The Codex Amiatinus is not just one more manuscript of the Bible, it is our oldest extant Bible. This statement seems strange since there are many much older, and more famous, biblical manuscripts, but every other codex only contains some of the writings—such as the New Testament or just the gospels or the Old Testament or just some books belonging to it—that go to make up the Christian scriptures in Latin. This final point, “in Latin,” is also an important qualifier in that the Christian scriptures in Greek contain several other books not used by the Western churches, while the medieval Latin Bible itself contains many ancient writings that are not found in most Bibles printed in English today. That said, Amiatinus, despite its massive size and weight, is the earliest surviving object that we can call “a bible.”

Not only is Amiatinus significant within the history of the Bible in Western culture, but, also unusually for a medieval manuscript, we know a great deal about its origins. Though the manuscript now resides in a library in Florence, whither it came from the monastery on Mount Amiata (hence the name Amiatinus) in Tuscany, it was discovered in the late nineteenth century that it was actually an Anglo-Saxon product, and, indeed that it was one of three great bibles the production of which is mentioned in eighth-century sources relating to the twin monasteries of Wearmouth and Jarrow in Northumbria. That discovery made, we not only know its original home and some details of who commissioned it and when, but also that it belonged to the world of the great biblical scholar Bede and that it was taken by Abbot Ceolfrith in 716 when he set out on pilgrimage to Rome with the intention of making a present of it to the pope. Alas, Ceolfrith died en route in Langres, and the manuscript was moved on—by whom we know not—until it reached Tuscany. When we combine this knowledge with the value of its text for biblical scholars working on the Latin Vulgate translation, the richness of its illustrations to art historians and others, and its importance in the history of the book, it is not surprising that it continually attracts attention from scholars. It is in this set of circumstances—which make Amiatinus stand out on so many fronts—that the rationale for this book lies.

What makes Celia's Chazelle's book, The Codex Amiatinus and Its “Sister” Bibles: Scripture, Liturgy, and Art in the Milieu of the Venerable Bede, stand out from the many others on Amiatinus—including a slew of works that celebrated 1,300th anniversary of Coelfrith's departure with it for Rome—is that she has tried to address its significance in the round. She uses it as a gateway into the biblical world of Bede, and then within that world she asks why these Northumbrian monks made such a massive investment in making three of these enormous bibles—just imagine the number of sheepskins needed for its outsize pages (you can get all the measurements in Chazelle's book)—and then to value them by placing one in Jarrow and the other in Wearmouth (just how did they want to use them?), and then why make one of them a gift to Saint Peter (that is, the pope)?

Chazelle locates the three codices within the monastic world of Wearmouth and Jarrow (chapter 1) and then within the scholarly ambiance of Bede as a commentator on the Bible (chapter 2). This work alone makes this book of value as it brings together an array of studies on Bede as an exegete produced over the last fifty years and locates that scholarship around what Bede saw as the core of his endeavors. This background then allows Chazelle to investigate the actual manuscript in relation to its environment (chapter 3), which leads to a study of how reading and worship were interlinked in a late seventh-century monastery (chapter 4). The focus then narrows to Amiatinus as an object, and, in particular, its opening pages with the great images (for example, the plan of the wilderness tabernacle) and the scheme of images that runs through the codex (chapter 5). The final chapters look at three issues: first, what we can learn from the codex about why it was intended by Ceolfrith as a gift to Saint Peter at the end of his pilgrimage; second, what we know of the life of the three codices after 716—after which the contemporary evidence about them becomes silent; and third, an account of the anniversary celebrations in 2016.

This is a study worthy of its object and will be welcomed by historians of the Bible as much as by Anglo-Saxonists and art historians. The work is enhanced by the sixty-five images in color and black-and-white illustrating what is being discussed in the book, and by a very useful summary of what is to be found on each of the 1030 folios of the manuscript (471–81). All in all, we are brought into the “life” of the codex.