It’s a sad (but true) observation that most webpages (and particularly blog posts) on the VMs are serious, dull, dry, high-minded, conceptual guff, at best offering up a semi-quirky restatement of either the Wikipedia page, Rene Zandbergen’s page, or of Gordon Rugg’s hypothesis-of-possibility. You would scarce believe, dear reader, what oceans of cack I have to swim through to reach the occasional archipelago of Voynich-related interest… *sigh*

And so it is with great pleasure that I landed upon the shore of this gently satirical review of The Holy Blood and The Holy Grail. Read it and enjoy!

As for the rest of the Voynichian web, it is (sadly) pretty much uniformly humourless, with the joyous exception of the excellent Uncyclopedia Voynich Manuscript entry, which has been heavily updated since I mentioned it last year (though I’m pleased to see the “medieval VCR manual” gag is still there). Recommended!

PS: the answer to the question is (of course) “None, they like being in the dark.

If you haven’t seen Luigi Serafini’s Codex Seraphinianus before, I heartily recommend stomping over to this 230-photo Flickr set and checking it out.

It’s now reasonably well-known that the book’s strange page-numbering system has been cracked (it’s a funny kind of base-21 counting, with various unlucky numbers removed), but the text itself remains enigmatic. Ivan Derzhanski has posted some observations here, but I think it’s fair to say nobody yet has the foggiest idea how to go about trying to read it. Oh well!

Incidentally, there’s even a ballet based on it!

I’ve just found a German summary of the 2006 “Knowledge, Discipline and Power, 12th-17th Centuries” conference in Sheffield, at which Volkhard Huth of the University of Freiburg apparently presented a paper on the Voynich Manuscript. According to the description, Huth (whose expertise is in handwriting) broadly localizes the manuscript to Germany, provisionally dates it to 1480-1500, and places its encoded contents within a broadly philosophical tradition. According to this, he presented it in session three, just before the ubiquitous Charles Burnett. 🙂

This page describes his paper (well, its title) and where it will be published:-

“The Critic on Magical Mystery Tour. Towards a serious location of the enigmatic ›Voynich Cipher Manuscript‹ in the history of knowledge, in: Knowledge, Discipline and Power, 12th-17th Centuries. An international conference organised by the University of Sheffield with the support of the British Academy in honour of Professor David E. Luscombe, FBA (University of Sheffield / Humanities Research Institute, 15.9. – 17.9. 2006). Papers, ed. by MARTIAL STAUB (erscheint bei Cambridge University Press; in Vorbereitung) “

That’s two academics known to be actively looking at the VMs: hardly a tidal wave, but hopefully the start of something good. I’ll try to get hold of a copy of the paper to review here…

Many people reading this probably will already have vageuly heard of contemporary Swiss composer Hanspeter Kyburz (b.1960) and his orchestral work “The Voynich Cipher Manuscript“, which was inspired by the VMs. Not a lot of people know (or care) that Kyburz also inserted in the work three short poems by maverick Futurist genius Velimir Khlebnikov, I’d guess because of Chlebnikov’s “super-tale” Zangezi, which was partly written in an invented language of the birds: but now you know as well.

But now other musicians (though admittedly of the rock ilk) are starting to wake up to the smell of Voynich coffee. I mentioned one Californian band here not so long ago, but here are a few more to add to your Top Trumps collection of crossover Voynichiana.

So first off, a big hello to the FaceBook page of Mechatohm, a Californian band in the Alternative Rock Metal genre to add to your overworked networked music drive. Band member Zyclobonzaron (so Enochian!) is apparently influenced by “The Voynich Manuscript and shit like that…“, which is pretty much on the mark, can’t really complain. Just so you know, it’s VMs page f68v (the “sun-face” solar calendar page) that graces the band’s album cover (albeit Photoshopped halfway into next Tuesday).

And a grand welcome to a YouTube clip courtesy of The Phaser [Update: sorry! They’ve just removed it! Bah!]. I’m not entirely sure what the world has done to deserve a piece of music apparently played out on the Commodore 64’s VIC chip played into a reverb unit, but it must have been something good because I quite like it. Having said that, I’m not entirely sure I could listen to it more than a couple of times, but it might be a good thing to put into your iPod if you’re going for a 10-minute run. “Maybe you don’t appreciate my interpretation [..]. but I really don’t give a sheet“. Bless.

Finally, a great big ¡hola! goes out to “The Voynich“, a Spanish foursome mainly from Granada who formed at the end of 2007, playing rock/pop that is presumably as uncategorisable as the VMs itself. Here’s a link to their “Voynich Dossier” blog: I’m sure they’re lovely people.

I recently stumbled upon an active Voynich researcher I’d never heard of: Angela Catalina Ghionea (note that, even though Internet Explorer throws up lots of warnings for her website, it’s basically OK), who is a teaching assistant and 3rd year PhD student in the History Department at Purdue University.

She’s “currently focused on the most mysterious manuscript in the world, The ‘Voynich Manuscript’ “, and is preparing an article called “Understanding the Voynich Manuscript. New Evidence for a Genuine Alphabet, Shamanic Imagery, and Magical Plants“. Her recent presentations at various conferences include:-

  • Voynich Manuscript and its Genuine Alphabet” (12 April, HGSA 2008 Conference, Purdue)
  • Understanding the “Voynich”, the Most Mysterious Manuscript in the World. American Shamanism and Exotic Plants” (29 March at the OAH 2008 Annual Meeting, New York, Hilton Hotel)
  • Contributions to Voynich Manuscript’s Mystery” (24 March 2008, MARS Conference, Purdue)
  • Voynich Manuscript is not a Hoax. Uncovering New Evidence” (Purdue, 29 January 2008)

All of which I hope to see very soon (and to review here). But this set me wondering: how many other people with PhD’s have looked at the Voynich? I drew up a quick list (let me know if there are more), but there are plenty of familiar faces…

  • William Romaine Newbold
  • John Manly (love the cigar story!)
  • Leonell Strong (love that facial hair / collar combination)
  • Derek de Solla Price
  • Jim Reeds
  • Jacques Guy
  • Gabriel Landini
  • Jorge Stolfi
  • Gordon Rugg
  • Edith Sherwood

Though according to Dr C. S. Lewis Barrie PhD, the Voynich Manuscript is a medieval blog, which is why it makes no sense. Ah, bless.

Copies of a curious little apparently enciphered object were being given away in Dillons Arts bookshop about 12 years ago: I saw this last year mentioned on Cylob’s blog (he’s a musician now living in Berlin), but haven’t found any further mention of it anywhere on the Internet.

To my eyes, it looks like a simple substitution cipher (you can see several of the shapes repeating, and you can probably guess at least some of the vowels), with a kind of vaguely pigpenesque quality to them (so there is probably some underlying rationale behind the alphabet). Maybe one day I’ll ask Cylob for a copy & post a transcription here…

Seeing the Voynich Manuscript for the first time is quite an intimidating experience: you’re looking at something which is so uncertain in so many different ways – how should you try to “read” it?

In general, when you look at a page of text, you do two different types of reading: (1) you work out how everything is laid out (you navigate the page) and (2) you read what is contained within it (you read the text). In computer science terms, you could describe the layout conventions and text conventions as having two quite separate ‘grammars’.

For instance, if you picked up a Hungarian newspaper, I would predict that you would stand a good chance of being able to work out its structure, even though you may not be able to understand a single word. It’s perfectly reasonable, then, to be able to navigate a page without being able to read it.

What’s not widely known about the Voynich Manuscript is that researchers have identified many of the navigational elements that structure the text (even though they cannot actually read them). I thought it might be helpful to post about these (oh, and I’m getting emails mildly berated me for posting too much about the wrong ‘v’, i.e. that it’s not “Vampire News).

As a practical example, let’s look at the very first page of the manuscript proper: this has the name “f1r” (which means “the recto [front] side of folio [double-sided page] #1″). You may also see this referred to as “f001r” (some people use this naming style so that their image files get sorted nicely), or even as “1006076.sid” (this is the Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library’s internal database reference for the high-resolution scan of f1r, which they store as a kind of highly compressed image). This is what f1r looks like:-

Note that the green splodges aren’t actually part of the page itself – they’re green leaves painted onto the reverse side of the folio (that is, on f1v, “folio #1 verso [back]) that happen to be visible through the vellum. I’ll leave the issue of whether this is because the paint is too thick or the vellum is too thin to another day…

If we use a tricky colour filter written by Jon Grove (more on it here), we can make a passable attempt at removing the green splodges: and if we then bump up the contrast to make everything a little clearer, we can get a revised image of f1r:-


Red areas: these form the first four paragraphs of the text. These often start with one of four large vertical characters (known as “gallows characters”), and appear to have been written from top-left down to bottom-right, as you would English, French, Latin etc.

Blue areas: these are known as “titles”, and are typically right-aligned words or short phrases added to the end of paragraphs. It has been proposed that the text contained in these might actually be section titles (which seems fairly reasonable). There’s a brief discussion on this by (a differently spelled!) John Grove here, who first suggested the term.

Yellow area: this is a cipher key arranged vertically down the right hand side of the page that someone has written in (and only partially filled before giving up) in a 16th century hand. Though a bit indistinct, you can still make out “a b c d e” at the top left and a few other letters besides.

Bright green areas: these odd shapes appear nowhere else, and are generally referred to as “weirdoes” (for want of a better name). Interestingly, these are picked out in bright red: f67r2 is the only other place with red text that I can think of (the page that was originally on the front of what is now Quire 9).

Dull green area: this is where the earliest proven owner wrote his signature (something like “Jacobus de Tepenecz, Prag”, though it is very hard to make out), which a subsequent owner appears to have (quite literally) scrubbed off the page (if you look carefully, you can see what appears to be two or more watermarks at the edges of the area). The question of why someone would want to do this is a matter for another day…

Pink area: hidden in the top right corner next to some wormholes and the folio number (“1”, in a sixteenth century hand) is a very faint picture, possibly of a bird. Surprisingly, this subtle piece of marginalia doesn’t appear in GC’s otherwise-very-good gallery of Voynich marginalia: so here’s an enhanced picture of it so you can see what I’m talking about:-.

So, even if we can’t yet read f1r’s text, can we navigate its layout? I believe we can! From the presence of red text, I’m fairly certain it was the first page of a quire: and from the signature and weathering, I don’t see any reason to think this was ever bound anywhere apart from at the front of the manuscript. This leads me to predict that the set of four paragraphs forms an index to the manuscript as a whole, and so very probably describe four separate “books” or “works”, where the “title” (appended to the end of the paragraph) is indeed the title of that book.

If you were looking for cribs to crack the titles 🙂 , my best guess is that the first book (section) is a herbal, the second book is on the stars (astronomy and astrology), the third book is on water, while the fourth book comprises recipes and secrets. I also suspect that this index page was composed about three-quarters of the way through the project, and that the (really quite strange) Herbal-B pages were added in a subsequent phase. But, once again, that’s another story entirely…

I’ve just started reading Colin Wilson’s “The Philosopher’s Stone“, so I thought it might be a good idea to blog about an article from the Metromagick blog where he also plays a role.

The piece is called “Dr. John Dee, the Necronomicon & the Cleansing of the World“, and was written by Colin Low in 1996-2000. It’s basically an extended riff on H.P.Lovecraft, John Dee, the Voynich Manuscript, Aleister Crowley and the Necronomicon, and how much they do (or don’t) relate to each other.

The problem with Lovecraft fans is that they often enjoy emulating what their gloomy hero liked to do: mix fantasy with history until they both blur together into one great big glob of either historicised fiction or fictionalised history (whichever you prefer, it doesn’t matter much).

And so it was that in 1978, a book called “Necronomicon” appeared edited by George Hay (reprinted in 1995), containing a claim by David Langford and Robert Turner that Lovecraft’s fabled Necronomicon was not only real but “had been preserved by Alkindi in his treatise The Book of the Essence of the Soul“, parts of which had in turn been enciphered by John Dee in his Liber Loagaeth. With an introduction by Colin Wilson, it looked convincingly like real historical research… but (as you’ve probably guessed by now) it was merely faux Lovecraftian nonsense.

Colin Low’s article then goes on to collect together various strands apparently connecting Dee (via Enochian and Choronzon) to Crowley and his well-documented adventures with demon summoning. It’s all entertaining stuff, but the possible presence at the ball of a Lovecraftian mischief-making poltergeist tends to rather reduce its reliability for the reader. So in the end, does Low’s account amount to something special or to something of nothing? Basically, I think you’ll have to make your own call.

However, I do find Low’s summing-up of the Necronomicon fiercely attuned to much that has been said about the Voynich Manuscript: “The Necronomicon is a hollow vessel – it booms resoundingly, but has nothing in it but the projections of our own fantasies.” Which is a shame.

Possibly as a byproduct of all the philosophy of science lectures I once endured, I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for Karl Popper. Basically, a Popperian approach to science involves constructing cunning weapons of disproof to chop down falsifiable hypotheses, where the “last man standing” is your current best bet at the truth. This is not unlike a somewhat formalized version of Conan Doyle’s “When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth“.

To be honest, Conan Doyle’s version is a tad sucky, as it assumes (to allow Sherlock Holmes to ever solve anything) that you are able to generate all possible explanations, in order that your process of elimination-by-disproof can ultimately iterate to the One True Truth. In the real world, however, an imaginative scientist should be able to conjure up candidate explanations at a faster rate than they could ever practically be tested.

Another very significant problem is the economic cost of constructing cunning weapons of disproof that will demonstrate that hypothesis X cannot be true. Doing this for even a single case can be very hard, let alone for situations where there are hundreds of possibilities.

Yet the scientific method typically works to an abysmally lower level of proof, looking merely for persuasive mental models and correlative statistics to back it up. Basically, the scientific method makes Bad Science easy to do because you haven’t got Karl Popper peering over your shoulder saying there are no proofs, only disproofs, you haven’t disproved anything.

All of which is simply to help paint a picture of the lamentable situation in which studies of the Voynich Manuscript have been for so long, where there are not only countless imaginative hypotheses to deal with, but also few if any Popperian tools of disproof. This has meant that people can (and do) make pretty much any pseudo-scientific assertion about the VMs they like and nobody can (without invoking particularly arcane statistical arguments which only a tiny minority can easily understand) tell them they’re definitively wrong.

Until now.

Voynich researcher Marke Fincher has long been fascinated by Voynichese words’ strange behaviour, and how it differs from the behaviour of words in real languages (such as Latin, French, Swahili, etc). Yet nobody had devised a way of making this difference visible.

But recently Marke developed a programme called WPPA which allows a lot of this structure to be made visible. In particular, Marke showed that real languages have an implicit word association structure whereby recurring pairs of words can be found not only next to each other, but at a certain distance from each other as well. Word pairs also largely prefer a particular order: Marke points out that “and the” is very much frequent in English than “the and“.

His paper shows plots taken from a number of languages, which (when taken together) show what you might call a meta-linguistic curve, a statistical behaviour shape that is followed by basically all the real languages he had tried – an expression of languageness, in terms of the patterns of behaviour you’d fully expect to see in texts written in real-world languages.

But Voynichese does not display these curves: and so isn’t a simple language.

Any, errrm, cunning linguist who thinks they have a sample of a little-known language which somehow bucks this trend is free to email Marke Fincher for a copy of his WPPA program (or you can just send him a copy of the text). But you know, I think he’s not going to be dreadfully surprised by his inbox any day soon.

And not only is Voynichese not a simple language, it also is not a simple language written right-to-left, nor a simple substitution cipher of any sort (including simple verbose ciphers), nor a consistent intra-word transposition cipher (like a reverse anagram cipher), because none of these would alter Voynichese’s basic linguistic curve.

For years, people have endlessly debated whether the nature of Voynichese is that of a cipher or that of a unknown language – cryptology vs linguistics. Well, Marke Fincher has now given us all his cunning Popperian machinery of disproof to rule out basically all simple language conjectures and a lot of simple cipher theories too.

This is great, because if someone now tries to convince you (for whatever reason) that the VMs is in High Middle German, Hebrew, Celtic, Shelta Thari or whatever but written in a funny way, you can wholeheartedly say – sorry, but no. Voynichese words don’t work like any known language in several key ways, and that’s that.

Moving ever forward, there is one thing I suspect that Marke should perhaps now consider: whether the fact that Voynichese word pairs appear pretty much as often forward as reversed (which isn’t true of languages at all) is part of the “specification” (as it were) of Voynichese, or whether some lines (say, even-numbered lines within paragraphs?) might be word-ordered from right-to-left (i.e. some kind of boustrophedon word-ordering). That is, whether Voynichese’s symmetrical reversibility might actually have a word-transpositional explanation.

Some people may think that being able to disprove things is no big deal: but I think it’s actually a very big deal indeed. Karl Popper would be proud!