Professor Wallace Kirsop, a distinguished bibliographer, and his wife, Joan, have amassed a remarkable personal library, boasting approximately 20,000 volumes. Their 125-year-old Melbourne residence is a testament to their passion, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining every available wall. Any volumes that overflow these meticulously organised shelves find their place in stacks across every other surface. Their dedication extends to a two-bedroom apartment across the road, which houses an even greater number of books.
Amongst this vast collection are books hundreds of years old. However, Professor Kirsop, now 92, clarifies that his collection is not merely for the sake of accumulation; it serves as a dynamic, working reference library. “The rare books are something of an extension of that,” he explains. “They’re mostly things I’ve worked on.”
Speaking from the comfort of a wicker chair in his study, surrounded by an array of free-standing rotating bookcases, with his honey-coloured longhair cat, Monty, weaving through the room, Professor Kirsop elaborates on his lifelong fascination. His expertise lies not only in the content of books but in their very physicality. He delves into their provenance, tracing their journeys through ownership, purchase, and sale. The paper, watermarks, bindings, bookplates, inscriptions, and annotations – all these elements, he argues, are vital keys to unlocking historical understanding, offering profound insights into people and the world.
This specialised field is known in English as bibliography, a term Professor Kirsop finds “unfortunate” due to its common association with mere book lists. He notes that his French-speaking colleagues have coined a more fitting description: “archaeology of the printed book.”
Professor Kirsop’s significant contributions to Australian scholarship are likely known to a far greater number of people than are aware of his name. A dedicated lifelong academic, he undertook doctoral research into 17th-century alchemical literature at the Sorbonne in Paris. Upon his return to Australia, he became deeply involved in the study of bibliography, co-founding the Bibliographical Society of Australia and New Zealand in 1969. Those who know him well attest to his pivotal role in establishing the study of rare books and the concept of special collections within Australian institutions. He lectured in French at the University of Sydney and Monash University from 1955 to 1998 and continues to publish prolifically on the history of the book in both Australia and France. His academic achievements are underscored by his distinction as the only Australian to have delivered the prestigious annual Sandars lectures at Cambridge University.
A Lifelong Advocate for Libraries
Beyond his scholarly pursuits, Professor Kirsop has also dedicated himself to what he once termed “serial agitation” on behalf of libraries and their users. This commitment began in the early 1960s when he voluntarily catalogued French holdings at the State Library of Victoria. His advocacy continues to this day through his former presidency and ongoing membership of the State Library User Organisations’ Council, an organisation established to champion the development and preservation of the state library’s collection.
However, Professor Kirsop observes a worrying trend: as digital media becomes increasingly ubiquitous, the specialised skills and profound knowledge possessed by himself and other rare book experts are becoming as rare as the historical texts they study. “It used to be fairly standard in library schools, but it ceased to be there,” he laments. “Then it used to be taught in some English departments in universities, and they’re not doing it any more.”
Public and university libraries, he notes, have been actively shedding printed works, embracing what he has critically described in an essay as “the new parochialism.” This approach prioritises collecting local publications while seemingly “begrudging the outlay” for other works, even when these are crucial for understanding the complexities of our interconnected and multicultural societies.
“Of course, the argument is always, ‘Well, if anybody ever wants to look at these things, we can get it online’,” Professor Kirsop states, before offering a crucial counterpoint: “But anybody studying seriously the production of any book before 1801 needs to look at as many copies as possible.”
The Dante Revelation: A Testament to Physical Books
The profound importance of accessing original printed works has been vividly illustrated by a remarkable discovery at the University of Sydney Library. In 2017, a librarian examining the library’s 1497 copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy noticed a sketch in red chalk of a mother and baby, alongside an inscription within the endpapers. The book itself, a relatively late edition even in the 15th century and not considered a particularly fine copy, was transformed by this discovery.
This finding held global significance, identifying a rare sketch by the Venetian Renaissance artist Giorgione. The inscription, moreover, provided definitive confirmation of the artist’s birth and death dates for the first time. Professor Kirsop, who has contributed to a new book detailing this discovery and Australian collectors of Dante, recalls the initial disbelief in Europe that such a find could emerge in Australia. “Well, that’s nonsense,” he asserts. The Dante Divine Comedy is now considered “the most expensive, most valuable book in Australia.”
This case also exemplifies the powerful synergy between modern technology and the study of printed works. To precisely date the ink and chalk, the book was subjected to analysis at the Australian Synchrotron. This advanced facility, generating extremely bright light, allows for the examination of materials at a molecular and atomic level. The discovered sketch is now also readily accessible online.
A Legacy of Generosity and Enduring Value
Owners of rare books often maintain a degree of wariness about publicising their collections. Professor Kirsop, however, is not a vendor. While he holds honorary membership in the Australian and New Zealand Association of Antiquarian Booksellers – a position he jokingly attributes to his significant spending with them, but which, he clarifies, has a much longer history – his primary role is that of a donor.
His extensive contributions of rare books to the State Library Victoria are so significant that an entire collection has been named in his honour. The remainder of his collection is designated for the library in his will. Staff at the State Library Victoria have lauded him as “one of this library’s greatest supporters.”
He expresses less enthusiasm for a recently abandoned library restructure proposal, which involved job cuts for reference librarians and a shift in focus towards “digital experiences.” Professor Kirsop deems this initiative “a mistake.” (Library management ultimately rescinded the plan following public backlash, acknowledging that it had “created unintended concerns.”)
He also laments the progressive reduction of library opening hours. What were once 10pm daily closings have been curtailed, with the final late-night openings being eliminated during the Covid lockdowns. “By shutting at 6pm they cut off everybody who might want to … do an hour or two’s work in the evening,” he argues. “This now seems to be accepted and it’s really not good enough.”
Professor Kirsop shares the State Library User Organisations’ Council’s conviction that enhanced representation of library users on the library’s board is a crucial step towards positive change. He expresses encouragement at the recent announcement of new board appointments.
Interestingly, Professor Kirsop does not own a computer or a mobile phone. He prefers to handwrite all his manuscripts and checks his email only once a week at his retained office at Monash University. This approach seems less a rejection of modern technology and more a deliberate choice to continue working with methods he believes possess enduring value. “Media coexist,” he observes. “These modern forms only continue to be in existence and usable if the hardware continues … Whereas the printed book is still here. The manuscript is still here. All you need is a weatherproof room to put it in and natural light to read it.”
