For People Who Cannot Read the Pictures
35. Philip Smith, Hamlet. |
By a rather circuitous route I ended up buying a small book (70 pp.) called British Bookbinding Today (1975); in fact a bookseller's catalogue, although not obvious from the title. I guessed it would contain contemporary ‘fine binding(s)’ from the mid-1970s. My expectations weren't particularly high, I was merely hoping for some nice bookbinding images.
The copy of the catalogue I acquired is, itself, a half-leather rebind, probably by an amateur bookbinder; it was accompanied by some interesting ephemera. The publisher is K. D. DUVAL, the Scottish booksellers Kulgin D. Duval and Colin H. Hamilton. In the catalogue Introduction Edgar Mansfield states ‘the sole importance of this catalogue lies in the reproductions’, adding that ‘the words are for people who cannot read the pictures’. Given that I ended up finding most interest in the text, this is somewhat ironic.
Duval and Hamilton are a subject in their own right. Although not bookbinders themselves, they
were deeply interested in the craft; not (surprisingly) a particularly common trait amongst booksellers. British Bookbinding
Today is the result of one of their early—perhaps earliest—forays
into bookbinding commissioning. The catalogue offered for sale thirty-nine individual bindings by twenty-three bookbinders, all ‘specially commissioned’ and (with the exception of Mansfield's bindings) executed ‘during the past two years’ (1973–1975). Aside from being a
veritable who's who of twentieth century bookbinders, the catalogue also contains written contributions by most of the
bookbinders involved, which struck me as quite unusual. Duval and Hamilton would go on to become significant patrons of major
British bookbinders.
The approach of individual bookbinders—that is, their overarching, fundamental (not technical) approach—is infrequently encountered in the literature. Single author works on bookbinding are, of course, plentiful, and these do occasionally give you a sense of how that particular author thinks and approaches their work; but any insights are usually buried away. Bookbinding publications are mostly technical manuals, not manifestos.
Taking the bookbinders in this catalogue as representative of professional bookbinders as a whole, those engaged in the craft—ignoring
the purely self-taught—seem to have arrived at their vocation from
either: 1) technical colleges or polytechnics, 2) art/design (‘arts & crafts’) schools, or 3) the
trade. Edgar Mansfield, in his Introduction, describes Ivor Robinson as ‘virtually unique in the present day British bookbinding scene’ as he ‘served, as few of his contemporaries have, an apprenticeship in a miscellaneous bindery’.
The majority who would be described as
(or describe themselves as) ‘designer-bookbinders’ appear to belong to the former two groups.
For British Bookbinding Today some of the bookbinders chose to discuss the specific binding they had completed—possibly the original request—but many, instead, took the opportunity to talk more generally about bookbinding and bookbinding design; statements range from a few lines to several paragraphs. It reads like a hidden dialogue, a back-and-forth discussion between them. I'm sure Duval and Hamilton were aware of this when preparing the text. Perhaps behind the careful words there is real ideological disagreement, I don't know. Either way, it's interesting to read how different bookbinders approach their work.
The design should give full consideration to the contents of the book while being structurally sound and aesthetically pleasing both in a visual and a tactile way.
Other bookbinders in the catalogue (not quoted) include: James R. Brockman, Jeff Clements, Arthur Currie, Edward Gray, Elizabeth Greenhill, Denise Lubett, Gemma O'Connor, Faith Shannon, Philip Smith, and E. P. Womersley.
Many of them seemed at pains to make the point that structure and functionality should take priority over other features, like decoration. Which makes me think that they observed this not to be the case in some designer bindings; or they may have been referring, more generally, to trade binding. The criticism of design and art (in bookbinding)—considering the publication—is, somewhat curiously, barely concealed.
Taking all of this out of the realm of designer bookbinding and into trade binding, it's clear that some of these arguments, criticisms, and concerns are applicable to book production today, too. To pick on HARPERCOLLINS and Tolkien publishing in particular, you don't have to look very far to see dysfunctional binding structures or design being prioritised over function; or books with neither design (subjective) or function (objective). And that's not to make any comment on the separate topic of printing, particularly the quality of printing.
Returning to the catalogue: the ephemera that I mentioned earlier includes a contemporary price-list. As can be seen the 1975 prices are not insignificant.
The Philip Smith binding (no. 35) is, as one might
have guessed, the most expensive. You could have bought a house in the UK for £7500
in the 1970s. Perhaps as wished for, a single buyer—THE LILLY LIBRARY, INDIANA
UNIVERSITY (Bloomington, Indiana)—purchased the bindings ‘as a collection’; they also re-issued the catalogue in 1976, although I haven't seen this. The original December 1975 K. D. DUVAL catalogue was printed at Martino Mardersteig's STAMPERIA VALDONEGA, Verona. Of this connection much more,
also, could be said.
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