Sylvère Lotringer (Wikipedia link) and others at Columbia University in New York City founded Semiotext(e) in 1974 as an anarchic project. The early life of the publisher stemmed from gatherings/conferences of French semioticians. The resulting periodical issues appearing sporadically into the 1990s introduced a wild series of provocations.[1] In the 1980s, Lotringer started the Semiotext(e)’s Foreign Agents book imprint with the intention of introducing French theorists to an English-speaking audience as well as to expose incendiary ideas to that reading public. In 1990, Lotringer and co-editor and writer Chris Kraus started the Native Agents series, focused primarily on U.S. women writers.
In 2001, Lotringer and Kraus took the press to Los Angeles when they moved to the Pacific coast. Revitalizing the press, the editors started a collaboration with MIT Press for distribution, publishing Hatred of Capitalism to mark the occasion. The two also brought on Hedi El Kholti first as art director/managing editor and then as a lead co-editor. Working together, they’ve continued with the Native Agents series and become one of the major publishers for “New Narrative” literature, which emerged in the 1970s in San Francisco partly as an expression of the tensions between Gay Liberation, the Avant-Garde, and the New Left.[3]
The press, still co-edited by Krau and El Kholti, continues to publish 10+ books a year. Their book titles are available on their website and for purchase through MIT Press. Their release announcements and excerpts can be found on their Instagram page.
[1] David L. Ulin, “Appreciation: Sylvère Lotringer Made Book Publishing Safe for Dangerous Ideas,” Books, Los Angeles Times, November 18, 2021, Access through UC Berkeley’s catalog.
[3] Rob Halpern, “Realism and Utopia: Sex, Writing, and Activism in New Narrative,” Journal of Narrative Theory 41, no. 1 (2011): 82–124, https://muse.jhu.edu/article/443765.
Eileen A. Fradenburg Joy and Nicola Masciandaro, two medievalists, founded punctum books in 2011 in Brooklyn, New York. The two wanted to provide a space for experiments with form and para-academic writing, as well as mash-ups of different genres of art and academic thought. In 2012, Masciandaro decided to focus on other things, leaving the press. In 2015, Vincent W. J. van Gerven Oei (an art curator and book designer, among other skills) joined as co-director and brought their own press, Uitgeverij, into the fold.[1]
Now in Santa Barbara, California, with an imprint line reading “Earth, Milky Way,” the press has an impressive list of hundreds of publications explore the idea of literature, medieval studies, Nubian studies (including Dotawo: A Journal of Nubian Studies), as well as space, gender, and the body.
Alongside pushing the boundaries of academia and art, the press’ co-directors and Advisory Boards have also emphasized the importance of open access scholarship and art. In particular, they emphasize the right to read but also distribute and create derivative works. For them, this has meant contributing to developing Open Access (OA) models in collaboration with institutions like UCSB. They also publish all of their books as Open Access, making them fully available through their website and popular spaces like Project MUSE and JSTOR as PDFs you can read on your preferred e-reader (e.g., your phone).[2]
You can find–and access–punctum books’ entire catalog through their website and through multiple library portals. You can also get news about new publications through their Instagram page and other social media platforms.
[1] Vincent W. J. van Gerven Oei and Eileen A. Fradenburg Jo, “Scenes: Punctum Books: An Interview with Vincent W. J. van Gerven Oei and Eileen A. Fradenburg Joy,” American Book Review 45, no. 2 (2024): 168–73.
Morgan Koo is a senior at UC Berkeley double majoring in History and Ancient Greek and Roman Studies. While her main interests lie in late Second Temple Judaism and early Christianity, Morgan also enjoys the sociocultural aspects of the Ancient Mediterranean such as ancient seafaring & communication.
Life in the 21st century has unparalleled luxuries which ease the pain and inconvenience of distance. Improved technology allows for instantaneous communication with loved ones and relatively quick travel over large distances. Homer’s Odyssey, which has recently experienced a renewed relevance, reminds modern readers of the difficulties of being away from home. For ancient peoples, seafaring was often dangerous—even without the interference of angry deities determined to thwart their homecoming. There was the constant threat of unpredictable and harsh weather patterns, encounters with pirates, and arrival in foreign lands with potentially hostile inhabitants. Much like Odysseus’ frequent invocations of the gods during harsh storms and disembarkation in strange, new lands, a second century C.E. soldier’s letter written on papyrus thanks Lord Serapis, a syncretic Greco-Egyptian deity, for having saved him from danger out at sea (“I thank Lord Serapis that when I was in danger at sea he saved me straight away,” εὐχαριστῶ τῷ κυρίῳ Σεράπιδι ὅτι μου κινδυνεύσαντος εἰς θάλασσαν ἔσωσε εὐθέως: BGU II 423, lines 6-8). However, another letter on papyrus (P.Tebt. II 583) which found its way back home to Tebtunis, a village in Egypt, reveals another pain caused by the uncertainty of distance.
(P.Tebt. II 583)
Sometime after 217 C.E., Aurelius Polion, a soldier in the Roman army’s Second Adriutrix Legion, wrote back home to his family in Tebtunis (full text here). The central concern of the letter is his family’s silence despite his own devotion to them. Accusatory superlatives and juxtapositions pervade the beginning portion of the letter to express his incessant concern for his family in contrast to their complete absence:
Superlative/Juxtapositional Language in Aurelius Polion’s Letter
Aurelius Polion:
prays for family’s health day and night (ν̣υκτ̣ὸς̣ κ̣α̣ὶ̣ [ἡ]μ̣[έρα]ς̣, line 5)
always (πάντοτε) makes worship to all (πᾶ̣σ̣ι) the gods for them (line 5-6)
writes his letters at all times (πάντοτε) and does not stop (οὐκ ἀναπάω̣μαι (= ἀναπαύομαι)) bearing them within his soul (line 6-8)
even while away in Pannonia, he continued to send letters often (π̣ο̣λλάκεις (= πολλάκις), line 12)
His Family:
do not hold him in their mind (κατὰ νοῦ (= νοῦν) με οὐχ (= οὐκ) ἔχεται (= ἔχετε), line 7)
never (οὐ[δ]έ̣ποτέ̣) wrote to him about themselves (line 10)
never (οὐδέποτε) reply to his letters (line 13)
consider Polion as a stranger (ὡς ξένον, line 15-16)
The troubled soldier illustrates the stark difference between his undying care and their apparent silence. Without any word back from home, the sense of estrangement appears particularly palpable.
While Polion complains about the injustice of his family’s silence, the letter also carries an underlying anxiety:
“… And I am worried about you because, although you received letters from me often, never do you write back to me in order that I might know how you are …” (lines 11-13).
The soldier subsequently reveals that he had previously sent six other letters (line 20). Being far from home, the uncertainty of his family’s well-being torments his mind. The soldier was left isolated without any comfort by reply. One could imagine the questions pervading the soldier’s conscience: Was his family intentionally ignoring him? Did something cause them to be unable to write? Were they alive and well? In any case, the uncomfortable silence roused the soldier to threaten his family with a return home:
do not hold me in your mind, I will take a leave of absence from
the consular officer, and I will go towards you in order that you might know
me to be your brother …” (lines 20-23).
While framed as a trip to re-establish his role in the family, the urgency and drastic action suggest a need for assurance of his family’s presence and well-being.
Among the most puzzling portions of the letter are lines 17-19, where the soldier reveals his involuntary participation in the army:
But I regretted that … I departed from you.” (lines 17-19).
The fragmented papyrus leaves much to the imagination. Under what circumstances did Aurelius Polion join the army? Was he forced by Roman officials? By his own family? Does this involuntary service have any relation to his anxiety regarding the family’s well-being or his inability to reach them?
Because Aurelius Polion’s letter was found in Tebtunis, we can ascertain that his letter did indeed arrive home. Letters from his family, in the most ideal circumstance, may have struggled to reach Polion. It was much easier for letters to be sent to a home—which is not subject to constant movement like an army. Thanks to the scholarship of István Kovács, we are able to approximate the letter’s date and locate the Legio II Adiutrix, the army legion that Polion joined. In lines 21-22 of the letter, Aurelius Polion mentions a consular officer from whom he plans to request a leave of absence. Pannonia had been under rule of praetorian governorship until 214 C.E. and was then under the authority of a consular officer. Thus, the letter must be written after 214 C.E. In line 12, Polion locates himself in Pannonia. Caracalla led the Legio II Adiutrix in a campaign against the Parthians between 214 and 217 C.E.; accordingly, the letter’s dating is extended to follow after 217 C.E.
The Greek historian Herodian recorded that Caracalla entered the Egyptian city of Alexandria around 215 C.E. to recruit additional soldiers for his phalanx against the Parthians. It is possible that Polion joined the army on this occasion. Additionally, both Cassius Dio’s Roman History and Herodian’s History of the Roman Empire document Caracalla’s massacre of Alexandrian men around 215 C.E. Such a violent event could be cause for concern. Unfortunately, this letter alone cannot give us clear answers.
What can be known is that communication with loved ones over long distances was often difficult. The sense of alienation could foster a natural anxiety. Stationed in Eastern Europe, Aurelius Polion was separated from his family by a vast sea in both the literal and metaphorical sense. In a manner much similar to this soldier’s, our temporal distance shrouds our ability to understand the reality of his circumstance. We cannot do much but wonder whether a letter was finally sent back to Polion or whether he made his journey home. And, if he did, what he may have found upon arrival.
Bibliography
Adamson, Grant. “A Letter from a Soldier in Pannonia,” BASP 49, 2012, pp. 79-94.
Herodianus. Roman History (History of the Empire from the Time of Marcus).* Livius: https://www.livius.org/sources/content/herodian-s-roman-history/ *see esp. 4.8-9.
Kovács, István. “Brief eines Legionärs aus Pannonien (P. Tebt. 2.583) Philologische und Gattungsanalyse,” Byzanz und das Abendland III. Studia Byzantino-Occidentalia, 2015, pp. 257-281.
Mócsy, András. Pannonia and Upper Moesia: A History of the Middle Danube Provinces of the Roman Empire. Sheppard Frere, transl. Routledge, 1974.
Michael Miller founded Moon Tide Press in 2006. Located in Whittier, CA, Miller turned the press into a Southern California institution for poetry. The press provided space for many unpublished writers, including poet Eric Morago in a 2007 anthology. Over the following years, Morago (along with many others) would publish more with Moon Tide Press and work closely with Miller. In 2016, Morago took over the press when Miller decided it was time to move on to other things.[1] Under Morago’s leadership, Moon Tide has continued publishing two to four collections or anthologies a year alongside arranging readings and community events.
Moon Tide focuses on poetry, encompasses a range of life-moments and emotions. Individual volumes reflect on the horror of life; on remembering friends; of the process of aging.
In 2024, they also picked up the poetry magazine Spillways’ compilation and release. Readers can find information about those activities on Moon Tide Press’ webpage or social media accounts, including their Instagram page.
David Starkey founded Gunpowder Press in 2013 in Santa Barbara with a focus on California poetry. With the first two volumes, Starkey reached out to Chryss Yost to assist with the books’ layout and cover design. Today, with almost 50 volumes, the Starkey and Yost continue to helm the press. Their beautifully designed output showcases individually authored and compilation anthologies.
For their 30th-year anniversary, the Santa Barbara Independent recognized the press among Santa Barbara’s local heroes [1]. The same year, Starkey and Yost started the Anacapa Review. The review seeks to place established and new poets side-by-side, demonstrating the established and continued vibrancy of Santa Barbara’s literary scene.
Readers can find out more about the press’ titles and readings through their website or Instagram page.
At UC Berkeley
Mary Ann McFadden, Rosa Mundi, California Poets (2026).
You never know what exactly you’ll encounter when searching the UC Berkeley Library’s Digital Collections. This afternoon I happened to come across some photographs taken by the Dutch-born photographer Johan Hagemeyer (1884-1962). His family immigrated to California to grow fruit trees but he soon became enamored with photography. Before long, he opened a portrait studio in San Francisco and another in Carmel-by-the-Sea. These portraits could have been taken in either location as Spanish Catalan artist Salvador Dalí and his wife Gala were spending long summers in Pebble Beach from 1941-1948. The landscape and sea reminded them of the fishing village of Cadaqués, which they had left for Paris during the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) followed by New York when France was invaded during World War II.
The Johan Hagemeyer Photograph Collection in The Bancroft Library comprises the bulk of what was the photographer’s personal archive at the time of his death in Berkeley in 1962. The collection contains approximately 6,785 photographic prints and negatives, and spans from his earliest known amateur work of ca. 1908 to his later works of the mid-1950s.
This post was written by now-retired UC Berkeley librarian Ann Glusker. She welcomes questions related to both the post and the oral history project; her contact information is available on the “Librarians Navigating Change” project site, linked below.
One truly exciting part of being a librarian at the UC Berkeley Library is the opportunity to do our own research. I came to Berkeley from a background as a public health epidemiologist (very quantitative!) but was supported as I learned qualitative methods and was part of research projects that involved interviewing and analyzing qualitative data. However, the most exciting project I’ve been part of at Berkeley is the one in which I was able to learn from the amazing UC Berkeley Library’s Oral History Center about how to be an oral historian, and I interviewed 15 long-term Berkeley librarians (one with more than 40 years of service!) about how they navigated change over their time here. The project is called Librarians Navigating Change, and the transcripts are live! For more about the project, this wonderful article has the details.
An unexpected and totally fascinating aspect of this project was learning more about the history of the libraries at Berkeley. I learned quite a bit, of course, from the project’s narrators, but I also got to dig into documents and sites with information about the earlier buildings, collections, and people of the libraries. Consider, for example, Joseph Rowell, who was UC Berkeley’s first full-time librarian, a position he held for almost 45 years (he’s in the California Library Hall of Fame!). Consider also the magnificent Bacon Hall (originally called the Becon Art and Library Building), built in 1881 during Rowell’s tenure, the first campus building specifically allocated for use as a library. There was a UC Berkeley library as early as the date that classes began in 1869, but it was small, and it perched in various buildings before finding a more permanent home 12 years later. To me, Bacon Hall seems quite monumental in scale and design, even if not as elegant as Doe Library, which was completed in 1911.
Source: “Bacon Library, 1901”, retrieved from Calisphere
So, imagine my delight when project narrator and long-time Berkeley librarian Corliss Lee mentioned that she still had the notebook of handouts she had collated in 1991, her first year as a librarian at Berkeley, working in the Moffitt Undergraduate Library. While I’m older myself, I didn’t graduate from library school until 2008, so this 35-year-old notebook was a treasure trove, a time capsule, and whatever other collection of historical coolness you want to call it. I was able to scan 172 pages of it for inclusion on the “Librarians Navigating Change” project site, and at least for geeks of the history of libraries and the history of information technologies, they make fascinating reading! Here are a few highlights…
1) Library Facts, 1989: Interestingly, there were already 2 million volumes stored off site, even then! And, I may have to try to hunt down pictures of the Entomology Library.
2) Computerized Information:
For those of us who are a certain age, CD-ROMs and floppy disks were once a fact of life—but this handout makes us realize how very revolutionary they were compared to looking at multiple volumes of books, and hand-copying.
3) Finding Article Citations:
Finding articles using keywords has come a LONG way. As librarians, we know that these types of commands may be called on behind the scenes of what the user sees, but even these are dying out as search algorithms become more sophisticated. Today’s user doesn’t need to know any of these for a simple database citation search! (But they may still help you with an advanced search—ask us librarians if you ‘d like to see how, we love this stuff.)
4) DialUp Access
First of all, note that there was MORE THAN ONE CATALOG. As Corliss Lee mentioned in her interview for the project, “At some point we had Telnet GLADIS [and] Telnet MELVYL. I think [the web versions were called] Pathfinder and Web MELVYL… we couldn’t even agree how many catalogs we had! Did we have two catalogs each with two interfaces? Did we have three catalogs because the MELVYL’s [two platforms] were more alike than GLADIS and Pathfinder were? Or do we have four catalogs? And I think that’s a bad sign. Your staff can’t figure out how many catalogs you have. But those were the days, man.”
Secondly, even I can’t remember what a baud is, and that’s fine with me, but I do remember that to dial into the service, you had to use a long cord to connect a phone that looked like the one in the picture on the upper left, to a specialized outlet, or jack, in your wall. Like ethernet is now, but WAY WAY WAY slower.
5) GLADIS Journal Search Result
The thing that strikes me about this diagram is how similar it is to the record you might look at today! All of the essential categories and organizational guiding numbers and characters are still how we make sure our items are findable! If you go to lib.berkeley.edu and do a journal search (by using the drop down menu to the right of the search box), you’ll find this record, and scrolling through, you’ll see it has similar information, similarly arranged! The difference is that now we have online access, we aren’t tracking the locations of print volumes of the journal anymore. Which is OK overall.
6) Moffitt Library Newsletter (back in the day!)
While we aren’t disseminating news in paper format anymore (for the most part), the message of welcome and support for undergraduate students remains the same.
7) Asian American Oral Histories
The UC Berkeley Library’s Oral History Center (formerly known as the Regional Oral History Office ) has collected a large and robust range of oral histories, many of which are now available online. The important part here, in my opinion, is to note that oral histories can serve as “a starting point for research on a variety of subjects.” And now that they are available online and therefore are searchable, it’s much easier to explore!
8) Campus Map
I love looking at old maps, and this one is no exception. There are so many buildings that have gone up since the early ‘90s! Most notable to me is the C.V. Starr East Asian Library, the one you can now see from Memorial Glade, with the façade that I think looks like stained glass. Also, note that at this time, the Main Stacks which run underneath Memorial Glade, hadn’t even been built yet (the rectangles labeled T-4 through T-9 were temporary buildings built during World War II). And you could take buses from campus to Davis, Stanford, Santa Cruz and SF.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this trip down (institutional) memory lane! Next up for this project—a presentation at the annual Oral History Association Conference in October, in Portland, Oregon, titled “ ‘Adventures You Can’t Even Begin to Imagine’: The Librarians Navigating Change Oral History Project”. Onward!
In 2015, Adam Z. Levy and Ashley Nelson Levy founded Transit Books in the East Bay. In their decade of existence, they have released almost a hundred titles, ranging from beautiful translations of award-winning titles to adorably illustrated children’s picture books. The two came together when attending a graduate program in Columbia University. The two discovered a mutual interest in translation and, after work in translation and writing themselves, moved to California and founded the press. Under the banner of not-for-profit Transit Books, the two publishers started releasing stunning translations of fictional literature from around the world. Recently, they’ve added English fiction as well as non-fiction/essays as a series of “Undelivered Lectures.”[1]
The press has been highly successful, allowing the move from a home office to a space in the Strawberry Creek Design Center. They are now able to hold events even as they release more than a dozen books a year. Readers can follow Transit Books’ events through their social media accounts including Instagram and following their books on their webpage.
I, as someone who adores illustrations, am excited to read Jaque Jours’ children’s book The Muéganos (available in both English and Spanish) at the end of July.
Tebot Bach, the little teapot publisher of Orange County (located in Huntington Beach), came into existence in 1993, publishing Spillway Magazine. In 1999, founding members Mifanwy Kaiser and Mark Bergendahl chose to incorporate as a not-for-profit publisher in 1999. For almost three decades, the press published lovely books of poetry and fiction as well as organized local events, including poetry readings. Those events were held throughout their local area, in cafes and theaters as well as homeless shelters and nursing homes. Like their little Welsh teapot (tebot) namesake, they wanted to promote a spirit of community.
While little news has been published about their current status and the press is currently in “good standing” as a Nonprofit Corporation – CA – Public Benefit, evidence suggests that Tebot Bach has been winding down since 2021. They do not currently have any calls for proposals, their Facebook page is rather quiet, and their appearance in most bookstores is limited to older publications. To add to the impression, this Library appreciated Moon Tide Press (in Whittier, CA) picking up the excellent Spillway Magazine in 2023.
If the impression is accurate, we at Doe Library thank the members of and writers for Tebot Bach and wish them the best in their future endeavors.
Readers can find out more about the press’ titles and readings through their 
