revealing, yet idealized, window to aristocratic refinement. “By invariably making the heroes and heroines refined,” Bushman points out, “the stories taught people to pursue mental culture and the rest of the genteel virtues.”[21] Thus the stories espoused genteel refinement as they exposed the reader to intellectual activities, including high education, polished conversation, and the reading of intellectual literature.

Fiction also lined the shelves of Beverly’s bookcase. One prime example was The Travels and Surprising Adventures of Baron Munchausen, an enchanting tale of an English baron’s intrepid travels to all parts of the world. The story, with its aristocratic protagonist, recognizable settings, and sensational story line, appealed to middle-class readers who desired refinement as well as fanciful adventure. In his travels, the Baron Munchausen frequently solved difficult problems, even in the most precarious circumstances, utilizing his genteel acumen. Here, the baron explains the methods by which he used to survive his adventures:

All these narrow and lucky escapes, gentlemen, were chances turned to advantage, by presence of mind and vigorous exertions; which taken together, as everybody knows, make the fortunate sportsman, sailor, and soldier; but he would be a very blamable and imprudent sportsman, admiral, or general, who would always depend upon chance and his stars, without troubling himself about those arts which are their particular pursuits, and without providing the very best implements which insure success.[22]

This book, along with countless other fiction books, stressed the importance of intellectual culture as a means for worldly achievement. Just as the Baron Munchausen used “presence of mind” to fend off ignorance and thwart danger, so could the reader. In this case, “the very best implements which to insure success” was knowledge and wisdom, essential qualities for a refined individual.

As we have seen, an intellectual culture flourished in the American middle-class during the mid-nineteenth century. Several key factors and prevailing influences contributed to the rise of this culture. The Industrial Revolution made possible technologies that facilitated the dissemination of books, which consequently democratized reading and education. It also instilled the philosophy of perpetual advancement. This new and optimistic outlook caused people to look beyond their traditional limits and obtain knowledge for their own intellectual improvement. Moreover, the growing tendency of the middle-class to emulate genteel virtues also introduced them to intellectual refinement. Though the visible emphasis on beauty and aesthetics could be seen as superficial, it did not fully represent the motives behind the desire to become genteel.

The popularity of intellectual literature, along with the willingness to read and comprehend it, are good measures of how serious people were about intellectual culture. Prescriptive texts and literary clubs reflected the public’s demand for good quality literature. Even fiction writers promoted genteel values in their stories, stressing the benefits of education and refinement in every day life. For good reason, books were seen as keystones to enlightenment. Beverly Randolph McKennie exemplified the middle-class devotion to refinement. His collection of books and his elaborate glass-front bookcase further bespoke his commitment to the liberal and intellectual cultures.

It is interesting to note that when Beverly moved to Nashville, it was but a modest city on the fringes of the American frontier. He was part of a widespread movement to the West that brought with it the ideas and sentiments of the eastern states. Middle-class settlers, for example, brought books, bookcases, and refined attitudes toward education. This rapid expansion of intellectual culture to the edges of society illustrated its pervasiveness throughout the nation.

It seems that, in the latter part of his life, Beverly finally reached his goal to settle himself “profitably and respectably.” His newspaper was among the most popular in Nashville, and his family grew to six children and numerous grandchildren before he died in 1881 at the age of seventy-five.

Notes

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[1] Beverly Randolph McKennie to Mary McKennie, 13 September 1829, Personal Collection, Safley Family Archives.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Felix K. Zollrioffer to Beverly McKennie, 22 June 1933, Personal Collection, Safley Family Archives.

[4] Richard L. Bushman, The Refinement of America: Persons, Houses, Cities (New York: Vintage Books, 1992), 282; Ibid., 283.

[5] Joan Shelley Rubin, The Making of Middle Brow Culture (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1992), 17.

[6] Zollrioffer to Beverly McKennie.

[7] [Catharine Maria Sedgwick], Home (Boston, 1835), 8, quoted in Bushman, 280.

[8] Bushman, 282.

[9] Ibid., 283.

[10] Ibid., 242-243.

[11] Ibid., 285.

[12] Zollrioffer to Beverly McKennie.

[13] Daniel Walker Howe, The Unitarian Conscience: Harvard Moral Philosophy, 1805-1861 (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1970), 178, quoted in Rubin, 6; Rubin, 6-7.

[14] Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Books,” quoted in Rubin, 10.

[15] Noah Porter, Books and Reading, or What Books Shall I Read and How Shall I Read Them (New York: Charles Scribner), quoted in Rubin, 18.

[16] Laurence R. Veysey, The Emergence of the American University (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965), 88, quoted in Rubin, 20.

[17] Rubin, 20.

[18] Bushman, 286.

[19] Janet Todd, Sensibility: An Introduction (London, 1986), 4, quoted in Bushman, 288.

[20] James Russell Lowell, “The Five Indispensable Authors,” Century (December 1893), 223-224, quoted in Rubin, 18-19.

[21] Bushman, 288.

[22] The Travels and Surprising Adventures of Baron Munchausen (New York: James Miller, 1865), 34.