Antiquariat Hindrichs Rare and Unusual Books

Antiquariat Hindrichs Rare and Unusual Books Antiquariat Hindrichs buys, sells, and appraises rare and unusual books and manuscripts, as well as

09/26/2016 - NS-Raubgut in Nürnberg

The City of Nuremburg is seeking descendants of the former owners of the so-called Julius Streicher Collection, an assembly of more than 10,000 valuable books, manuscripts, art objects and cultural properties assembled by confiscation, theft and deportation and murder of the form largely Jewish owners. A genealogical study has been made and is viewable. I will be happy to assist in any manner I can if you feel that you are one of the descendants. Genealogical documentation is paramount.

NS-Raubgut in Nürnberg - Die Julius Streicher Sammlung

Wien, am 25. September 2016
Sehr geehrte Forschergemeinde!
Heute bitte ich Sie erneut um Ihre wertvolle Mithilfe:
Die Israelitische Kultusgemeinde (IKG) Nürnberg ist im Besitz der so genannten „Stürmer- oder Streicher-Bibliothek“, einer Sammlung von rund 10.000 durch N**i geraubten Büchern. Diese Bibliothek den Rechtsnachfolgern zu restituieren ist der IKG ein besonderes Anliegen. Gleich vorweg möchte ich betonen, dass die Restitution kostenlos erfolgt!
Durch die Veröffentlichung einer Liste Österreichischer Vorbesitzer im September 2015 konnten bereits einige Bücher restituiert werden.
Nun finden Sie eine komplette Liste der Raubopfer unter…
Die Liste ist frei einsehbar - es ist keine Registrierung notwendig.
Da Provenienzforschung in erster Linie Familienforschung ist, bitte ich SIE um Ihre Mithilfe in dieser so wichtigen Angelegenheit.
Ich füge untenstehend ein Schreiben von Mag. Leibl Rosenberg, Beauftragter der Stadt Nürnberg für die Sammlung IKG, bei und bitte Sie, sich mit Forschungsergebnissen und Fragen direkt an ihn zu wenden: [email protected]
Mit freundlichen Grüßen,
Felix Gundacker

Die genealogische Datenbank


How we frequently see it.

Timeline photos

Timeline photos

Summer reading Fyodor Dostoevsky humor via Peter Steiner and The New Yorker Cartoons.

At the Antiquariat, we like to research motifs through the centuries, and the more we conduct such research, the more we...

At the Antiquariat, we like to research motifs through the centuries, and the more we conduct such research, the more we see that nothing has changed.

Timeline photos

Timeline photos

Because Buffy couldn't have stopped the Apocalypse without access to rare books.
-from ALA staff member, Deborah Caldwell Stone.

Book Animations
Book Animations

Book Animations

Just for fun, some GIF animations of images from books and manuscripts at the University of Pennsylvania’s Kislak Center for Special Collections, Rare Books and Manuscripts. All of the GIFs …

An Inscribed Copy of the First American Feminist Novel to Explore Female Sexuality. Plagiarized by Henry James, who libe...

An Inscribed Copy of the First American Feminist Novel to Explore Female Sexuality. Plagiarized by Henry James, who liberally helped himself to characters and plot synopses, “Emily Chester” continued to have a major impact on American letters for decades after the anonymous author’s untimely death.

[Crane, Anne Moncure] Emily Chester. Boston: Ticknor and Fields, 1864. The Third Edition, appearing shortly after the First Edition in the year of the First Edition. Small 8vo., original publisher’s purple cloth with the blindstamped Ticknor and Fields logo on front and rear boards, worn extremities but a tight binding, largely clean and in very good condition. This copy is further distinguished by the eponymous signature of the anonymous author - as “Emily Chester” - in an inscription to “Mrs. H.M. Dearborn from Emily Chester. Christmas 1864.” The Dobkin Family Collection of Feminism 4654831

Anne Crane was born in Baltimore in 1838, five years before Henry James. During a period beginning in 1864 and ending with her early death in 1872, she became well known for her daring society fiction. Her three novels, published by Boston's quality publisher, pushed the exploration of women's desires and discontents so far and dealt so categorically with the sexual manners of the American leisure class, both in the South and in New York, that Crane acquired a reputation as a scandalous writer. A few weeks after her death, the Nation published a uniquely ill-natured obituary note expressing the hope that her immoral influence would cease now that she was dead. The obituarist's wish was gratified. Crane's novels went out of print, and she soon disappeared from the literary record.

But Crane's was an important voice in early American realism, one that had a decisive influence on Henry James. Her 1869 story, “Little Bopeep,” was partly about a young woman who “was the very apotheosis of the ordinary”. Crane was one of Howells's first admirers, and in Reginald Archer she would have one of her most conventional ladies “object … to realistic novels, as being too much like life”. When the Galaxy was started up in 1866 she was solicited for a story (Crane to Church, 22 February 1866, William Conant Church Papers, NYPL) and soon became a regular contributor; the Atlantic also approached her, but without success.

Anne Moncure Crane (Seemüller) (January 7, 1838 – December 10, 1872) was an American writer of the popular novels Emily Chester, Opportunity and Reginald Archer. Her writing explored female sexual desire, making it controversial in some quarters of post-Civil War American society. The author Henry James, among others, was influenced by Crane's books.

Crane was born in Baltimore, Maryland in 1838, daughter of William and Jean Crane. Her family were merchants and led a comfortable middle class lifestyle. An ancestor, Thomas Stone, had signed the Declaration of Independence - an illustrious connection that would later be attached to one of Crane's literary characters. Crane was taught by a local pastor, the Reverend N.A. Morrison. Her physical characteristics are described in a book on Southern writers thus:

"Miss Crane looks the 'woman of genius,' having large features, her nose aquiline and prominent, her mouth large, but rather pleasant, her chin firm, her brow moderate and well arched : her eyes are dark, and have a bright outlook on this world ; her hair is dark and very luxuriant she wears it piled up according to the present 'Japanese' style. She is tall, but not ungraceful. She prides herself on making all her own clothes, and being able to do everything for herself, which is very commendable. A friend calls her 'an universal genius' who is very ambitious, thinking 'an intellectual woman ought to do everything.'"

Crane married Augustus Seemüller, a New York merchant, in 1869. They left Baltimore to settle in New York City. Crane thereafter lived in relative comfort and was able to afford several tours of Europe. She died in Stuttgart, Germany, where she had gone to "take the waters" in the hope of relief from chronic hepatitis. Her remains, as well as those of her husband, are interred beside her father's in Green Mount Cemetery, Baltimore.

Prior to the publication of her three novels, Crane wrote several short stories for the Galaxy and Putnam's Monthly. In 1873, a collection of miscellaneous essays was published posthumously.

Emily Chester

In 1858, when Crane was twenty, she competed with a number of her friends to see who could write the best novel. The result of the friendly competition was the work that would set Crane upon her distinguished path – the novel Emily Chester. When the novel was completed, it was taken to Messrs. Ticknor & Fields, Boston, by a writer who was a stranger to them. She was told that they could not even entertain the idea of publishing it, as they were overcrowded with previous engagements; but upon her urging the point, she was politely allowed to leave the book for inspection. Within two weeks from that time they sent a contract for its publication, addressed to the "Author of 'Emily Chester; and it was not until Crane returned the paper signed in full that they knew the name of the writer whose novel they had bound themselves to publish.Nevertheless, the first edition was published anonymously. On the title page is a quotation from Goethe, "It is in her monstrosities that Nature discloses to us her secrets."

At the heart of the work was the dilemma of the title character, who married a respectable, if boring, middle class gentleman, and later fell in love with a more dashing man of her community. The fierce moral debate that subsequently raged inside Emily - whether to stay faithful to her husband, or to pursue her passion for her real love - eventually had a deleterious effect on her physical health. A conclusion came about, morbidly, with Emily’s death.

Critical reception

Emily Chester was published in 1864 and proved surprisingly popular. The book went through ten editions and was published in Europe as well as the United States. A dramatic play based on the book was even created, exploiting the intriguing new set-up that Crane had introduced – the respectable woman tempted to the verge of adultery, and the resulting effect that the moral predicament has on her personally.
Crane and Henry James

In Henry James and the 'Woman Business' (2004), writer Alfred Habegger accuses Henry James of plagiarizing Crane's novels after her death and rewriting them under his own name. He believes that a scathing anonymous obituary was in fact written by James who had every reason, he contends, to want her forgotten,

"For the unknown writer of this shockingly nasty death notice, Seemüller [Crane] was a monster of such power and proportions that it was necessary, publicly, to drive a stake through her heart. It was essential that this novelist never rise again.

What better authorization would James have needed for his slightly risky enterprise of appropriating and rewriting Seemüller's novels? She was dead and buried ... It would be a civilized and responsible act to turn her shapeless and immoral narratives into a novel of rounded perfection."


Her second book, entitled Opportunity, was published at the close of 1867, and was welcomed by the many admirers of Emily Chester, although it did not create such a furore. It was thus noticed in a Southern journal, by Paul H. Hayne, a poet:

"This is no common romance. Depending but slightly upon the nature of its plot and outward incidents, its power is almost wholly concentrated upon a deep, faithful, subtle analysis of character. Indeed, it is rather a series of peculiar psychological studies, than a novel in the ordinary sense of the term.

Two male characters brothers divide the reader's interest. One is a brilliant, susceptible, but frivolous nature, possessing, no doubt, capacities for good, yet too feeble to arrest and to develop them. The other is a strong, passionate, manly, upright soul, who, in the blackest hours of misfortune and doubt, feels that there are instinctive spiritual truths which a man must cling to, would he avoid destruction. These brothers, so diverse in temperament, encounter and fall in love with the same woman.

We close our notice of Miss Crane's production with the remark that no tale has recently appeared, North or South, which is so full of rich evidences of genuine psychological power, a profound study of character in some of
its most unique spiritual and mental manifestations, and fervid artistic aspirations, destined to embody themselves gloriously in the future."

Reginald Archer

Crane's third book was Reginald Archer published in 1871. Habegger claimed that the protagonist of this novel, Christie Archer, was the inspiration for The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James.

Umberto Eco has left us.
Umberto Eco ist tot

Umberto Eco has left us.

Umberto Eco ist im Alter von 84 Jahren gestorben.

It's Boris Leonidovich's Birthday!

It's Boris Leonidovich's Birthday!

Besten Dank an deutsche Kollegin Martina Berg!

Besten Dank an deutsche Kollegin Martina Berg!

Nur falls es noch Unklarheiten geben sollte ... ;-)

From my friend and colleague Lindsay Thompson at Henry Bemis Books, a lovely short appraisal of a man who has been one o...

From my friend and colleague Lindsay Thompson at Henry Bemis Books, a lovely short appraisal of a man who has been one of my favorite authors since his first book. It was Kurt Vonnegut who first introduced me to the horrors and mundane nature of war.

Birthday: "I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don't let anybody tell you different."

Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. (1922-2007)

Hoosier-born Vonnegut was the son of an architect and a socialite Fate had it in for. His mother’s money came from the family brewery, which was closed by Prohibition. His father’s business fell off a cliff when the Great Depression came and everybody stopped building buildings for twenty years. Vonnegut later claimed to have been largely raised by the family maid.

His father became a withdrawn, moody character; his mother obsessed over the family loss of status and tried to write for the big national magazines. None wanted her stories. Kurt went to public schools (his older siblings has been privately educated, when the money was good), and was admitted to Cornell. His inclinations were artistic but his brother, imprinted with the sear of the Depression, pressed him to read something practical. So Kurt studied biochemistry. Between the indifferent grades he got from his indifferent studies, and a satirical story he published that got him in trouble with the Cornell administration, Vonnegut lost his ROTC slot and his preferred draft status. So he dropped out and joined the Army.

He was trained near home, and when he got there on leave for Mother’s Day, found his had killed herself. Three months later, he was an Army scout in Europe, and during the Battle of the Bulge, he was captured

Years, later, interviewed by The Paris Review, this is how Vonnegut described what happened next:


And you finally arrived in Dresden.


In a huge prison camp south of Dresden first. The privates were separated from the noncoms and officers. Under the articles of the Geneva Convention, which is a very Edwardian document, privates were required to work for their keep. Everybody else got to languish in prison. As a private, I was shipped to Dresden . . .


What were your impressions of the city itself before the bombing?


The first fancy city I’d ever seen. A city full of statues and zoos, like Paris. We were living in a slaughterhouse, in a nice new cement-block hog barn. They put bunks and straw mattresses in the barn, and we went to work every morning as contract labor in a malt-syrup factory. The syrup was for pregnant women. The damned sirens would go off and we’d hear some other city getting it—whump a whump a whumpa whump. We never expected to get it. There were very few air-raid shelters in town and no war industries, just cigarette factories, hospitals, clarinet factories. Then a siren went off—it was February 13, 1945—and we went down two stories under the pavement into a big meat locker. It was cool there, with cadavers hanging all around. When we came up the city was gone.


You didn’t suffocate in the meat locker?


No. It was quite large, and there weren’t very many of us. The attack didn’t sound like a hell of a lot either. Whump. They went over with high explosives first to loosen things up, and then scattered incendiaries. When the war started, incendiaries were fairly sizable, about as long as a shoebox. By the time Dresden got it, they were tiny little things. They burnt the whole damn town down.


What happened when you came up?


Our guards were noncoms—a sergeant, a corporal, and four privates—and leaderless. Cityless, too, because they were Dresdeners who’d been shot up on the front and sent home for easy duty. They kept us at attention for a couple of hours. They didn’t know what else to do. They’d go over and talk to each other. Finally we trekked across the rubble and they quartered us with some South Africans in a suburb. Every day we walked into the city and dug into basements and shelters to get the corpses out, as a sanitary measure. When we went into them, a typical shelter, an ordinary basement usually, looked like a streetcar full of people who’d simultaneously had heart failure. Just people sitting there in their chairs, all dead. A firestorm is an amazing thing. It doesn’t occur in nature. It’s fed by the tornadoes that occur in the midst of it and there isn’t a damned thing to breathe. We brought the dead out. They were loaded on wagons and taken to parks, large, open areas in the city which weren’t filled with rubble. The Germans got funeral pyres going, burning the bodies to keep them from stinking and from spreading disease. One hundred thirty thousand corpses were hidden underground. It was a terribly elaborate Easter-egg hunt. We went to work through cordons of German soldiers. Civilians didn’t get to see what we were up to. After a few days the city began to smell, and a new technique was invented. Necessity is the mother of invention. We would bust into the shelter, gather up valuables from people’s laps without attempting identification, and turn the valuables over to guards. Then soldiers would come in with a flamethrower and stand in the door and cremate the people inside. Get the gold and jewelry out and then burn everybody inside.

After the war, Vonnegut married and studied for an MA in anthropology at the University of Chicago. After they rejected his thesis, he dropped out and went to work for General Electric as a publicist. He sold some stories to magazines, and moved his family to Cape Cod in 1951, there to be a writer.

Success was slow coming, and Vonnegut made his way in and out of various supplemental income gigs, including teaching school and becoming the first Saab dealer in North America. His first novel, Player Piano, came out in 1952. The New York Times liked it, but mostly it got pigeonholed as a science fiction pulper.

Vonnegut kept at it, publishing three more novels into the early ‘60s, and supporting a family that doubled in 1958: his brother-i-law died in a car wreck, and his sister died of cancer, so Vonnegut adopted their three boys. His books sold passably, and over time his name began to stand out as a uniquely quirky author. After two years teaching writing at the University of Iowa- they gave him one course a term- Vonnegut won a Guggenheim Fellowship and returned to Dresden. He finally found the key to unlocking, and writing about, his wartime experiences, and the result- Slaughterhouse-Five- went straight to the head of the best-seller lists in 1969. It was lucky timing: the anti-Vietnam sentiment in America provided a ready audience.

Suddenly, Vonnegut was famous. He appeared on TV; he gave commencement addresses; he won lucrative teaching posts; he was a darling of the antiwar movement. He and his wife divorced after her embrace of Christianity collided with his atheism; a son had a nervous breakdown; he himself fell into depression and writer’s block.

His “sophomore novel”- in his new life as the come-from-nowhere author of Slaughterhouse-Five, was Breakfast of Champions, which critics mostly treated as a phoned-in bone tossed to readers wanting more. In the 1980ds he enjoyed a new vogue among a new generation of young people; his last novel came out in 1997.

At 75 Vonnegut- who said he scorned the internet and email- got caught up in an early viral meme. His second wife, the photographer Jill Krementz, wife got an email purporting to contain an MIT commencement speech by Vonnegut that began with the advice, “Wear sunscreen.” She passed it on to friends and family; the Australian director Baz Luhrmann set it to music, and only when he sought copyright clearance did he discover it was written by a Chicago Tribune columnist and that Vonnegut had never spoken at MIT. By then the genie was out of the bottle and the story circulated online for years. It even spawned a conspiracy theory, with one newsgroup participant declaring, ''This is part of a promotion for an upcoming Vonnegut book,'' the writer wrote. ''One of the characters in the book is a newspaper columnist and guess who her name is: Mary Schmich.''

All told, Vonnegut published fourteen novels, three short story collections, five plays and five nonfiction works. In death, as in life, his books are challenged periodically by parents objecting to their content, and placement in libraries. His rank and worth as a writer is still debated, and only recently has begun to be seriously considered. For thirty-five years, he seemed a hip, merry prankster sort who strung together random thoughts into books, articles and speeches. He died in 2007.

“Here we are,” he wrote, “trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.”


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