A Case For Type

The classic typefaces of the past and the best of the fonts designed today are not irrelevant relics to be consigned to the cellar; they're among the greatest prizes of our patrimony. Now electronic books are marching into the bibliographic marketplace with a saucy swagger, but the typefaces they use make them look more like faceless bureaucrats than the next hot new thing.

Like most people (even booklovers), I never gave much thought to the shapes of the letters that conveyed the stories that captured my imagination as a child, or the ideas that stimulated my thinking as I grew. My early poetry influences were the mimeographed books and magazines cranked out by the exciting New York School. So when I left New York City for the University of Iowa in 1970, I earnestly started my own mimeographed poetry magazine, but on a whim, I also signed up for an Intro to Typography class.

At first, I was taken aback by the 19th-century look of the rows of type cabinets and the stern spirit of handcraftsmanship embodied by my teacher, Harry Duncan (a legend in private press circles). I wanted to prepare for my future as a writer, not learn antiquated technologies. But I was given a composing stick, a brief introduction to the “lay of the case” and an uninspiring paragraph to handset and proof. After setting the words, one letter at a time, and learning how to “justify” the lines with hair-spacing, I headed to the proof press without the slightest hint of the electrifying experience to come.

Today, as a literary editor, I look for writing that takes the world apart and puts it back together again so it looks brand-new. The first time I saw a proof of type that I set with my own hands, I felt as if the alphabet had just been reinvented before my eyes. The look of a classic face, thoughtfully set in metal type and pressed onto good European rag or Asian mulberry-bark paper, will always remain a rich, sensual thrill.

Back in the late 15th and early 16th centuries, the people who began what we call the publishing industry, men like Aldus Manutius and William Caxton, became publishers because they believed that if everyone had the opportunity to read the rare manuscripts they were reading, they could genuinely change the world. That belief imbued every aspect of the work of the early publishers and their type designers.

Of course, cookbooks, travel, self-help, humor and other genres were also published during the Renaissance—books have, should and always will represent every aspect of the human experience. But when craftsmen like Nicolas Jensen, Francesco Griffo and Claude Garamond considered the proportions of each letter, the contrast between the thick and thin lines, the shape of the curves, the endings of the serifs, letter-fit and the legibility of the type on a page, their goal was to make every stroke they cut into their steel punches worthy of the best of our literary, religious and scientific heritage.

Technological change is not in itself new; in fact, it's a publishing tradition. Historically, though, previous changes in book technology have increased access. Amazon is touting reduced prices for its Kindle editions, but with the Kindle itself priced at $350 (with another $20 for packing and shipping—I know, I bought one), this may be the first change in book technology that could reduce access. Whatever the outcome of the access issue, e-books are here to stay, granted. But is there no room in the electronic future for Baskerville, Bembo, Caslon, Centaur, Galliard et al.? Must it be one-font-fits-all?

Incorporating better book design and utilizing the best types of the past and present would represent an additional investment for the manufacturers of e-books. But beauty is not a mere frill—humans demand it, and books deserve it. I believe the printed book will surely last, but e-books may well become the sole presenter of some nonfiction and other genres in the future, and the exclusive source of literature for some readers. If so, I hope the technicians accept the responsibility to make their presentations worthy of the best literature of our time and literature that remains timeless, by embracing and adapting typographic traditions that for centuries have made books a pleasure to have and hold, and the printed page a quiet delight to behold.