The Physicality of Books

What do you most like about the book as a physical object?

Interviews · Originals · August 16, 2003

Intro · Likes · Rituals · Necessity
Examples · Memories · Bios

Jeff Topham

To me, a book exists simultaneously as both form and content. In other words, a book is not simply the means used to convey the story, but it is also a physical artifact in its own right. To lavish attention on the form itself (the quality of paper, the choice of font, the method of binding, the choice of cover art) is by implication to treat the story within as worthy of both love and respect.

Lisa Tuttle

What’s not to like? Shape, size, portability, accessibility, smell, texture, leather or cloth bindings, paper pages—all that before you even get to the content!

Gordon Van Gelder

The former CEO at St. Martin’s, Tom McCormack, loved the smell of old books. I was taken aback in a meeting when I brought out a 1950s book from my father’s library and Tom cracked open the book, stuck his nose deep in the binding, and took a big whiff. Not sure what my own favorite part of a book is—probably the physical feel.

Alan Wall

Its self-containment. Its lack of clamour, however extraordinary the contents. Over-designed and flashy books soon irritate. They forget that advertising can make an impact but a short-lived one; a book stays with you till either you or it goes under. Good books fit Pound’s definition of poetry: news that stays news. I pick two up at random from my desk. One is by Borges: Doctor Brodie’s Report. Published by Allen Lane in 1974. Translated by Norman Thomas di Giovanni, in collaboration with the author. A good, sound copy printed on quality paper. The other is Wordsworth’s Prelude. The age-old edition of Selincourt, published by Oxford University Press. This edition is from 1949. It’s a workhorse of a book, designed to withstand the indelicate activities of students. Cost me four pounds. It’s a smallish octavo which fits into the pocket of my cagoule, where it often finds itself. Doesn’t complain. Nothing fancy about it. No airs and graces. It’s a serious book and it knows it. Good books are properly designed for their purpose: reading, which is a solitary activity. Nobody can strut their stuff and read at the same time, thank God. That’s surely part of the immense irritation Hamlet feels at having to talk to Polonius—‘these tedious old fools’—the old fraud interrupts his reading.

Michael Walsh

Texture. I’m a sucker for the material produced by Roy Squires.

Liz Williams

Leather. Gilt. Ancient scents—like smoke and apples and musk. Not applied to the modern paperback, obviously.

Neil Williamson

Obviously the feel: the variety of textures of the paper—from smooth, fine, white paper to rough, yellowy pulp; the embossed lettering on the glossy covers. The smell too, I suppose, fresh and woody and chemical.

Richard Winters

I have always been fascinated by the indivisible nature of the physical book and the language or images that it is conveying. Sometimes the blend is plain and simple, sometimes complex, but to me the book can be as beautiful as any other object made by our species.

Paul Witcover

I can hit the cat with one if I have to. And the stacks they make on the floor and tables of my tiny apartment bring back the childhood joys of building castles with blocks… and knocking them over.

Gene Wolfe

It’s the paper I like most—my favorite component, so to speak. I like good paper, moderately heavy, moderately white, and acid-free. Books can be rebound; but when the paper goes, the book is dust. I have Wheeler’s Familiar Allusions, published in 1882. I love this old book, and would preserve it if I could. The paper breaks almost at a touch.

Zoran Živković

The erotic fact that I can take it with me to the bed.

Copyright © 2003 by Jeff VanderMeer and the respondents.