BD
the book design studio
issue five – may 2016 Editor & layout design Emma J. Hardy Cover design Kerry Squires Article contributors Danny Arter, Eric Wilder, Nuria Rodríguez Proof reading Danny Arter and Emma J. Hardy Copyright on book design images are held by respective designers and publishers All other content © The Book Design Studio 2016 Published quarterly in February, May, August and November www.spinemagazine.co.uk hello@spinemagazine.co.uk Printed and bound by Mixam Ltd. Published in London, UK
S P I N E M AG A Z I N E issue 5
Contents
From the Editor we’ve put on weight
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Fiction Showcase your covers
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Non-fiction Showcase your covers
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Student Showcase your covers
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Interview: Emily Weigel by eric wilder
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Drawing With Scissors cover designs by henri matisse
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Playing it Straight danny arter
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Interview: Michael B. Myers Jr. by eric wilder
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Gaberbocchus Press best-lookers not best-sellers
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Altering the Apparent nuria rodriguez
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A Day at the Bookbinders penny magazine 1838
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Listen While You Work eric wilder
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The Form of the Book Book book review
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Contributor Bios see who we are
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Emma J. Hardy
From the Editor we ’ ve put on weight
This quarter has seen a lot of change for Spine. We launched our new website and have decided to start making articles a larger focus of each issue. We still want to include as many cover designs as before, so decided to increase in size rather than reallocate space. The last issue was around 82 pages long, this one is 136. This issue has articles ranging from the historical to contemporary: features include a history of the avant-garde Gaberbocchus Press and a look at the little known book cover designs by Henri Matisse. In contrast Nuria Rodríguez debates modern cover design in translation and Danny Arter delves into design trends within the ‘grip-lit’ genre. The cover for this issue was designed by Kerry Squires and features a belly band. The beautifully designed shapes evoke our featured artist, Matisse. Although not done using his ‘drawing with scissors’ technique, the digitally created design still holds an intuitive and human tone. 9
Fiction Showcase
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Girls on Fire
robin wasserman • Design by Jack Smyth
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Kitchens of the Great Midwest j. ryan stradal • Design by Jon Grey
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The Course of Love alain de botton • Design by Monica Ramos
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The Maker of Swans paraic o ’ donnel • Design by Sinem Erkas
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The Young Widower’s Handbook tom mcallister • Art direction by Anne Winslow
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The Fall of Valor
charles jackson • Design by Henry Petrides
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Nitro Mountain
lee clay johnson • Publisher Knopf
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Sweetbitter
stephanie danler • Publisher Knopf
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Hystopia
david means • Design by Jonathan Lippincott
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Non-fiction Showcase
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Cure
joe marchant • Design by Peter Adlington
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The Most Perfect Thing tim birkhead • Design by David Mann
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Agathe Christie on Screen mark aldridge • Design by Alice Tomlinson
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Illness and the Lexicon stavroula varella • Design by Samantha Johnson
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The Philosopher
justin e. h. smith • Design by Amanda Weiss
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Joe Gould’s Teeth jill lepore • Publisher Knopf
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A Work in Progress connor franta • Publisher Simon & Schuster
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Tristimania
jay griffiths • Publisher Penguin Books
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What We Cannot Know marcus du sautoy • Design by Jonny Pelham
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Under the Tump oliver balch • Illustration by Joe McLaren
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Student Spotlight
This issue welcomes the submissions from two designers at the beginning of their careers. Top: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Vyki Hendy Bottom: Alain de Botton (...), Jessica Le Since graduating with a degree in photography, Vyki Hendy has developed an interest in the world of book design and has been working on aquiring the necessary skills. Jessica Le’s cover design was made for her Honours project at university. The approach was to use a visual metaphor that would give the cover an ‘aha!’ moment after reading the subtitle and looking at the illustration.
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Eric Wilder
Âś Interview: Emily Weigel faceout studio
what inspired you to become a cover designer? I love the worlds we can escape to within books. We experience lives that speak to the human condition: love, sorrow, joy, laughter, hope. Books connect people together through these written lives in ways other experiences cannot. I’ve always loved reading. Design came alive for me when designed a travel guide for a typography class at the College of Visual Arts in St. Paul, Minnesota (which, sadly, is no longer open). The cover and interior needed to communicate the culture, not simply laid out information and photos. That project inspired me to redesign existing travel guides for my thesis. I poured over travel guides, design books about culture and travel blogs to curate what best communicated the two distinct cultures of Venice and Mexico City. These books landed me an interview with Faceout Studio, where I work today as a cover designer. A job I longed for, but never thought I’d have the opportunity to do. 55
Books are a part of our everyday lives. Our work lives on shelves, in crowded subway cars, at the table with our families, on school buses, at the beach, in the air. It’s special to be a part of that world and inspire others to pick up a book they may have walked past. It’s a tough and challenging job, but intensely fulfilling seeing your work in unexpected places. what is your approach to taking on a new project? The publisher sends us a brief outlining the book and any additional information they can supply. I look at the author’s previously published work, if they’re not a debut author, as well as the genre the book falls in. Since starting my job at Faceout, I’ve put together boards on Pinterest for general and specific genres. I love the research aspect of design; I rarely dive into a project without fairly thorough research. Throughout this process I write down questions, some more detailed than others, and sometimes word lists. I typically ask questions about the tone they want communicated, the hierarchy of, whether any imagery needs to be avoided or included etc. I need as much detailed information as I can get without reading the manuscript. I will read one occasionally, but it’s not common for me. After research has been gathered and questions have been written down, we get on the phone with our contact at the publishing house and go over the project in detail. This has proven to be a valuable part of our process as a studio. Questions come up during the call that inform the direction we need to take. It’s also a great opportunity to bring up ideas we have before starting the project so you don’t go down the wrong path from the start. Over time, I’ve learned how to dive deeper into the project and get the best information I can to proceed forward.
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Once I have adequate information, I start laying out the type and searching for imagery. I’ve had to learn how to continually keep things moving with the design process. It’s an organic, fluid process that takes time and experimentation. I’m fortunate to have worked with a creative director (and coworkers) who have pushed me outside my comfort zone and made me learn the importance of experimentation. can you give detail on your process for the cover of the audacious crimes of colonel blooxd by robert hutchinson? After discussing the project in full, it was clear that something clever needed to happen with the imagery and/or type for this book. Colonel Blood was a sneaky, clever man who came closest to stealing the Crown Jewels of England. A task not for the faint hearted. The publisher liked the idea of something colorful with an image of Colonel Blood. Around the time of this project, I started experimenting more with colorful and subtle gradients. Normally, as designers, we equate gradients with crudeness and a limited understanding of design. I’ve come to realize when used subtly, they can enhance a design and bring a bit more life to a cover than the common vignette on the edges. Using a gradient of orange to red gave a subtle nod to the title. I played with various textures for some grit and depth and found a paper texture that had subtle lines in it which worked well. Sometimes a worn, older look can add interest and look great on a cover, but I felt this cover needed to straddle the line of looking historical, but not old. While reading through the creative brief I had the idea to use a die cut of the Crown Jewels (or something close) with Colonel Blood inside. Playing around with how his image was cropped by the die cut, I liked the slightly sinister look with one of his eyes hidden.
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Keeping the illustration of Blood in black and white made him pop and not recede into the cover. I played with different type styles to find the balance of older and newer. The condensed serif I chose allowed the title to remain larger and stack well, while the historical looking script added the older feel it needed. Putting the subtitle in the same script was too heavy, so I used an italic serif that felt similar to the other styles while letting the title be the hero. explain your creative vision for the cover of nelly dean by alison case. Like The Audacious Crimes of Colonel Blood, this book had been published in the U.K. before Pegasus acquired it for American audiences. It’s the story of Wuthering Heights told through the servant, Nelly Dean. A cover that was referenced was Longbourn by Jo Baker which is a similar type of book about Pride and Prejudice from the servant’s view. On the call with the publisher, the team at Pegasus mentioned they wanted to see something atmospheric and feminine. The woman couldn’t look too wealthy since she is a servant, but we still needed to care about her. I had found a few beautiful images that worked well for this cover, but wanted to experiment with silhouette and tree branches. I have never read Wuthering Heights, so I read as many reviews of the book as possible to understand the content. Trees were referenced a lot and showed up often in book covers for Wuthering Heights. I had found a fantastic photographic silhouette of a woman looking up and started to play with that. I love the small detail of the lace in her dress. I played around with tree branches surrounding her 59
and felt it had the mysterious, yet feminine look the cover needed. Some branches move into her silhouette for a little more depth and texture. With all of the detail from the branches, a simpler, feminine feeling typographic style felt just right. I added a bit more detail to the ‘N’ and the ‘D’ in the title for a little twist. It’s a more illustrative cover than the U.K. version, but is striking, a bit haunting and still has a feminine look and feel. It’s not quite as atmospheric as the publisher and I had originally imagined it to look, but everyone involved is pleased with the results for this cover. I consider it a top piece in my portfolio. are there any current trends that influence your design? To be honest, the only trends I’ve really been watching in design is within book design. There are certain trends I’ve noticed such as concentric circles with different imagery placed within them. They bring a certain look to a cover that’s appealing and works well. As most designers, I try to avoid current trends, but it’s hard to avoid it seeping into your subconscious. I’ve always felt that trends come and go, but what sticks is excellent ideas and well executed designs. I try to stay current in the newest releases in books and watch for what books I think will be referenced in new jobs as competitive titles. what is your favorite cover that you did not design? There are so many covers I love that it’s difficult to mention only one. I absolutely love the cover and interior of Mexico: The Cookbook designed by Barbara Says. The cover features a die cut resembling papel picado and is wonderfully colorful. The interior is just as colorful with beautiful photography and large typography. 60
I also really love Jon Gray’s cover for 1984. Not only is the title not on the cover, but it’s so bold and in-your-face. Something unexpected and well executed. I could easily name another 100 covers that I love, and a lot of them would be from my coworkers at Faceout Studio. I’m inspired on a daily basis and don’t have to walk far to find it.
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design for cover of exhibition catalogue (1951) 62
Emma J. Hardy
Drawing With Scissors
the book cover designs of henri matisse Henri Matisse is most commonly known as a superb draftsman, a colourful painter and bold pioneer of the cut and paste technique that saw his works span entire gallery walls whilst he remained wheelchair-bound. Despite all this, there is more of the artist to uncover. His works in the book arts are often overlooked, yet in his lifetime he worked on over fifty book illustration projects, many of which included cover designs for exhibition catalogues and magazines. Matisse’s book design work was recently brought to the limelight when the Morgan Library & Museum in New York dedicated an entire exhibition to the subject. Graphic Passion: Matisse and the Book Arts ran from October 2015 to January 2016, they describe Matisse’s design work as having his ‘characteristic vigilance and zeal’ and that he sought ‘a perfect fusion of image and text’. Wall Street Journal’s review of the exhibition speculates that Matisse revolutionised graphic design: ‘Perhaps his greatest contribution was his insistence on treating the book as a living organism—a total artwork from cover to cover—a return to the medieval manuscript 63
practice of fully integrated cover art, illustrations, ornament, illuminated initials and text. He helped to elevate the modern printed book to high art.’ The cover designs on the following pages were created by Matisse, mostly in the late thirties, using his paper cut and paste technique. This has been described as like ‘drawing with scissors’ as he intuitively used the cutting of gouache soaked paper rectangles to create more organic forms. Many of his covers were for the periodical Verve, an artistic and literary review edited by the Greek publisher Tériade. In order to create something reproducible—as a periodical need be—Matisse created maquettes, many of which survive today, and then had the designs converted to print using lithography. The catalogue Graphic Passion: Matisse and the Book Arts is available to buy online.
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design for cover of matisse: his art and his public (1951) 65
cover maquette for verve, issue iv, 1943 (back) 66
cover maquette for verve, issue iv, 1943 (front) 67
cover maquette for verve issue i, winter 1937 (front) 68
cover of verve vol. 2 #8, 1940 (front) 69
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Danny Artur
Playing it Straight
grip-lit genre and copycat techniques Genre is a funny thing in the book trade: almost essential as a marketing tool, yet used too strictly, or taken as a metonym for too wide a range of titles, it inevitably attracts ire. The nom de guerre currently in vogue is ‘grip lit’. Whether one objects to the term and its use or not, it has, like every other fiction trend to have snowballed in recent memory, accrued an aesthetic all of its own. If I refer to the characteristics of novels said to be in the genre loosely, it is with deliberacy: after all, when has a shorthand term ever ably encompassed the content of a work that is, by its very nature, tens of thousands of times as long as its descriptor? But ‘grip lit’ is more often than not female-led (and frequently authored) fiction with a psychological and/or emotion-led hook, often revolving around a crime and, more often than not, it is not unlike a ‘thriller’ . . . ‘grip’ should be gripping after all, right? The bestseller lists are dotted with such titles, often with the female protagonist/ instigator/narrator in question forming part of the title; a Girl that is, for example, Gone, on a Train, in a Red Coat, with a Dragon Tattoo. 71
All of which is unlikely to be news. But what of the genre’s appearance, and how does it conform to, or subvert, conventions? The stereotypical Crime Fiction cover needs little introduction to any reader with more than a passing familiarity with a bookshop window—be it a physical or online version. Shadowy, sparse landscapes; figures retreating into the background; bold, often tightly-tracked sans-serifs and all-caps typography. The most noticeable impasse between this and the ‘grip lit’ livery is… well, its near-polar contrast. The imagery used is often blurred, obscured—likely deliberately so. There is little hint of a crime at work, no less a culprit, and the illustration is more open to interpretation as a result. One hypothesis could be that it is less focused on a misdeed and more interested in the perception of it; or to be blunt, the aforementioned ‘psychological’ aspect. Yet the striking difference (at least, this reader’s perception of it, at any rate) is in the typography, where the ‘grip lit’ aesthetic is rooted, and where the best attempt to explain it lies. Given the genre’s subject and audience (two-thirds of ‘grip lit’ buyers are women, Nielsen estimates), it is little surprise that it is in opposition to male-led/authored crime books’ type treatment, as alluded to earlier. A cursory search for books by, for example, Lee Child, Stuart MacBride or Michael Connelly shows little by way of lower-case letters; they are predominantly ranged-right, with tight letterspacing and, at times, non-existent leading. (Presumably with the aim of cramming so much in, in such loud, shouty letters, as to convey how literally action-packed the book is.) ‘Grip lit’, on the other hand, is frequently centered type; lower-case serifed letterforms; with generous letterspacing and leading— the wide lead means the reader is invited to ‘read between the lines’, so to speak—another invitation to perceive an event and 72
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its impact subjectively. Of course, it could also be used simply to distinguish itself from its more ‘masculine’ near-neighbour, the (frequently alcoholic) police procedural; those with a deeper knowledge of type design may wish to ponder the implications of its mentioned uses and intended audience, but that’s one for another article. For it is the centring that appears the cornerstone of the ‘grip lit’ genre, with The Girl on the Train and Gone Girl being two of the more bestselling dissenters to my lower-case thesis. So why does the centered type abound? One hypothesis (it is my best and only guess) is to think of it calligrammatically; type is usually set flush left because it is the easiest for Western readers, who read left to right, to stomach. The lines begin at the same point, and with regular and sensible leading in line with the height of the typeface, it is the easiest on the eye, which is able to locate the beginning of the subsequent line with the greatest ease. Which perhaps goes some way to explaining the exaggerated gaps between each line of the title type, as it adds to the sense of disjointedness created by the centring: the reader is thrown not only by the beginning of the type in its horizontal location, but its vertical position, too. (Arguably more so when the letterforms are obscured, blurred or digitally warped, as is often the case.) It may be an almost indiscernible hesitation, and as an argument it certainly sounds far-reaching. Yet one began wondering if this was ‘a trend’ after seeing not only the title type, but the type of title being treated. For, with alarming regularity, the titles are comprised of a series of single, short (remarkably often single-syllable) words. The Girl on the Train. The Girl in the Red Coat. I Let You Go. In a Dark Dark Wood. An expert in linguistics may be better placed to remark upon the staccato rhythm of such titles, especially when set on separate lines, situated as individual units rather than as a unified line of text. It seems, to me, to create an isochronic, almost onomatopoeic (‘drip, drip, 76
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drip’) rhythm that creates suspense in itself, and one that seems inkeeping with the majority of ‘grip lit’ titles’ narrative suspenseful arcs. In a genre that thrives on concealing information and obscuring a ‘twist’, it seems a superb method of alluding to the content while disclosing very little. Alternately, this could be conjecture—I am exposed to a fair few book jackets, after all, and it’s interesting to speculate as to their own narratives, relationships, psychologies. So, tell me:
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Eric Wilder
Interview: Michael B. Myers Jr. puffin pixels
what is your background in graphic design? I am a self-taught graphic designer, as I have spent most of my life illustrating. Any formal graphic design training I received came from required classes in college—I honestly tried to avoid them like the plague, looking back though, I wish I would have taken it more seriously—I think a lot of what I’ve learned through illustration has made its way into my approach on design. how did the puffin pixels series come about? It came out of thin air! I was contacted by an art director who works for the Puffin line of books over at Penguin Random House who said they had seen my pixel art work online and they thought I would be a good fit for the series. I was pretty ecstatic and had a great time working on the covers. 83
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where did you get the inspiration for each scene depicted? The art director I was working with gave me some initial ideas, and I just ran with that. The great thing about this series is that they are classic stories so the concept and content is there, I just had to illustrate it. The cool twist is that each cover somewhat mimics a classic video game, with items scattered about as well as some character stats and inventory displayed on the back covers. how do you create your pixel artwork? I work in Photoshop for the majority of the pixel art I create. Working on a small canvas (I believe the native dimensions of the Puffin Pixel artwork was somewhere around 100 pixels tall by 200 pixels wide), I use the pencil tool and just start placing pixels. The real joy of pixel art is that it feels like you’re putting together a puzzle, all you have to do is put the right pixel in the right place. you’re also quite skilled in traditional illustration. are there any books that includes your hand drawn work? I have had some work published in a book called Torso which included some illustration I have done for screen prints, but would love to get some more of my illustrative work published some day.
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wooff wooff or who killed richard wagner? gaberbocchus press, 1951 88
Emma J. Hardy
The Gaberbocchus Press
best-lookers not best-sellers
‘The Jabberwock with eyes of flame Came whiffling through the fulgey wood And burbled as it came!’ ‘Praesens ecce! Oculis eui fera flamma micat Ipse Gaberbocchus dumeta per horrida sifflans Ibat, et horrendum burbuliabat iens!’
It never occurred to me that the wonderfully nonsensical words of Lewis Carol’s poem The Jabberwocky would have been translated into other languages, but of course it has. In the Latin translation by Carol’s uncle, Hassard Dodgson, ‘Jabberwock’ becomes the equally delightful ‘Gaberbocchus’. In London, 1948 partners Stefan and Franciszka Themerson chose this particular translation as the namesake for their publishing house: Gaberbocchus Press. 89
‘There is a madness about various Gaberbocchus books which is the spice of life, an ingredient somewhat lacking in the world of impeccable book production’ —Ruari McLean, Quarterly News Letter of the Book Club of California, Summer 1956 Before moving to London and starting Gaberbocchus Press, Stefan and Franciska had been experimental film-makers in Warsaw as well as both writing and illustrating children’s books. Their creative backgrounds laid excellent ground work for what was to become an extremely innovative and influential press: publishing books filled with new philosophical or political ideas as well as introducing the British market to European avant-garde texts that had not yet been translated to English. You may be forgiven for thinking that as a book designer there’s a good excuse for not having heard of these two before. After all, how many of us are fully brushed up on the history of avant-garde English publishing? But I was deeply ashamed when I went to the exhibition on this press at the Camden Arts and saw just how brilliant this press was, not only in its innovative approach to text but also in its approach to design. I can’t believe I’d never heard of them, and my guess it many of our readers haven’t either, so I’m going to attempt to right this wrong (any of you who are already familiar with these guys, you officially have permission to enter Smug Mode). Stefan and Franciszka were both born in Poland (1910 and 1907 respectively) although from fairly different backgrounds; 90
Franciszka’s father was a painter and her mother a pianist. She grew up surrounded by art going on to study painting at the Warsaw Academy of Art in 1931. Stefan, however, was the son of a doctor. Rather than being a student of art, he studied physics at the University of Warsaw but also went on to study Architecture at Warsaw Polytechnic. During his twenties, Stefan became a fairly well-known children’s books author. The pair met in 1929, were married in 1931 and by 1937 had made many experimental films together. Together, they played an instrumental role in Polish independent, experimental pre-war cinema. Although to much heart-break, only one of their pre-war films, Adventures of a Good Citizen (1937) survives today. The Themersons were briefly separated during the Second World War, when Stefan served in the Polish army, but were reunited in London in 1942. They set up and ran Gaberbocchus Press ran from 1948 to 1980, after which it was taken over Dutch publishing house Uitgeverij De Harmonie. Like the start of many great publishing houses, the Thamersons weren’t just interested in publishing books; they had a real passion for knowledge, whether it be through arts or science. In 1957 the husband and wife team turned the basement of their press office into the Gaberbocchus Common Room. Over the proceeding years the Common Room was host to discussions, film shows, plays and poetry readings. They created an environment that not only nurtured authors and artists, but allowed them to challenge one another. Stefan and Franciska used the press as a vehicle for new ideas. In 31 years, the press published more than sixty titles. Many of the books were written by themselves, Stefan covered everything from language, ethics, freedom, human dignity to the importance of decency. Franciszka took on the role of Art Director and was the illustrator for the majority of the press’ books. The current Gaberbocchus Press’ website describes the design of the books 91
gimani gaberbocchus press, 1961 92
the first dozen gaberbocchus press, 1958 93
as ‘visually seductive’ and I couldn’t agree more. The Themersons explored the relationships between text an image in a way that still stands out among the thousands of books that have been published since. Their unusual approach to design garnered attention from critics, although they often weren’t sure what to make of this strange new press which in its own words was trying to produce ‘best lookers rather than best sellers’. However, one appreciative critic described their books as having ‘pleasing and intelligent originality in presentation, which makes them quite different from anything else appearing in London’. It is true that other London-based small presses contemporary to Gaberbocchus were very different. Whilst others, such as the Cockerel Press, worked from the influences of William Morris and his Arts and Crafts approach to book production, Gaberbocchus weren’t interested in luxury or finely printed collector’s items. That isn’t to say that the brothers did not produce quality books; but it does serve as an interesting example of good and extremely innovate design that doesn’t break the bank and use as many fancy finishes as possible. Another critic described Gaberbocchus’ books as having a ‘madness’ about them, which ‘is the spice of life, an ingredient somewhat lacking in the world of impeccable book production’. Over the next few pages we’ll look at a few of their designs in-depth. Many of the covers look nothing like one another, but the individuality and unwavering attractiveness of the designs function as their unifying factor. The Themerson’s decision to start the press stemmed largely from their frustration at the difficulty of being published in London. Running Gaberbocchus allowed them complete creative freedom to publish what they wanted, when they wanted. This is something that feels very relevant to today’s publishing industry. We have 94
thousands of self-published authors creating their own books, but very few of them seem to be doing it with the passion or careful execution as Stefan and Franciszka. The dozens of POD services and the strict listing criteria from Amazon seem to limit authors just as much as a publisher might, so why are self-published authors and artists playing ball? There’s a fine line to tread between affordability to ensure that your title reaches a wide audience and also producing something that’s worth someone having in their house. The Gaberbocchus Press are an excellent reminder that cheap doesn’t always have to equate to ‘least possible effort’. You can produce things cheaply if you need to, but that doesn’t mean you should also have to sacrifice approaching the design of a book in an interesting and artistic way. If you are based in London, I strongly recommend that you visit the Camden Arts Centre for their exhibition, ‘Franciszka & Stefan Themerson: Books, Camera, Ubu’ before it closes in June.
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versions and perversions of heine gaberbocchus press, 1955 96
pin and the story of pin gaberbocchus press, 1962 97
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Nuria RodrĂguez
Altering the Apparent translating design
If like me you live, work and read in two or more languages and cultures, you may have noticed how the books that we love in one language sometimes suffer radical changes in another. And I am not referring to the words themselves—which for obvious reasons need to be varied—but to the whole book: its format, its layout and, more tangible, its cover. In most cases the rights for the book to be translated have been acquired by a different publisher and it is up to them to have the title designed in any manner they deem appropriate; they may have their own house style or want to use a cover they feel is more culturally adequate for its new audience. Generally, the only rights acquired refer to usage rights for the translation and distribution of the text, not for its visual representation (with the exception of picture books). Even when not dealing with translation, it is not rare for a publisher to have two or more different covers for the same title within their list. The reasons may vary: from the relaunch of an old title trying to capture the imagination of a new readership, to the common 99
film/TV adaptation syndrome. But it is always intriguing when a new title embarks on a trip across the seas to a country of shared language and still decides to change its clothes. Let’s consider this matter from its purely advertising aspect. If we look at the cover as the visual representation of the brand—and the brand includes the author and a title in particular—then unquestionably the function of the cover would be to represent the values of the brand at that point in time. And it could be argued that these values remain unchanged through the book’s journey across various languages and territories. In fact, although the content is reshaped through a new language, the message endures. If the cover, then, is understood as a representation of these themes, it should by equivalence be equally unchangeable. But there is also an artistic dimension worth discussing. Without getting into the dialectic around what constitutes art and whether the remit of graphic art is merely within marketing and advertising— artistic intention not being its main concern—there is undoubtedly artistic value in the design of the cover (and, I would add, in the form of the book). While the nature of the work of art demands an exclusive approach to the execution by the author and typically a unique point of origin for authorship—and by “authorship” we read an authority in the field—design, and especially design that responds to textual work, is collective and co-operative in character. The polysemic nature of text allows for a multiplicity of visual interpretations and the nature of design encourages numerous interventions. When looking at textual content as art (stripped of its commodity condition), and open to multiple interpretations, the role of the designer becomes comparable to that of a translator. Their task is one of visually converting the meaning of the content and offering a personal version—try as they might, this is unavoidable— 100
of the essence of the book. And this filtered visual representation, when done properly, captures the themes of the book and its core message. And since the message is not altered by its translation to various languages, or by the economic or cultural views of a new market, it could be considered to be universal and perhaps so should the cover. There is one more element in the equation of interpreting text and its visual form, and that is the reader. If every different edition of a title constructs its meaning through the readership it is intended for in a particular era and place, then the final translation of meaning happens at the hands of the reader. And so, when the reader confronts a new work, or a new edition of a classic work, they are influenced by the object-book itself and all of its components, the first encounter being its cover. This symbiosis of visuals and other forms of content is also present in other media forms. It would be hard to reimagine Peter Saville’s cover for Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures; the record-object is formed in our minds by its ultimate union of visuals, lyrics and sounds. Equally, the film The Third Man would have a quite a different feel without Anton Kara’s zither. Replacing the cover and removing the zither would not alter the storytelling of either piece, as the verbal/ textual content would remain untouched, but the artwork-object would be radically transformed and would certainly lose some of its essence. Art can be interpreted in many different ways but we would not detach a piece of art from its context and re-dress it for a new audience, as we understand works of art as culturally sacred and, therefore, unchangeable. And why should the cover art for books not deserve the same treatment? Forget for a moment about classic books from centuries past, when covers were merely considered for protection, when books were bound to match other volumes on the shelves, or even 101
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the interior decoration or the owner’s favourite gowns. They did not need to compete in today’s publishing market; they did not need to perform in a visually overloaded society. Concentrate instead on books published in the 20th century, works from the 1950s and the ‘60s that went through the same process as the books we design today. Think of book covers such as Shirley Tucker’s original design for The Bell Jar for Faber & Faber, Tony Palladino’s cover for Psycho for Simon & Schuster, or a contemporary cover such as Chip Kidd’s for Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer (Houghton Mifflin). They all can, and have been, redesigned. Its content has been recovered —some more successfully than others—but that first unadulterated freshness that the original designer brought to the book by being the first reader, the first interpreter cannot be reproduced. Not every artwork is held as fundamental to our cultural heritage. Equally not every book cover becomes an intrinsic part of the book. Still there are cases where the book cover achieves a perfect match for the content and becomes not just an expression of it but the expression of the book; contributing to elevating the book to a classic object status, even if this perfect match belongs to a particular expression in time and culture. If we believe that such a union can exist, then should the rights to reproduce the content also allow for the disembodiment from its shell? Maybe we should stop considering the cover as a disposable wrapper that needs to be altered to target various audiences, to speak various languages, and start regarding it as an intrinsic part of the work, an integral component of the book as object and the reading experience.
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The Penny Magazine
A Day at the Book Binders re-print from 1838
The Penny Magazine was an illustrated British magazine aimed at the working class, published every Saturday from 31 March 1832 to 31 October 1845
It is a necessary consequence of the connexion existing between different branches of manufacture, that no one of them can receive any notable increase or advancement without benefiting many of the others. Thus, the spur which was given ten or a dozen years ago to popular reading by the establishment of works issued at a small weekly price, and many of them illustrated by wood-engravings, has has been the means of inducing changes and eliciting improvements in nearly all the arts connected with publishing; —woodengraving, paper-making, printing, bookbinding—all have been affected by a moving-power which at first sight might appear a trivial one. Some of the works now published at a penny or three-halfpence weekly can vie with the costly works of bygone years in illustrations, paper and printing; and those persons who were schoolboys in the days when schoolboys were whipped through ‘Vyse’s New London Spelling-book,’ will not fail to see how rapidly such books are assuming the neat gilt-lettered cloth covers of modern times in place of the nankeen ‘roan’ of past years. 105
In one of our early volumes a sketch, under the title of ‘The Commercial History of a Penny Magazine’ was given of woodengraving, paper-making, type-founding, stereotyping, and printing, sufficient to convey a popular notion of those departments of ‘book-making;’ but the subject of Bookbinding was touched upon so slightly as to leave ample room for the present article. The mechanical and social economy of a large bookbinding establishment at the present day are of much interest; and we have been favoured by Messrs. Westleys and Clark with the requisite facilities for presenting the details which will now occupy our attention. Anyone who knows London intimately is aware that many of our large factories are so hemmed in on all sides by houses as to be scarcely visible externally. Such is the case with the building now under our notice. It is a large pile, built expressly for its present purpose, and presenting much the appearance of a cotton-factory; yet we can scarcely catch a glimpse of it till nearly close to its walls. To say that it is situated in ‘Shoemaker Row’ will not perhaps convey a very precise idea of its locality to the mass of readers’ and we must therefore be content with saying that is has Ludgate Hill a little on the north, Doctors’ Commons a little on the east, and Apothecaries’ Hall a little on the west. The building is six stories or floors in height, and has an extensive range of windows from north to south, with an entrance in the middle. Into this entrance we will suppose the reader to accompany us. Each floor of the building is in general appropriated to one class of operations, under the superintendence of a foreman, who is responsible for that department. A winding quadrangular staircase extends up the centre of the building from bottom to top, with landing-places, at which are several doors leading to the workshops. The basement story consists of many rooms occupied as warehouses, or for processes wherein heavy machines are employed. Thus, one room is the ‘boards warehouse,’ where the mill-board, purchased 106
from the stationer in sheets of various sizes and thickness, is deposited in classified recesses till wanted. Another is the ‘cloth warehouse,’ where the cotton-cloth, now so extensively used for covering books, is kept and cut to sizes. Near this is the ‘embossing warehouse,’ filled with pieces of leather or cloth which have received some of those ornamental devices to be described hereafter. One room, which we will call the ‘cloth-cylinder room,’ contains two machines for imparting to cloth the diamond or granulated or speckled appearance usually presented by books in rectangular interlacings of the warp and weft threads. The ‘embossing shops,’ on the same range, contain three powerful machines for giving to the flat covers of books those beautiful devices which now so often distinguish them: if the book be a Bible, we have an emblematical device of a religious character; if it be a ‘Shakespeare,’ we have something pertaining to the great dramatist; if it be a lady’s album or portfolio, or letter-case or blotting-book, we have a device of a graceful and ornamental character. This is an approach towards what may perhaps be termed a ‘principle’ in bookbinding, that the subject of a book may be known from its cover; a principle which seems to have much to recommend it. On ascending to the ground-floor, or that which is nearly on a level with the street, the hum of voices tells us that a numerous body of work people of both sexes are here employed. In the countinghouse of the principals is one of those simple but valuable expedients for saving time, now so much employed in large factories; we mean a series of ‘speaking tubes.’ Tubes pass from this room to the counting-houses or offices of all the foremen above and below stairs, and with these are associated a range of bell-wires; a bell is the first rung, which draws the attention of the foreman to his end of the tube; and a message being then whispered or spoken through the tube, hears it readily, and gives the necessary reply. All the tubes are inscribed with the names of the departments to which they belong. 107
The main portion of this floor is occupied by the ‘boarding-shop,’ a technical name for the shop wherein all the operations are conducted for the binding books in cloth boards, the most prevalent style at the present day. In one part of this room females are engaged in folding the sheets, gathering them into groups, sewing them into the form of a book, etc., while in other parts are men pursuing the subsequent operations of gluing, pasting, cutting, hammering, pressing, etc., by which the book is brought to a finished state. This is a very busy scene, and one presenting much variety, from the distinct nature of the processes carried on. In many branches of manufacture it is found convenient to locate the workmen according to the kind of labour required; but in bookbinding on a large scale it is found desirable to classify with respect rather to the style in which the book is to be bound, than to the nature of each individual process. Hence nearly all the work people required for binding an extensive order of books in boards are here congregated on one floor. The folding-tables for the folders, the sewing frames for the sewers and the various benches and presses for the workmen, are the scenes of many remarkable and ingenious processes, or which we shall speak more hereafter. The next range (which, if we reckon the basement as the commencement, must be called the third) exhibits another example of the classification just alluded to. This is called the ‘roan-shop,’ or the ‘sheep-shop,’ in allusion to the preparation of those books which are covered with roan, or sheep-leather. Most readers are perhaps aware that books bound in ‘sheep’ are less expensive than those bound in ‘calf;’ the leather itself is less costly, and the general style of workmanship less elegant. Hence workmen who are accustomed to one sort of binding are generally employed upon that kind; and hence the preparation of roan-bound books in a workshop different both from that above described and from that devoted to more elegant work. This range is however, not strictly confined to roan-bound books, since ‘school-books,’ 108
whether bound in cloth or in leather, are prepared here. The large room exhibits nearly similar features to that below stairs; females, in one department are forwarding the earlier operations; and men, in another department are finishing the volumes. Our frontispiece represents the appearance of this room. Another room on the same range, known in the factory as the ‘Pinnock’ room, affords us a curious insight into the amount of sale which popular works sometimes command. This room is appropriated mainly to the sewing and covering of the little ninepenny books called ‘Pinnock’s Catechisms.’ Of them small productions the sale is so large and so uninterrupted, that the processes of sewing and covering them proceed continuously. The numbers sold must be enormous; and indeed a glance through the operations of this range of the factory shows that such school-books as are so fortunate as to obtain a ‘name’ command an extent of sale scarcely equalled by any other kind of literary productions, with the exception of Bibles and Prayers. ‘Goldsmith’s England,’ ‘Mangnall’s Questions,’ ‘Carpenter’s Spelling,’ and other school-books, were piled in such heaps and groups in various stages of preparation as to indicate pretty clearly to us the extent of the demand. What improvements these books may have received from time to time as literary productions, or may be susceptible of receiving hereafter, is no part of the present subject; but exteriorly they have marched with the march of the times, and have yielded to the bookbinding reforms of ‘embossedroan’ and ‘cloth-lettered.’ The fourth range of the factory is occupied by the ‘extra’ workmen; that is, the who are employed on the finer kinds of binding, such as Bibles and Prayers, gilt-edged books generally, and books exhibiting all the costly and elaborate varieties of ‘Russia,’ ‘Mo-rocco,’ and ‘Calf’ binding. One shop, called the ‘extra-forwarding shop,’ is occupied by the folders, pressers, sewers, &c., while the ‘extrafinishing shop’ sufficiently explains itself. 109
In the two upper floors of the factory are numerous rooms more or less subsidiary to those below stairs. One or two are ‘blockingshops,’ for lettering and ornamenting the covers of books; another is occupied by the men who make cloth-cases for books; in another, the edges of books are gilt. One is the ‘leather-warehouse,’ where all the various kinds of leather are kept, as procured from the leather-dresser, and cut to the required sizes. Another is the ‘Annual’ shop. in which the Annuals are bound at the particular period of the year when they are wanted. One of the rooms is termed the ‘Caoutchouc-shop,’ as being devoted principally to those workmen who produce the caoutchouc or Indian-rubber binding; and there are a few others, which are used, or not, according as the amount of business fluctuates at different seasons. Among several indications of a well-arranged factory, we noticed one which is always pleasing wherever observed. Many of the superintendents and work people appear to have been old standards, to have grown old with the growth of the factory, and to have shared with the proprietors the progress and fluctuation to which all manufactures are subject. This is a feature which we have more than once had occasion to notice in reference to large factories, and is one of considerable importance to the well-being of both the employers and the employed. Having thus glanced at what we may term the factory-economy of the establishment, let us next endeavour to follow the routine of processes, so far as to give the reader some idea of how a book is built up after it leaves the hands of the printer. We shall for this purpose classify the various operations in three groups, according as they relate— 1st, to making-up a book; 2nd, to covering a book; and 3rd, to decorating a book. A bookbinder would probably object to this mode of classification; but we think it will meet the wants of the reader better than a more technical mode of arrangement.
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1st. Making-up a book. It must be obvious to all who reflect that a book is printed in large sheets that these sheets must be separately folded and then connected together, before they can assume the form of a book. If we open, without cutting, a number of the ‘Penny Magazine,’ or of ‘Chambers’s Edinburgh Journal,’ we see that the eight printed pages are so arranged, as to follow in proper order when the sheet is folded in a certain manner; and if, as in the ‘Mirror,’ or ‘Chambers’s Information for the People’ there are sixteen pages in a number, the arrangement of these pages appears singularly confused when the opened sheet is inspected; but here, as in the former case, the pages are arranged solely with reference to the order of sequence when folded. Each sheet has at the bottom of the first page a letter, figure, or other symbol, called a ‘signature,’ intended to assist in arranging sheets properly in the volume. The printer sends the sheets to the binder (we are speaking of bookbinding on a large scale) in large heaps or groups, arranged in one of two forms; either many copies of one sheet, or ten or twelve successive sheets of one volume, form the group; in the latter case the heap is called a gathering, or quire; but we will suppose the former to be the case, as it will enable us to speak of the gatherers. The heap of sheets passes to the hands of the folders, who are, we believe, almost invariably females. Each folder sits before a flat table or bench, on which she spreads out the sheets in succession. In her right hand she holds a small ivory or bone folding-knife, with which she flattens the folding, of the sheet. Every successive sheet of the group is folded in precisely the same way as that which preceded it, so that no particular skill is required an adapting the various sheets one to another; but the folding is nevertheless a process requiring much accuracy, especially in the finer kinds of binding, as the sheet is folded so as to make the topl and bottom lines of the print range, without reference to the edge of the paper. The sheet is placed with the signature towards the left band of the folder, on the tinder surface; and the foldings are more or less 111
numerous according as the book is folio, quarto, octavo, 12mo.. 16mo., 18mo., 24mo., 32o., &c., terms, which relate to the number of printed pages in one sheet. Supposing a group of signature A to be thus folded, another of signature B, and others, to the extent required for the volume, these will have to be ‘gathered’ into volumes at the next process. This gathering is simply breaking up the groups hitherto existing, and re-arranging the same sheets in the order necessary for the volume. Instead, for instance, of having twenty copies of one sheet, such as that with the signature A, one of A is taken, their one of B, then one of C, and so on, until there are as many groups as volumes, and each group containing the sheets for one volume. This ‘gathering’ is in most cases done by the printer before the sheets pass into the hands of the bookbinder. The ‘collater ‘ now takes the group of sheets in hand and examines them to see that they occur in proper order, that no duplicates occur, that no sheet is wanting, that the folding is correct, &c. This is a process in which much expertness is shown. The group is bent at one corner, and the sheets allowed to spring back successively, leaving to the eye just sufficient time to catch the signature at the bottom of the first page of each. If these signatures occur regularly, according to the letters A, B, C. &c.. or the figures 1. 2, 3. &c., or any prescribed combination of both, Then the arrangement is correct ; if not, any error is immediately adjusted. Then the book of loose sheets has been thus made up. The sheets are either at once sewed, or are previously beaten or pressed, according as the work is to be in ‘boards’ or ‘bound.’ It is well known that a bound book is more dense and compact than one in boards, and this difference is mainly due to the process immediately preceding the sewing. Until recent times the sheets were separated into small groups, called ‘ sections’ or ’beatings,’ 112
and beaten with a heavy hammer till greatly compressed; but modern invention has marked out a much more effective mode of proceeding. The rolling-press is a machine in which two rollers, worked by band, are made to rotate nearly in contact; a man places a small number of folded sheets between two tin plates, and passes them between the rollers, on the other side of which they are received by a boy, who places the pressed sheets in heaps, and returns the tin-plates to the man. Independent of the saving of time and of muscular exertion, the rolling-press is found to be more efficacious than the hammer in producing less ‘set-off’, or transference of ink from one page to another. The sheets are placed for a abort time in a standing-press, and are then again collated, to see that no disarrangement has occurred; any plates, too, which may be interspersed among the text, are now inserted. The sewer now sews the sheets to strings or bands at the back; but if the strings are to be rendered invisible, a sow-mark is made for the reception of each. The group of sheets is fixed tightly in a press, with the back edges uppermost, and a few shallow cuts are made with a saw, at right angles with the length of the book. A sewing-press consists of a flat bed or board. from which rise two end-bars, connected at the top by a crowbar. Three or more strings, according to the site of the book, are fastened by loops to the cross-bar. and are tightened down by a simple contrivance at the lower end. The sewer, seated somewhat obliquely in front of this machine, with her left arm passing round the left vertical bar (as seen in the annexed cut), proceeds to sew the various sheets to the bands, her left hand being behind the strings, and her right hand before. Each successive sheet is laid flat on the bed of the sewingpress, with the back edge in contact with the strings, then opened in the middle, and fastened to the strings by passing a threaded 113
needle backwards and forwards through the central fold of the sheet; each thread, after passing from the in-side to the out, being made to loop or twist round one of the strings before entering the sheet again. As soon as one sheet is fastened to all the strings, another is laid down on it, and fastened in a similar manner. A curious kind of stitch, called a ‘kettle-stitch’ is made near the top and bottom of the book, as a means of allowing the thread to pass on from one sheet to another. Nonprofessional readers I may be sorely puzzled to know what ‘kettle-stitch’ means; but we can only say that it is supposed by some to be a corruption of a ‘catch‘ or ’ketch’ stitch, while others refer it to ‘chain’ stitch. Those who would attempt to trace the etymology of technical terms and phrases would soon find themselves in a sea of mystery both wide and deep. The operation of sewing is conducted with great rapidity. since a female can sew two or three thousand sheets a day. Many modifications of the process occur, according to the size of the book and the style of binding. Thus, the number of strings may be only three, or may amount to eight or ten; or instead of strings, strips of vellum or of parchment are sometimes used. In some cases the needle passes through eight thicknesses of paper, in others six, in others four, in others two; according to the size of the sheet, the number of pages in it, and the mode in which the pages are arranged. It is a fortunate circumstance, considering the very limited number of employments for females in this country, that there are several departments of bookbinding within the scope of their ability. The greater part of that which has hitherto engaged our attention is intrusted to females; and in a large bookbinding establishment employment is thus afforded to a considerable number. This firm, for instance, in a busy season, give employment to about 200 females, whose weekly earnings average from 10 to 18 shillings; and where a supervision, at once kind and judicious, is observed by the principals, an honourable subsistence is thus afforded for those who might have no other resources to fly to. 114
While speaking of making-up a book, we must remark that caoutchouc or India-rubber binding requires no sewing. The sheet is cut into separate leaves, and these leaves are retained solely by a cement of caoutchouc applied to their hinder edges. The leaves are allowed to assume a round contour at the back-edge by placing them in a kind of mould or gauge shaped for the purpose; they are then rasped, to give a alight roughness for retaining the caoutchouc afterwards applied. A flexibility is produced by this kind of binding, greater than can be presented by a sewed book; while at the same time the caoutchouc cement is so retentive as to bind every single leaf firmly. This new mode of binding was introduced a few years ago, and is valuable for many kinds of volumes. 2nd. Covering a book. We have now made up the sheets into the form of a book, and have connected them together. Whether the volume is in elegant ‘calf-extra,’ or ‘ Russia-extra,’ or whether it is a roan-bound school-book, or a ‘boarded’ book, the sheets are brought together in some such mode as we have attempted to describe above. Here then we shall commence the second of the three sections into which we have thought it proper to classify the operations. The ‘cover’ of a book, in bookbinders’ phraseology, is the piece of leather or of cloth which envelopes the millboard; but the reader of a book, when he speaks of its cover, gives the term a much more extensive application. We must therefore at once explain that the leather or cloth is called the cover, the stiffening substance within is the board, and both taken collectively the case. When the book is taken from the sewing-press, an inch or two of each string is left hanging to it; these are afterwards either scraped so thin as to be but little conspicuous, or are employed for fastening the book to its case. The back of the book—that is, the assembled back-edges of all the sheets—is glued, to increase the bond by which they are held together. When the book has gone through one or two other minor processes, that one succeeds which is perhaps 115
as remarkable as anything displayed in bookbinding; rounding the back and hollowing the front. Most persons can understand the production of a square back and edge to a book; but the graceful convexity of the one and concavity of the other, in most books bound in the modern style, arc as curious in the mode of production as they are pleasing in appearance. In the process of ‘backing’ by which this effect is produced, the book is laid on a bench, held or pressed by the left hand of the workman, and hammered near the back edge, with such a peculiar movement of the left hand as causes the back to become rounded while the hammering proceeds. The effect is so instantaneous that a looker-on scarcely knows how or when it is produced. The state of the back is such as to enable the sheets to yield to the rounding action of the hammer, being coated with glue not yet dried, and the subsequent drying of the glue retains the sheets permanently in the position which they thus acquire. It may perhaps have occurred to many a reader, that, as the board of a book is frequently of considerable thickness, it is likely to project beyond the back and to form a stiff and inconvenient binge. This is prevented by a very simple contrivance, adopted at the time when the book is ‘backed’. It is placed between two pieces of plank called backing-boards, the hinder edges of which are placed precisely where the two hinges of the book are to come. The book with the boards thus placed, is then squeezed tightly in a press, with the back edge uppermost; and the back being thus again hammered in a round form, a portion of edge projects over the boards, so as to form a kind of groove into which the millboard may afterwards conveniently be adjusted. The reader will bear in mind that the edges of the book are all this time rough and uneven; but the time has now come when these edges must be brought to the level and smooth surface which adds so much to the beauty of a book. There are a few minor processes 116
carried on about this time; but the plan of our article requires that we should notice only those of most prominent importance. In former times the edges were cut in a most clumsy and rude manner by means of shears, one blade being fixed to a bench, and the other being moved by the right bled of the workman, while his left hand held the book, and thus the leaves were cut a few at a time. The cutting of the edges was partly effected by this method, and partly by drawing the edge of a sharp knife along the leaves, guided by the edge of a board. The ‘ cutting-press’ of the present day is however a much more effective arrangement. The book, after being properly adjusted between two boards, is screwed in a press, with one of the ends projecting a little above the level of the bench. The ends of all the leaves arc then cut off while in this position, by means of an instrument called a ‘plough’, the cutting edge of which, in its mode of action, is midway between that of a pointed knife and a plane-iron. The edges are all cut to a perfect level; and the book being reversed, the other end is similarly treated. But by far the must remarkable part of the process is that by which the concave front edge is brought to such a regular curve. Most persons who have thought of the matter at all may have conceived that this concavity is produced by scooping out a portion with a gouge; and indeed the circumstance of the concavity of the front edge being just the same in degree as the convexity of the back has given rise to many sage conjecture, wholly wide of the truth. The glue with which the back of the book had previously been coated is so far softened as to suffer the bands and the back edges of the sheets to yield to pressure; and this is followed by an operation which makes a stranger fear that the round of the back is destroyed for ever. The workman takes the book in his hands, front edge uppermost, and strikes the back forcibly against the bench; thus transforming the round back into a square back. Then, using some contrivances to keep the sheets in this position, he fixes the book in the cutting-press. and cuts the front edge in precisely the same 117
way as the top and bottom; thus making all the edges perfectly square, and all the leaves perfectly equal in size. The most remarkable part of the operation then succeeds; for immediately on removing the temporary, fastenings from the book, the whole of the leaves spring back to their former position, that is, convex at the back edge; and the slightest consideration of the nature of curvature will make it manifest that, as all the leaves are made perfectly equal in the cutting-press, a convexity at one edge must be accompanied by an equal concavity at the other, hence is produced the hollow or ‘gutter’ of the front edge. In this, as in other parts of bookbinding, the process is modified to suit different circumstances. Books in boards are either not cut at all at the edges, or are only partially cut; while bound books are carefully cut at top, bottom, and front edges. We next turn our attention to the boards, which are permanently attached to the book in different stages of its progress towards completion, according to the nature of the binding. Millboard, the stiff substance of which the sides of books are formed, is a thick paste-board composed of many parallel layers, glued or pasted together, and pressed in a mill to make them dense and smooth. The sheets are of various sizes and thicknesses, according to the size of book for which they are required; and the bookbinder sometimes glues two together, to produce a board of double thickness. From the large sheets the smaller pieces are cut to form the sides of the books. In the first place, a pattern-piece, or size-pattern, is prepared, having the exact size and form of the boards to be rut. The cutting-machine is then adjusted to these dimensions, by causing an edged instrument, analogous to a scissor-blade, to work at a certain distance from a groove or raised ledge, against which the edge of the board is placed. The actual cutting is effected on the same principle as by a pair of shears; but the arrangement of the machine enables the pieces to be cut with perfect accuracy, 118
both as to size and to rectangular form. The boards are cut by the same machine, whatever may be the department of the factory. where they are to he used; but the period of adjusting them to the book depends on circumstances which we may now explain. If a book is put into cloth boards, or is bound in cloth, the cloth cover is attached to the boards before the latter are attached to the book; but if the book is bound or ‘half-bound’ in leather, the boards are first attached to the book by means of the strings, and the leather cover is pasted on afterwards. In the one instance the cloth is cut from the rolls to the required size in the cloth-warehouse, and handed over to the cloth-case maker; in the other, the leather is cut from the skins in the leather warehouse, and consigned either to the binders or to the embossers. A boarded book is attached to its covers almost entirely by the boards being pasted to the blank leaves, or end-papers, placed by the binder at the beginning and end of the book. The cloth case is first prepared by pasting the cloth upon the boards, placed sufficiently wide apart to allow for the thickness of the book; and the case, thus made, is attached to the book by the back of the book being covered with stout linen and afterwards fastened to the ease; the end-papers are then glued to the boards. In a bound book, however, the process is different, and more carefully conducted. The boards being adjusted to the proper sizes, the back of the book rounded, the edges cut, holes made through the boards opposite to the strings, and the strings of the proper length, the boards are fastened to the book by passing the ends of the strings through the holes and pasting them down. The ‘hollowness’ in the backs of some books depends on a rause independent of the fastening of the hands or strings. If we open a ’hollow-backed ‘ book, we shall see that the leather or cloth cover springs away from the back edge of the sheets; whereas other books appear to hate the leather firmly attached thereto. This difference arises simply from the interposition of a doubled layer of paper or cloth between the leather and the 119
back of the sheets: this layer helps to strengthen the book, and, at the same time, admits of the back being made close or hollow, according as the two layers of paper are or are not made to adhere together. If we suppose a hollow cylinder of paper to be pressed flat, and one side pasted to the back edge of the sheets, while the leather cover is pasted to the other side, we shall have some idea of the nature of a ‘hollow back.’ When a book, attached to its boards by means of the bands, is ready to receive the leather covering, the leather is cut to the icquired size, allowing about half an inch all round for paring and turning in. The edge is pared or cut away obliquely with a keen knife, to prevent the unseemly projection which would otherwise result. If it is to receive any of those decorations which add so much to the external beauty of a book, the imprinting of the devices is done partly before and partly after the leather is attached to the book, as we shall explain further on. But the mode of pasting the cover on the book is the same in both cases. The leather is laid smooth with the face downwards, and the back surface well coated with paste. The workman then takes the book in his hands, lays the back evenly in the middle of the leather, and draws and smooths and works the latter until it adheres closely to the back and boards of the book. This is a process of very great nicety; for not only must the more obvious parts of the surface be closely covered, but the overlapping edges, the turning-in, the corners, &c., must all be finished with great exactness, or the book will be at once spoiled. It is one of those operations, so frequent in manufactures, wherein success depends on a nicety of manipulation, as incapable of being described as of being imitated without long practice. There is one little appendage which we may notice here, the head-band. Everyone is familiar with the fact that his Bible has a little band or edging of silk at the top edge, where the paper joins the covers. This head-band is partly fur service and partly for 120
appearance; it helps to sustain the leather at the back of the book at the same level as the boards; and it gives a neat finish where slight imperfections might be otherwise visible. The better kinds of head-bands are formed of little strips of vellum or pasteboard, with coloured silk twisted over and around them in the process of fixing them to the book; while the commoner kinds consist of a cord inverted in a doubled piece of coloured silk or cotton-cloth. We may here mention the ‘raised bands’ which are sometimes used for ornament in the better kinds of books; they consist of little strips of leather or cord pasted across the back of the book before it is covered, and afterwards stamped and gilt so as to contribute to the beauty of the volume. 3rd. Decorating a Book. We have glanced through the more prominent operations by which the book is made to assume its compact, convenient, and durable form; omitting mention of many slighter manipulations which would neither suit our limits nor be intelligible to general readers. There is, however, a wide difference between a book thus prepared and as given in a finished state from the hands of the bookbinder. The edges of the leaves are cut; but they are white, neither coloured nor gilt: the boards are covered with cloth or with leather; but neither cloth nor leather is embossed or stamped, or gilt or lettered. As these adornments are subsithary to the formation of the book itself, we have thought it better to group them by themselves, whether they are done before or after the cover is laid on the book. First, then, for the edges. The majority of cut-edged books are treated in one of two ways, sprinkled or gilt; the first being the must general method for bound books; and the second for Bibles, Prayer-books, Annuals, and the higher class of bound books. The sprinkling is a singular process, and one which differs greatly from the idea which many may have formed of the matter. The edges of the majority of bound books present a speckled appearance, arising from a 121
coloured liquid or paint being laid irregularly over them; and the peculiarity consists in the mode of producing the small spots. The colour is laid on not with a brush. as in painting, but by the following contrivance: a set of books, to be sprinkled of one colour are arranged side by side on a bench, in a recess shielded from other parts of the factory. A colour is mixed up, of umber, Venetian red, or any other cheap pigment, with water and paste or size; into this the workman dips a large brush, and then strikes the handle or root of the brush against a stick held in the other hand at a height of two or three feet above the books: the action is so governed as to cause a shower of spots to fall on the edges of the books; which spots are not so thickly congregated as to cover the whole surface, and are yet such as to have an equable appearance when finished. The mode of handling the brush is obviously the point on which the success of the process hinges. Some books have the edges marbled, instead of sprinkled; this is done in a manner similar to that observed in making marbled-paper, and is the work of a separate class of men. The operation of gilding the edges of books is one which illustrates in a striking manner the dense and compact form into which the leaves of a book are brought by pressing and binding. The edge of a well-bound Bible presents a fine, smooth, glossy, and brilliant surface, so equable and uniform as to render the distinct leaves almost invisible; yet these leaves ran be parted as easily as if their edges were not gilt, and each edge presents its fine and delicatelymarked line of gold. Were not the leaves premed together as compactly as a mass of wood, this effect could not be produced. There is in the process of gilding edges, as well as that of cutting them, a necessity that the front and back of the book should be brought perfectly square before the operation. The leaf-gold could not he bent into the curvature of the ‘gutter’ if this were not temporarily made fiat: the book is therefore brought to the required form (while the ease or cover is yet in an unfinished state) 122
held tightly in a press, and the edges scraped smooth with a straight-edged piece of steel, to remove all asperities left by the cutting-plough. The edge is then coated with a liquid composition of led chalk and water; and, while this is setting or partially drying, the gilding-tools are being prepared. The leaf-gold is blown out from the book in which it is sold by the goldbeater, upon a cushion covered with leather, where it is placed out smooth by the aid of a knife. Each leaf is then cut up into two or more pieces, according to the size and thickness of the book whose edge is to be gilt. On the work-bench is a cup containing white of egg beaten up with water, a little of which is laid, by means of a camel-hair pencil, on the still damp surface of chalk and water. The gold is then taken up, piece after piece, by a flat camel-hair brush, and laid on the book-edge. This is done to all the three edges in succession; the book being turned round in the press to bring the successive edges uppermost. After the lapse of a very few minutes the gold has become sufficiently dry and set for polishing, a process which would seem calculated rather to rub off every atom of gold than to polish it. The workman holds in his two hands a long-handled burnisher, at the lower end of which is fixed a very smooth straight-edged piece of hard stone; this he places on the gilt surface and with his left elbow resting on the workbench, and handle of the burnisher resting on his right shoulder, be rubs the gold with great force at right angles to the direction of the leaves. No gold is rubbed off, but the whole is brought to a high degree of polish; the compactness of the leaves being such as to allow no chalk-colour or egg or gold to penetrate between them. If the burnisher here worked in the direction of the leaves, the polish would not be so high. The boards of the book are during these processes turned back as far as possible: and when the gilding is completed, paper is wrapped round the gilt edges, to prevent the gold from being soiled In the subsequent finishing of the book. The covers of books are decorated in a greater variety of ways 123
than the edges. Raven-bound school-books are sometimes ‘marbled’ outside; a process which bears some resemblance to the sprinkling of the edges. A liquid composition of copperas, potash, water, and any common colouring substance, such as umber, is made. The books are opened, and hung over two bars, so that the boards may be nearly horizontal, and the leaves hang vertically downwards. The liquid colour is then dashed on somewhat in the way before explained, so as to cover the back and sides of the book; the spots or splashes being larger or smaller, according to the mode in which the brush is handled. A mode of improving the appearances of Morocco leather for the covers of books is not a little striking. Whoever compares the appearance of a piece of Morocco in a slipper or a chair-cover with that presented by a well-bound book will perceive that the former has a series of irregular lines or grooves; whereas the latter has a regular granulated appearance. In our notice of the Leather Manufacture, in the supplement for May, we explained how the wrinkled appearance of Morocco leather is produced; and have now to describe the simple contrivance whereby it is removed. The leather is first wetted and laid on a bench. The workman fastens to the palm of his right hand, by means of a strap passing over the hand, a large flat piece of cork. Then, doubling one portion of the leather over another, so as to bring two surfaces into contact, he gently rubs the upper fold of leather to and fro with the piece of cork; varying the extent and position of the doubling, and the direction of rubbing, so as to let every part of the surface be rubbed against some other part. T he effect is very marked; for not only are all the wrinkles removed, but they are replaced by a kind of granulated surface, consisting of a uniform series of minute raised spots. When the leather has been allowed to dry, it retains this texture permanently, and is then applied to the cowering of books. 124
The cotton-cloth with which so large a number of new books are now covered has an ornamental character given to it in three different ways, either before or after it is applied to the boards of the book. One of these is the imprinting, all over the cloth, of a small and uniform pattern calculated to hide the barrenness and stiff uniformity of the threads in the cloth. If the reader has an opportunity of inspecting the backs of many cloth-bound books, he will see that there are a great variety of patterns thus given to the cloth. The process is as follows:— In the basement story of the factory which has been engaging our attention, are two machines for preparing the cloths, each of which consists of two cylinders rotating in contact by means of the usual machinery. The cylinders are engraved with the device which is to be impressed on the cloth, and there are therefore as many pairs of cylinders as there are devices; each pair being fixed to the machine as wanted. By a very ingenious contrivance, a row of small jets of gas is carried through the interior of the lower cylinder, by which it becomes heated through-out. Every kind of stamping or embossing in leather or cloth is more effectively performed when aided by heat, and it is to afford this heat that the gas-jets are employed. The second machine, on the same prin-ciple, is to impress particular designs of which a large quantity may be required. The piece of cotton-cloth, many yards in length, is inserted between the cylinders by its extreme end, and is then, by the action of the machine, drawn regularly between them, receiving its impress as it passes. The embossing-presses act on a different principle. The device is in this case engraved on a flat thick plate of steel or gun-metal, which is stamped down upon the leather or cloth. We have mentioned three embossing-presses as being situated in the basement of the factory. These are of immense power; indeed one of them exerts is pressure of no less than eighty tons. The mode of using is simply thus :— The cover or the case for a book is laid flat on a tablet or bed heated with gas from beneath, or else on a counter-die similar to that by which it is to be impressed. The engraved plate (which 125
is in ‘intaglio’ like a seal, but not so deep) is fixed to the press with its face downwards, and by manual labour, exerted on very powerful levers, it is brought down upon the cover with such force as to impart its device to the leather or cloth, the device being of course raised, or in base-relief, like a ‘cameo.’ There are some instances in which the embossing is done to the leather or cloth before and in others after the cover is pasted to the boards; but the action of the machines and the nature of the device are the same in either care. The large embossing-press with its horizontal wheel, its enormous screw, and the ingenious arrangement for heating the lower bed, is perhaps the most note-worthy machine in the factory. When we compare a cloth-bound book, or the cheap embossed-roan Bibles now so much used, with an elegant morocco or russia-bound book, we see that the ornamental devices are raised above the common surface in the former case, and levelled below it in the latter. Hence a very different system of working is required. The name of blocking is given to the operation whereby the depressed device is given. This is either effected by a number of punches and other small tools used by hand, or by means of a small blocking-press. In the ‘extra-finishing shop, a name given to the shop where the higher class of books receive their ornamental devices, are several tripods or standing frames, which act as gas-stoves. A jet of gas is so placed as to heat a central compartment, into or against which the tools are placed, whether for lettering or ornamenting. whereby the blocking, or rather tooling, is effected. Sometimes the depressed device is not coated with gold, in which case it is called blind-tooling; in others, gold is laid on the book, and then stamped down with the heated tool. The workman has a vast number of tools, such as rounds, squares, points, scrolls, dia-monds, lines, letters, &c., the combination of which, according to the taste which he is enabled to display, produces a pattern. The book is laid on a bench, with its back or sides uppermost, according to the part under 126
operation, and the workman presses the heated tools down on the level surface, leaving a device which is at once depressed and polished. In large or elaborate devices he has a paper pattern for his guidance. When the device is to be a gilt one, the leather requires certain preparatory processes to fit it to retain the gold. It is first coated with size, then two or three times with white of egg, and lastly slightly touched with a piece of oiled cotton at the time the gold is laid on. The gold is laid on in slips of greater or lesser size according to the pattern; and the heated tools are immediately impressed on it, whereby the gold is made to adhere permanently to the leather. The louse or superfluous gold is then wiped off with a rag, which rag, we may remark, becomes an article of no small value in the course of time. All that we have here said of ornamental devices applies equally to the lettering of a book. Where, however, it may be done conveniently, the punches or small devices, instead of being fixed in handles and used singly, are fixed, by means of glue and cloth, to a metallic plate, and thus impressed on the book at one blow by a press. This is then called blocking. In the ‘blocking-shop’ are drawers and boxes filled with various small devices in brass, which the workman combines according to his taste, and fixes to a flat block or plate. The plate is attached to the upper head of a press, heated by means of gas within; and the case of the book being introduced beneath, the block is let down on it, and imprints the device, whether it be gilt or blind.Where a fillet, or line, or running sprig forms part of the ornament on the back, sides, or edge of a book, it is frequently done by a wheel or ‘roll’ in the manner here represented. The edge or periphery of the wheel has the device in relief, and this, being wheeled along carefully over the surface of the book, leaves a corresponding depression. 127
Such are the principal modes by which a book is decorated. We have been able merely to give a type or general representation of each and must necessarily pass over minuter shades of operation. The costly pass in velvet and silk, the gold and silver clasps of expensive Bibles, and all the niceties which the connoisseur in bookbinding regards with such an admiring eye, we must pass over in silence. It remains only for us to acknowledge the courtesy of Messrs. Westleys and Clark, which has enabled us to give this brief sketch; and we cannot conclude without again bearing testimony to the excellent moral effects that the manner in which their establishment is conducted produces upon the persons of both sexes who are in their employ.
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Eric Wilder
Listen While You Work
podcasts for the book cover designer Interview with the host of the The Catapult podcast and five other recommendations
The creative process often requires focus, pressing the need to plug in a set of earbuds and tune out the rest of the world. There are many podcasts that can serve as more than mere background noise and actually inspire book cover designers. Of these shows, topics range from tricks-of-the-trade to the content that those designers are packaging: literature. The Catapult is a podcast that focuses on the latter. The Catapult is produced and hosted by Managing Editor of Google Play Books, Jaime Green. Here she answers a few questions about the show. what is the catapult? The Catapult is a fortnightly podcast that features writers reading their work in poetry, fiction, and nonfiction. It’s basically like a reading series, except instead of happening at a specific time or place, it’s something you can listen to whenever you can.
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how did the catapult come into being? Three things came together at once: I had just finished grad school, in writing, and was figuring out what I wanted to do and how I wanted to live my life as a writer; I missed some aspects of my previous work in theatre, the feeling of making something and bringing it into the world for an audience; and I loved podcasts. Of course, it seems like writing itself is the very essence of ‘making something and bringing it into the world for an audience’ but, at least the way I do it, it’s much more mediated—I wrote, sometimes workshopped a piece in class or among trusted friends, and then submitted my work to literary magazines. And then I waited. I was creating work, but I wasn’t in control of it getting out into the world. I didn’t want to self-publish, but I still had that itch. When I’d worked in theatre, I did some very small producing—finding something great and doing what I had to do (including assembling a team of collaborators) to get it in front of an audience so they could see how great it was, too. With The Catapult, it’s just me, no team, but I get to do the same thing: This writer is great; here, listen. what does the catapult accomplish for its listeners? My hope has always been that it would give people who don’t live in a big city or a college town—people who don’t have access to live readings—the chance to hear writers reading their work. I think it’s a great thing—a way to discover new writers and to connect, in a new way, with writers you already like. who were some of the more interesting guests on the show? I loved getting to feature Sarah Ruhl, who’s primarily a playwright— and one of my favorites—reading some of her essays on episode 38. (Also on that episode is Robin Beth Schaer, who reads amazing poems about nature and sailing.) I’ve loved getting to have some beautiful, artful science writing on the show—Ben Lillie read an essay on episode 17, Jynne Dilling Martin read poetry on episode 26, and on episode 53, Anthony Michael Morena read from a book about the Voyager probe’s Golden Record. I love creative writing about science, and I was really excited to get to share that. 130
of all your podcast episodes so far, which one are you most proud of, and why? Ooh, that’s a really hard question! Episodes 21 and 22 are readings from the first live show I put on, featuring past guests reading new work—that’s where I got to literally bring the live reading experience to the podcast, and it was also a really fun night, at Housing Works Bookstore Cafe. where can listeners subscribe to the catapult? Anywhere you listen to podcasts! Also listen at Catapultpodcast.com.
Here are five other podcast, in no particular order, worth considering while you work on your next cover. Design Life ‘Design Life is a podcast about design and side projects for motivated creators’. Hosted by Charli Marie and Femke Vs. www.designlife.fm Through Process ‘Through Process is a podcast about how we become designers’. Hosted and produced by Joshua Namdev Hardisty and Mitch Goldstein. www.throughprocess.com Vintage Books UK ‘The Vintage Podcast is a monthly books podcast (…) with author interviews, book news and discussions on a range of subjects’. Hosted by Alex Clark. www.penguin.co.uk/vintage Clever ‘Clever is a podcast about design. Well, actually, it’s about designers, too’. Hosted by Jaime Derringer and Amy Devers. www.cleverpodcast.com Inside The New York Times Book Review ‘Each week the editor of the Book Review, talks to authors, editors and critics about new books, the literary scene and current best sellers’. Hosted by Pamela Paul. www.nytmes.com/books 131
“Books that are needlessly wide, needlessly large and needlessly heavy” —Ten Common Mistakes, The Form of the Book Book,
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Emma J. Hardy
Form of the Book review
As is the case with most books I buy, I picked this one up off the shelf because I liked the cover. It’s a deceptively simple design, but the hierarchy has been set up to attract you to the most important words, and the uncoated paper stock means that as soon as you’ve touched it you want to keep a hold of it. When I opened the book up, I was pleased to find cover flaps which held a list of ‘ten common mistakes made when designing a book’. Published by Occassional Papers, The Form of the Book Book is a series of essays about, you guessed it, the form books take. Eight chapters manage to span an encouragingly varied number of topics. The first essay tackles the modernity of La Corbusier’s editorial production, and takes us through many of the interesting cases associated with Le Corbusier. Other notable essays include the fourth chapter on the beauty of Swiss books and the fifth which discusses ways of seeing books. Overall an interesting read, and one which I would recommend. 133
Contributors Eric Wilder Eric is a regular contributor to Spine magazine, so far in his interviews he has unearthed fascinating design processes and given us invaluable insight to the varying ways book cover designers are working.
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Nuria Rodríguez Nuria is a designer, letterpress printer and Graphics tutor at City of Glasgow College in Glasgow. She’s also currently studying for a MRes in Publishing at Stirling University.
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Danny Arter Danny graduated with a degree in English and American Literature in 2010. He is currently The Bookseller’s creative editor, and writes a weekly feature on book design and production.
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Kerry Squires Kerry graduated from Falmouth University in 2012. She is now working as a non-fiction book cover designer at Macmillan Higher Education, where she happily resides (and drink lots of coffee).
If you would like to contribute to the next issue of Spine please send an email proposal to: hello@spinemagazine.co.uk 134
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