Whose Skin?
We know there are books bound in the skin of cows, and we call them leather-bound books. But can we as easily accept a human-bound book without identifying the person whose body we are referring to? Can the skin of a person be commodified in the same manner as any other material? And if so, what role does consent play?
Mary Lynch
Mary Lynch was a 28 year old Irish immigrant in Philadelphia. She admitted herself to a public hospital for the poor with tuberculosis in 1868. During her 6 month stay in the hospital she contracted trichinosis, which eventually ended her life. After her death, her body was autopsied by a young Dr. John Stockton Hough. At some point before or after the autopsy, Hough removed a piece of skin from her thigh. He kept that piece of Mary and preserved it for the next 18 years. In 1887, Hough used her skin to partially bind three medical texts - titles on female health and reproduction. Mary's case is rare in that Hough noted the use of her skin within the bound books. There is no mention of whether Mary consented, or was even asked about being preserved in this way. One wonders what Hough's intent was when initially keeping her skin, and what led him to use it as such.
Did he think it professionally appropriate? Was there some sense of self-satisfaction in the innuendo between the books' content and cover? Or did he not put much thought into it at all, merely using an available material to bind a text.
.webp)
James Allen
The only known case of an authenticated human skin book, crafted with consent from the donor is that of James Allen. And it's a kooky one. James Allen was a highway robber who died in a Massachusetts prison in 1837. Near the end of his life, he dictated a confession to the prison warden, which doubled as a memoir of his life. Allen's dying wish was to have this text be bound in his own skin and gifted to John Fenno. Who's John Fenno you may ask? The only man (according to James) who successfully fought off James' robbery attempt.
Whether it was Allen's intent to celebrate or intimidate John, this case of anthropodermic bibliopegy doesn't make my skin crawl like the others. With the presence of consent, having one's skin used to bind a book could be powerful, moving, or even (in this case) hilarious. It's the preservation of the person's autonomy that, in a sense, unloads human-bound books of their ethical weight. But maybe that's just me.
If I, post-mortem, gifted you a book bound in my skin, would you keep it?
