Fantastic Metropolis

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William Thompson

City of Saints and Madmen for its illustrative content and typeface; Savoy’s reissue of Voyage to Arcturus, particularly notable for its smythe-sewn binding, gilt edge, as well as quality overall.

Jeff Topham

These days, these are few and far between. Big publishers are more interested in profitability than quality, with the subsequent result that books are ever more cheaply made. The significant exception to this appears to be the small presses, which produce books that are either well-made or well-designed, and occasionally both. Mark Danielewski’s House of Leaves is one of the most stunningly designed books of the last few years, but is exceptionally shoddy in its production (I returned the book twice with a cracked spine). At the risk of being seen as a total kiss-ass, I cite City of Saints as a book that is both innovative in design and quite well-made. Tartarus Press pretty much sets the standard for truly beautiful books, although most of these titles are seen only by a small circle of collectors.

Lisa Tuttle

I will sometimes buy a book chiefly because of my pleasure in it as a pretty, tactile thing—although that’s never the only reason for buying it. But if it’s a really attractive hardback, nice typeface, feels good in the hand, etc. I will buy it rather than wait for the paperback. Or the physical attributes may make me buy a particular second-hand book that I wouldn’t look at twice in a different edition—I recall a small, cream-colored, very cuddly volume of Shelley’s letters which I bought at least ten years ago and still haven’t read. I had no particular interest, then or now, in Shelley’s letters, but the book was so cute (and inexpensive) that I couldn’t resist it. I do tend to like small books, attractively designed, and with good paper. One series I’m often drawn to in second-hand shops (and they tend to be really inexpensive, too) is the old “Everyman’s Library” (London: J.M. Dent & Co.)—as they advertised themselves, they published “in two styles of binding, cloth, flat back, colored top, and leather, round corners, gilt top.” Both are nice. I have more of the former, but the latter are undoubtedly more sensuous and desirable objects. I’m sorry, those aren’t “recent” examples, just the sort of thing I especially like.

Gordon Van Gelder

The hardcover of A Gentle Madness by Nicholas Basbanes (Holt) is my favorite recent book from a trade publisher.

Alan Wall

Anvil have been doing some nice editions of Rilke, with translations by Michael Hamburger. They’re reasonably-priced, printed on decent papers and with typefaces sensitively leaded so that the words have space to breathe. This is important in poetry and is often forgotten by publishers. Books like this impress me more and more. They are doing what they are meant to do. Special editions, and there have been a few of my own books, are beginning to strike me as icing on the cake. The money could be better spent improving trade editions. In any case, collectors should never be catered for: they should crawl around dingy bookshops and charity sales, getting their sensibilities dirty.

Liz Williams

Hmmm. It would be too self serving to say “mine”—oh, go on then. I’m very pleased with the Tor UK imprint.

Richard Winters

You know, I haven’t seen anything recently that has really impressed me. Apart from the occasional art book, the major publishers seem to have given up the craft (craft implies custom work, and that’s expensive). I like to look at atlases, medical and scientific texts, where real skill is very apparent. There are of course many beautiful books—I just haven’t happened to encounter them lately.

Paul Witcover

I have to say that I rarely pay much attention to design; I’m just interested in the words. And using them to hit cats and other things.

Gene Wolfe

The best-made book I have ever seen is the Cheap Street boxed Bibliomen. Is it cheating to name a book I wrote?

Zoran Živković

By all means City of Saints and Madmen. It isn’t only an excellently-designed and excellently-made book, but a genuine object of Art. So much, in fact, that I was tempted to read it using gloves. Since that would most certainly make me look rather suspicious to the members of my family, who already have their doubts about my sanity when it comes to books, I found a proper alternative: I washed my hands thoroughly whenever I was about to touch the book… The other book I recently treated almost reverentially was the only advance copy of the Serbian language edition of Stephen Hawking’s The Universe in a Nutshell, sent to me via DHL all the way from Singapore where it was printed…