#Nonpareil

[clnclm]

[uwmspeccoll]

Marbled Monday

It's been a minute since we last posted for Marbled Monday but we're back with an exciting combed French curl or snail pattern! This pattern was created by dropping colors onto the water bath, creating a gel-git (or zig-zag) pattern with a stylus, then combing it once perpendicular to the gel-git with a fine-toothed comb creating a pattern called nonpareil, and finally using a wide-toothed comb to create the characteristic curly swirly snails. This particular pattern uses blue, maroon, cream, and yellow. The marbled paper was used for both the front and back covers and the endpapers of the book.

The book inside the lovely marbled binding is a 1779 ninth edition of Sketches from Nature, which features "upwards of one hundred portraits, or characters, of the most conspicuous persons in the kingdom." This edition was printed for George Kearsly (or Kearsley, 1739-1790) and was written by an anonymous author. It is a satirical piece with humorous profiles of well-known figures and so the names are all printed with blanks in the middles (ie: Mr. G_____s), but in our copy all of the names have been filled in by an industrious owner.

View more Marbled Monday posts.

-- Alice, Special Collections Department Manager

[beths-favourite-recipes]

Hundreds and Thousands Biscuits

[madsway]

¹ @nonpareil / ² red dead redemption 1 starters .. those who sit on the fence make a choice... in their own way.

she chews on his words, feels herself nodding.. as if she can understand, as if she, too, has ever sat on that fence and watched the sun rise and fall and done absolutely nothing. maybe it would be easier. people would probably like her a whole lot better than they're enjoying her company right now. if she didn't see in her mind the vision all laid out and full sprinted ahead regardless of whatever the hell was standing in her way. HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE STOOD WITNESS TO MY VISIONS FALLING APART? and yet still.. there is no maybe, madison thinks— it would be easier. but sunsets and sunrises look a whole lot different these days. recalls a time or two or dozen where she indulged in the haze of oranges and pinks and wishes she could climb the fence she leans against and never get the hell off of it. she doesn't have time for silly ole things like wishes anymore.

“ yeah, in their own way. ” she repeats in agreement. to deny what he says would be to deny the very thing she's trying to do: put her kids up on that fence. they shouldn't have to make these decisions. they aren't decisions she ever wants them to bare. their shoulders are wearied enough from the weights they carry. finds herself looking in the mirror or the water well at her own reflection pleading with herself to get it right just this damn once so they don't have to. “ but isn't it better to sit up there 'cause you want to, 'cause you get to make that decision, than to follow some orders you don't even know why you're followin' anymore? ” it's a pointed question, fit just for him, and she doesn't try and beat around the bush when asking it either. jake's smarter than that she's learned. he has a different kind of heart.

“ hey i'd sit up there too if i thought it was worth something. ”

[011374]

@nonpareil [david]: can you stay on the line?

silence stretches from lee's end of the phone call. the ruby-colored blackberry cellphone remains pressed to her ear, hickory gaze drifting over the scattered files across the carpet. two six-year-old girls abducted over thanksgiving > the only suspect, a man with an i.q. score of a whopping ten. he was, by all definitions, incapable of orchestrating such a crime. no one else had surfaced on the list of suspects either. not even the fathers of the missing girls. and everyone knows, like primetime nancy grace on the television, the fathers are always the first suspects in cases like this. but not here. this time, both men had airtight sealed alibis: themselves. they had been in the same room, under the same roof, in the shared company of their living wives, when the girls vanished from their small quaint neighborhood.

there had been a parked rv that'd lured the children over to investigate, but when david had spoken to alex jones, it led nowhere. another dead end leading straight back to square one.

the brunette's lips part, but no sound follows. her eyes flicker between the documents, trying to piece the puzzle together. any small piece she, or david, may have missed over the past forty-eight hours. there's a nagging feeling in her gut, a tension pulling tight on the threads inside her stomach. something's slipped past them. a someone, lee surmises from the feeling in her gut. they're right on the verge of a discovery, but nobody can see it yet.

looks can be deceiving, but if you stare long enough, even the most unlikely truths can come into view.

"yes," she finally answers. her free hand sliding to her neck, massaging the knot formed beneath the skin. leaning back, lee stares up at the popcorn ceiling. "have you found something?"

[karlrutkarutshaqif]

I Skramz, Therefore I Am Fest 2023 • Nonpareil • 15 October 2023 • RVDA Artspace

[thegildedbee]

fth 2023: bidding open thru 3.5 :-)

I love that @chriscalledmesweetie is signal-boosting @fandomtrumpshate by tweeting about what amazing things spring to life from collective creativity! Further proof, here are three wonderful fic gifts I received in 2021, from @blogstandbygo, @mydogwatson, and @totallysilvergirl . . . [ 💘 What @chriscalledmesweetie said: "Look at this lovely gift I received in a previous year's Fandom Trumps Hate auction. Want a lovely gift of your own? The bidding period for this year's Fandom Trumps Hate auction is open now through March 5. Go forth and bid!" ] .........................................................................

nestled between head and heart by standbygo [T, 8614 words, 2021] A series of vignettes about Sherlock Holmes's lifelong relationship with his violin.

...........................................................

The Curious Incident of the Detective, the Doctor and the Dogs in the Night by mydogwatson [T, 7652 words, 2021] A meet-cute. Dogs and cases and romance. ........................................................................

A Comprehensive Taxonomy of Tobacco-Ash by Silvergirl [E, 11,475 words, 2021]

A handsome academic approaches Sherlock about publishing his magnum opus on tobacco-ash in a prestigious scientific journal. Sherlock is quite flattered and flustered, and John’s nose is out of joint. In this little AU there is no Fall and no Mary. Instead, there is humor and smut. Truly a disproportionate amount of smut,

[cultfic]

⎯ @nonpareil, paul atreides : “ it was a nightmare, that’s all. ”

a subtle nod of his head, hand moving from the boy's hair to his shoulder and gives a supportive squeeze as he sits himself on the edge of the bed, watching. ❝  a recurring nightmare? was it about arrakis?  ❞ leto isn't privy to paul's mental training and exercises because it simply doesn't concern him, because he has little interest in, because jessica encourages it enough and most of all because he still harbors the hope that his son will choose leadership over faith. as such, his question may come as a surprise to the younger man and so leto explains, ❝  your mother mentioned your dreams sometimes take shape and provide insight .. visions of the future. is this true?  ❞

[georgiasedify]

Nonpareil

[peacespun]

bad things happen. good people die, @nonpareil : jason todd

its a familiar mantra, something he told himself a thousand times. it was an inevitability. bad things happen and you couldn't predict them anymore than you could stop them, and good people will always die. it was a difficult pill to swallow when he was young, when he was naive and thought that if he just tried hard enough, if he was careful, if he was delicate with his choices in the moment, especially when shit went wrong, that he could somehow prevent death. he didn't.

in the end it didn't matter how cautious he was or what choices were made in the moment, there was always some poor bastard caught in the crossfire. there was always death. sometimes the circumstances were shitty and it happened regardless. sometimes he put them there himself. ( better them than i. )

that was the thing about this job, this life ... eventually you learn that great good comes with great evil. a finished job means getting hands dirty. even if he didn't like it. sometimes sacrificial lambs were part of this life and he did what he had to do, just like now.

" you're right. " he begins, fishing a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and sticking one between his teeth. lighter strikes, flame brought to it and he takes a long drag. shiloh is many things, morally right is not one of them. and yet ... finally, he exhales. " i won't argue with that. but its not always necessary for good people to die. if its preventable, we still have that responsibility. "

[woodcries]

' in my head, i did everything right. '

@nonpareil / lyric starter call + supercut - lorde

[uwmspeccoll]

Marbled Monday

For this week's Marbled Monday we revisit a book we've shared aspects of before—this is A Floating Diary: A Collection of Words and Wood Engravings Following a Week Afloat on a Narrow Boat by Linda Leatherbarrow. The book was published in London by Little Bird Press in 1980 and contains lovely wood engravings of riverside scenes documenting the author's journey by boat. While a couple of the wood engravings are included here, we shared the rest of them in a previous post which you can find here.

The marbling on the covers is a nonpareil pattern, which is often used as a base for more complex patterns like peacock (also known as bouquet) and feather. This pattern was created using maroon, tan, and several shades of blue.

View more Marbled Monday posts.

-- Alice, Special Collections Department Manager

[madsway]

------ ¹ @nonpareil (chris) / ² moved from everyroute .. fair? how is any of this fair?

fair is a relative term, she supposes— what was fair before is sure as hell a luxury they cannot afford in the now. spoonful of sin, spoonful of tragedy. it doesn't feel right but if madison listened to every goddamn feeling that only felt right and just then she fears she may wade even deeper into the uncharted territory she treads. the waters already at her waistline. too high to push her back to steady ground. it thickens beneath her feet and appears to be turning a brighter shade of red with each passing week. realizes it isn't quite the position she wants to find herself in. DOES THAT MAKE ME BETTER OR WORSE THAN THE DEVIL? I'D ASK GOD BUT MY SKY'S BEEN EMPTY FOR DECADES. in the end, it's just another thing to add to the list of luxuries they can no longer afford: the ability to want. the only reliable thing left these days is that, and the safety of a gushing wound to the head. but chris is just a kid. he shouldn't have to understand the brutality of stained palms. so how the hell is she supposed to explain it to him?

“ you're right. it's not. none of it is. ” madison bites the cherry red apple of appeasement. while she is no stranger to the chewiness of a lie between her teeth she doesn't anticipate that he would rot into the sweetness of it any more than she could bare to offer it. never the granny smith. not even a bitter golden russet. it is much easier to think of herself as the worm snaking tunnels through to the core— a creature with a thirst for gore she can never quite tame.

madison takes a seat opposite of him, resting her elbows on her knees to lean forward and meet his gaze. travis has done more than his fair share for her kids. kids with double the load, without ever having to be asked. the least she can do is try with his own after the ringers he has been put through.

“ so, what's fair look like to you then, chris? huh. here an' now.. 'cause we can't go back. this is all we got now. ”

[tvglows]

@nonpareil — “there is no right; there's just the wrong that doesn't pull you down.”

the world had always been different shades of grey; morally corrupt hands pass slips under the table, matches fixed for maximum profit off of the working man.  it was never something that you had to worry about, a boy playing solider in boots too big, desperate to fill the shoes that had been left in the premature death.  still, it seemed stark to you, memories of flames still alight in your eyes, soles skidding against gravel marked with your mistake—   too slow, too weak.  any attempts that had been made to mould you into a shelby had been futile, a bad cast of disfiguration that left you weak-willed, shallow.    you’re almost jealous of isaiah, to get to act without the weight of a family name attached to every choice you make; the future already lined up for you without a second chance.  you came undone at scrutiny, not made for these kind of tests with an unwavering fist and pointer finger on the trigger.     you scoff,   throwing yourself back into the chair.       “do you fuckin’ hear yourself?  y’ been talking to ada again?”      you wouldn’t be surprised with the pedestal she’s placed herself on, making claim to london under shelby name as if she hadn’t been the one to burn it years before.   you noticed that forgiveness came easy to her,  as if every mistake had just been a smudge of black ink untraceable to her own prints– the type of freedom you had never been afforded, a luxury to push wrongdoings aside and yet still lay claim to the greater good.

it’s you before anyone else;  perhaps in the image of narcissus you truly find yourself.   crafted yourself a digestible identity, became both betrayer and betrayed–    to beat them,  you have to become them except your intentions are murky,   involuntary betrayal in comforts sought by familiarity of another.   every step taken pulls you down, covered with a facade of bravo as if second nature to you; overcame and adapted to surroundings, a snake shedding its skin.       “sound just like her.  convincin’ herself that she’s better than the lot of us.”

[rlewisphilly]

I'll take two please

National Chocolate Candy Day (12/28)You have a few of these laying around? Today is the day to treat yourself to something sweet.  And, if you didn’t know, chocolate is a vegetable…so it’s good for you!  A balanced diet is having chocolate in both hands. Nonpareil in French means “having no equal”. Just like that joke.  Right?

[mybuddyjimmy]

Nonpareil

Nonpareil [nahn-pə-REL] Part of speech: noun Origin: French, early 16th century 1. An unrivaled or matchless person or thing. 2. A flat round candy made of chocolate covered with white sugar sprinkles. Examples of nonpareil in a sentence “In my opinion, the 1961 version is the nonpareil of ‘The Parent Trap’ movies.” “I always indulge in a box of nonpareils when I go to the movies.”