How to Make an Index

In Short

This book serves as both a historical record and a practical manual for the craft of indexing. It traces the evolution of the "index" from its early, often confusing iterations to the standardized, professional methods required by modern readers. Through a blend of personal experience, cautionary tales of disastrous errors, and advice on best practices, the author demonstrates that a well-crafted index is not merely a list, but the "soul of a book." It remains a definitive, witty, and surprisingly engaging resource for bibliophiles and researchers alike.

The Story

The journey begins by situating the index within the broader history of literature. The author notes that in Shakespeare’s time, an "index" was often a table of contents or an indicator of future events rather than the alphabetical list at the back of a book. The narrative moves through the centuries, highlighting how indexing evolved from a haphazard afterthought into a specialized skill. The reader is introduced to the "bad indexer"—a figure of scorn who produces useless, redundant, or confusing entries—and is contrasted with the "genuine indexer," who approaches the task with patience and intellectual rigor.

The argument then shifts from history to the mechanics of the trade. The author describes the "puerile" but necessary details of the work: the physical labor of sorting slips, the importance of avoiding the "vicious habit" of cutting and pasting existing lists, and the pitfalls of cross-referencing. He provides specific examples of how not to index, such as the infamous entries that link "Chastity" to "Homicide" or "Cheese" to "Butter." These errors are used to emphasize that an indexer must understand the context of a book, not merely extract words from it.

As the narrative progresses, the focus expands to the challenges of indexing complex materials like periodicals, encyclopedias, and catalogues. The author examines the difficulties of alphabetizing foreign names, the nuances of choosing headings, and the necessity of rejecting the trivial to focus on the essential. He shares anecdotes from literary figures, noting that even the young Macaulay found pride in composing an index, despite viewing it as a "humble art." The final movement of the book argues for the creation of a "General Index"—a grand, encyclopedic dream that could unite disparate volumes and bibliographies into a single, accessible reference for the reading public. The arc concludes with the author’s practical, hard-won advice on how to organize one’s own work, emphasizing that while the indexer should be thorough, they must also be permitted to adopt a method that suits their own mind. By the end, the reader is left with a deep appreciation for the invisible labor that makes the world of books navigable.

How It Unfolds

The historical foundation The opening chapters trace the etymology and early usage of the term "index," showing how writers from Shakespeare to Ben Jonson used it in varied, non-standard ways. This establishes that the current concept of an index is a relatively modern refinement.

The anatomy of failure The author catalogs a series of hilarious and catastrophic blunders from historical indexes, such as confusing cross-references and redundant entries. These examples serve as a warning of what happens when indexers lack judgment or rely on automated, thoughtless methods.

The practical mechanics Moving into the technical phase, the text provides step-by-step instructions for the indexer, from the physical arrangement of slips on a desk to the nuances of marking copy for the printer. It treats the mundane task of sorting with the seriousness of a scientific process.

The challenge of variety The final chapters address the complexities of modern indexing, covering everything from the treatment of foreign names to the creation of a unified, global index. It concludes by balancing a plea for professional standards with the pragmatic acknowledgment that every worker must find their own comfortable rhythm.

The People

The book is populated by a cast of historical figures, librarians, and polemicists who represent the struggle for order in a chaotic world of print. The author, Henry B. Wheatley, acts as our guide—an experienced, slightly self-deprecating veteran who admits to the "constant use of the personal pronoun" but insists his experiences are necessary for the aspiring indexer. He is a champion of clarity, standing in opposition to the "bad indexer" who litters pages with absurdities.

Opposing this professionalism are the "unskilful persons" and "wits" who treat indexing as a game or a chore, often resulting in works that require entirely new indices to be useful. Among the notable figures cited is the young Thomas B. Macaulay, who takes pride in his early index-making, and Dr. Birkbeck Hill, whose work on Boswell’s Life of Johnson is held up as the gold standard of the craft. We also meet George Birdwood, who provides an expert, if dizzying, account of the difficulties inherent in indexing Indian nomenclature. These figures are not just names; they are touchstones of competence or warning signs of the pitfalls that await those who treat the written word without respect.

In Its Own Voice

"It was once a common opinion that anyone without preparatory knowledge or experience could make an index."

The author addresses the widespread, misguided belief that indexing is a low-skill task that requires no training.

"As there 'is a soul of goodness in things evil' so there is a soul of humour in things dry, and in things dry by profession."

This reflection explains why even the most technical of indexes can occasionally reveal flashes of wit or personality.

"The human mind is capable of interesting itself in almost anything it may undertake; but indexing cannot be other than hard work, and it is unfair to make it harder by fixing unnecessary limits."

The author argues here for the importance of allowing the individual indexer the freedom to work in the way that best suits their own process.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an argument for the intellectual necessity of order. It moves beyond a mere "how-to" to ask fundamental questions about how we access human knowledge: Who decides what is "important" enough to be indexed? How do we prevent our own biases from coloring the information we present to others? The text is a defense of the indexer as an essential mediator between the author’s intent and the reader’s need. It argues that a book is incomplete—perhaps even useless—without a key to its contents. By elevating the status of the indexer, the author asserts that the organization of knowledge is as critical to the life of the mind as the writing of the book itself.

Why Read It Today

Readers who find joy in the "back of the book" will find this an essential companion. If you have ever felt the frustration of an incomplete index or the delight of a perfectly cross-referenced entry, this book will validate your appreciation for the craft. It feels like a long, rambling conversation with a wise, slightly fussy, but deeply knowledgeable librarian.

The prose is elegant and warm, though the reader should be prepared for the occasional 19th-century formality and a tendency to wander into anecdotes that, while charming, might test the patience of those seeking a strictly modern manual. The book does not shy away from the reality that indexing is grueling, repetitive labor, and it offers no "hacks" to avoid that fact. Instead, it offers a philosophy of work. You will emerge from these pages with a newfound respect for the invisible architects of your library. It is a reminder that in an age of digital search, the human judgment involved in categorization remains a subtle, vital, and under-appreciated art form. If you care about how information is structured, or if you simply enjoy the quirks of literary history, you will find this volume a quiet, enduring treasure.