Imagine encountering a human skin book at Harvard university pre-2014. If you didn't know, do you think you'd clock it? And if you did know, how would you feel? Would you pick it up, curious? Or would your stomach churn and get a little queasy?

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There's no question that human skin books bring about morbid curiosity, coupled with a lot of guttural feelings, then perhaps conflicting thoughts about ethics. My immediate reaction was - bad. This seems bad. Perhaps a big influence on that is the power dynamics implied by the institutions that hold these books. Or maybe something inside just felt that turning people into literal objects was wrong. 

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But uncovering the case of James Allen made me form a key distinction - it's not about the books themselves but rather the presence, or lack thereof, of consent. 

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In almost every case of anthropodermic bibliopegy, the details about the person behind the skin have not been preserved nearly as well as the book itself. This fact alone may say more about the circumstances under which these books were made than any deep dive into their origins. And that, indeed, feels bad. 

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As for the question of what should be done now, I side most with Brown's conclusion: preservation, with respect. So that the existence of these books, and all the questions tied to them, can continue to spark conversations about who gets access to people's bodies and why, for generations to come.

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Do you still have unresolved feelings? Questions that weren't answered? Don't keep them hidden in the shadows. Leave your thoughts in the comment box below and maybe you'll reach a bigger, better conclusion than me.