The “fluid, transitional nature of communication” during printing’s first heyday naturally attracted detractors. “This is what the printing presses do: they corrupt susceptible hearts” wrote the “dyspeptic Benedictine” Filippo de Strata. Clumsy and unreliable editions led to “the charge that print had debased the book.” By making book ownership more common, print also “diminished the lustre of the Renaissance library,” causing many collections to dwindle or dissolve altogether as “the library as a cultural institution struggled to adapt to the new age.”

For a time, civil and religious authorities controlled the immense scale of explosive information and misinformation. When the Protestant Henry of Navarre ascended to the French throne in 1589, the news was available to English readers in “at least 40 pamphlets,” while his 1594 conversion to Roman Catholicism “was greeted with deafening silence in London.” Gradually, however, centralized control was overwhelmed by the reckless abundance of the tumultuous, street-oriented press. Petty gossip, ignorant screeds, inflammatory pamphlets and religious tracts flowed and overflowed.

The new technology also led to large-scale, faith-based burning of both books and people. The papal bull of excommunication that Martin Luther burned in 1520 also ordered that his books be destroyed. Luther in turn planned to add the works of Thomas Aquinas and Duns Scotus to the flames, but, as Pettegree notes, “books were expensive” and the scholars of Wittenberg were unwilling to make such a sacrifice. The “genocidal rage” engendered by religious differences included populations as well as their books. In Spain, Julián Hernández and his heretical colleagues were burned alive along with “many thousands of books.” In Geneva, the physician and theologian Michael Servetus — who to his misfortune correctly described the circulation of blood but published the information in a text that also took an unorthodox view of the Trinity — was burned, as were copies of the book. Of perhaps a thousand printed, only three survive.

Pettegree writes well and amasses information superbly. He refrains from explicitly comparing the technology of print, and its historical impact, with the technology of the Internet. Implicit similarities include issues of intellectual property and privacy, of power, of libel, as well as a general challenge to old modes — the proliferation of personal expression, the contentiousness, the question of how to capitalize, and capitalize upon, a new medium.

This scholarly restraint, leaving his readers to compare and contrast, seems wise. And there are certainly contrasts with the modern age. Describing the immensely popular verse romances like “Orlando Furioso,” for example, Pettegree shows that in the Renaissance these works were not read in the prolonged, silent trance experienced by readers of Dickens or Flaubert. Modern readers recognize the quiet, lone hours spent by Henry James’s character Isabel Archer, that immersive reading experienced not only by devotees of James but by escapist fans of the genre known as “airport books.” In contrast to this industrial-age solitude of print narrative, the 16th-century verse romances and other episodic books like “The Decameron” were suited for reading aloud — enjoyed in a communal, social setting.

In an appended “Note on Sources,” Pettegree allows himself to acknowledge that, “Ironically, it has been the next great information revolution — the Internet — that has allowed this work on the first age of print to be pursued to a successful conclusion.” Digital information newly available from all over the world enhanced his research on early print culture — in all its frequently vulgar, ephemeral, zany and menacing variety.