As a book designer, I am not a visionary per se, probably because tradition and conventions play a vital part in my discipline: to a certain extent, designing books is about interpreting and further developing a handed down concept while at the same time finding a contemporary language and fresh solutions, considering and reacting to the latest technical and social developments as well as the Zeitgeist. The “model” book—with its inherent anatomy, and the cultural technique of reading—create facts which the designer should constantly question but never ignore. In terms of theory and thinking, book typography is perhaps more dialectic than future-orientated. In the design process though, new solutions, experiments and innovation are essential, but in their results often come subtly, rather than boldly and overtly.
Ever since I have been designing books, I have been asking myself the questions: “What makes a good book?” and, “is it possible to set up criteria for the quality of a book?” Later, since I have become involved in teaching, I have often discussed these questions with students who I encourage to look more closely and more critically, to establish a discourse which goes far beyond taste and personal preferences. Also, to motivate them to examine analytically, and to try finding a language and the adequate terms for talking about visual artefacts. And, all this considering the fact, that the book (not only from the designer’s perspective) is a complex and multi-faceted subject.
I find these questions particularly important in the context of a current “graphic mainstream” which, at first sight, looks pleasing and sleek but often is rather superficial and interchangeable, characterized by copying and confirming prevailing trends and which, in large parts, lacks a critical discourse about quality. I am deeply convinced that—with every new project—searching for idiosyncratic and original solutions is as essential as developing and expanding one’s own visual language in the long term: this is indispensable and can only be achieved by a reflected and in-depth approach.
I assume that everyone whose occupation is related to books has a personal, loving and very special relationship to them. For this reason, writing about the criteria and qualities of “what makes a good book” might work best from a personal perspective. So, this is my good book:
It is about a topic I am interested in and want to know everything about. It introduces new aspects (of something perhaps familiar) from an unusual perspective. It is narrated in a captivating voice and is written precisely and in a clear language. I quickly understand there is an idea or an approach to this book which stands out. It deepens into a subject but stays accessible and, in a good way, entertaining. The book reveals a new world and shows aspects I haven’t thought of before. By raising questions, it also leaves things open. These questions engage me while reading, also afterwards. The book is contemporary at the time of its publication but, years later, does not feel outdated. I mention and recommend the book to colleagues and friends and we share thoughts about it.
When I hold it in my hands for the first time, I notice my good book has an appropriate size and proportion, in relation to its contents and message as well as in terms of handling. It is neither too small, nor too big, neither to broad nor to slim. It’s a perfectly shaped object. The paper is of the right weight and shade and the binding and finish show high craftmanship.
When I start reading in it, I see there are different elements and multiple layers of content and meaning, different kinds of texts and images. The structure is complex yet self-explanatory allowing me to navigate through the book without losing the orientation. The existing layers relate cleverly to each other but also work independently and thereby offer me the choice to read in different ways.
Leafing through the pages I can feel a book architecture which renders firmness and consistency from the first to the last page. In the sequence of the pages I can see an exciting dramaturgy: There is contrast and variety but also a pleasant calmness. The overall visual language and tone is self-confident and present but never obtrusive. Rather than just serving the content, it actively seeks a dialogue with it and adds a new layer of meaning. I see there is a strong form will, but also an ability to finely measure that, where necessary. The pages look contemporary but the design clearly reflects the designer´s knowledge of the theory and history of book typography. Looking closer at details, I sense the intention to constantly develop further the design language of the book, taking into consideration changes in technology and culture, resulting in experimenting with handed down concepts and exploring limits.
I effortlessly read longer passages of text: Font size, line lengths and leading are carefully chosen, the typeface beautifully designed and meaningful, enhancing the subject but yet allowing for good readability. I see that typography works as a carrier of meaning but, at the same time, in its own right. From the first to the final page I can see and feel detailing and thoroughness, in concept and realization.
In its entirety of contents, form and materiality, my good book is beautiful. Not necessarily elegant or lavish, but characterized by an appropriateness/rightness thoughtfulness and honesty in relation to the contents, resulting inthe fact that every single decision in the process of its making was made with the greatest care, knowledge and sensitivity.
My good book sits in my bookshelf, together with my other favourite books. Every now and then I take it out and enjoy reading in it and, many years afterwards, realize that I still find it fascinating, beautiful and fresh! I am convinced that these criteria have always applied, and will be valid in the future. And I am convinced and optimistic that there will always be a place for good books, may it be in five, twenty or in seventy-two years!
