Carolina de Bartolo’s new book “Explorations in Typography” has a similar effect, albeit via entirely different means.

“Explorations in Typography” is arranged as a series of twenty-four chapters — the “explorations”. Using a short excerpt from Erik Spiekermann’s classic text, “Stop Stealing Sheep and Find Out How Type Works”, as a mantra, the book guides the reader through a kind of typographical meditation.

In 24 explorations spanning 188 pages, the Spiekermann text is repeatedly typeset, using a variety of techniques to indicate paragraphs and hierarchy. Each exploration shows several examples of a different method of indicating paragraphs in text (and a few later chapters explore different alignments and hierarchies). A new pair of typefaces is used for each example. A colophon and additional side notes about the typesetting and the history of the typefaces are included with each setting.

The explorations are thorough, covering typesetting techniques from the most basic (using indents, for example) to the unusual (using varying directions of text to indicate paragraphs). Typeface choices also range from classic to cheerfully odd. Throughout, the typesetting and page design remain austere and exemplary. As the author explains, the book is meant to further typographical education through an “extended visual taxonomy”, and the broad palette of techniques and typefaces is true to that spirit.

The book is primarily a teaching device, which de Bartolo created “specifically for more advanced typographic study”. She is serious about the book’s potential as a textbook, including advice for both teachers and students on how best to use the book. The depth to which the explorations go is beyond the interest of the non-designer and probably most neophyte designers. This is a book for people who care deeply about text design and typesetting — and for those who are required to care about it, in the case of students. For those of us who fit at least one of those descriptions, “Explorations in Typography” is a valuable resource, and a reminder of the extensive possibilities of digital typesetting. It’s also pleasing, and motivating, to page through the book and study the evolving settings of the text.

The book itself is a lovely thing. At 9.25″ × 12″, it’s large enough to house a letter-size page of typography plus annotations in the margins. The volume is casebound with thin boards and a sewn binding, so it’s sturdy but lightweight. The page design is clean and spare, with a transparent modular grid that provides a flexible canvas for the multitude of typographical settings. The text of the authorial voice is designed to guide the reader through the myriad design samples within. It’s a squeaky-clean, high-contrast treatment that presents a cool yet quirky sophistication.

My one complaint about “Explorations in Typography” is in its free-wheeling use of typefaces. No less than 171 different typefaces are used in the book — at least two for every setting. The type pairings are often interesting, but too often they distract from the typography itself. This is, after all, a book about fine typesetting, not a font catalog. I appreciate that the author included an appendix with a page of advice about choosing typefaces and a complete list of fonts used. But I often wondered whether the book would be improved by simplifying the type. To go to the opposite extreme, what if the exercises were all set in the same serif text face, with one sans face chosen for the headlines? Or choose five or six pairings. In either case, the particular typefaces chosen would be less important than the restraint itself — a book such as this, which seeks to show a variety of typographical tools through demonstration, would be well served by a solid, unchanging typeface selection. The typesetting would then be seen clearly as typesetting, free of the distractions provided by a new pair of fonts on every page. Additionally, the fonts, nearly all of which are drawn from the FontShop catalog, are mostly of the modern, late-20th-Century variety, a choice that will give the book a dated appearance in short order. Exercising some restraint on typeface usage would not only serve the book’s purpose, it would serve its continuing relevance.

The book’s companion website is as well designed as the book, in form as well as function. The site provides information and examples from the book, and includes a terrific and easy to use interactive page that allows the casual user to try out some typographical explorations of her own.

“Explorations in Typography” is a well-conceived, well-designed book that fulfills its goal. It is a unique and valuable catalyst of typographical contemplation. In addition, it’s a solid teaching tool, and a worthy addition to the libraries of design studios, type enthusiasts, and design instructors.

Patrick Barber is a graphic designer, photographer, style maven, and community food activist living in Portland, Oregon.

Regardless of his dichotomous views and styles, Tschichold’s work showcases attention to detail and an emphasis on communication that has proven to be lasting. Because of his strong ideological stances Tschichold is one of the most defining voices in 20th century typography.

“Jan Tschichold: Master Typographer: His Life, Work & Legacy”, takes on a daunting task. To characterize Tshcichold’s varied career, designs, and life requires the unification of extremes. As a result, the book is forced to take the long view. But it does so in a way that allows for some scrutiny of details. The collection of essays focuses on Tschichold’s early training, modernist writings, modern poster designs, classic designs at Penguin, and the rethinking of his Sabon into Sabon Next. The focus on specific facets of Tschichold’s career yields some interesting insights.

Unfortunately, the multiple author format also produces some redundancies. Almost all of the essays begins with an explanation of Tschichold’s upbringing, and mentions his need to flee Germany under Nazi regime. While important to any Tschichold history, reading the same details gets tiresome. Furthermore, Tschichold condeming all serifed type is mentioned at least three times in the book. While not surprising — its a striking quote — it showcases the drawbacks of multi-essay compilations like this one.

Regardless of these shortcomings “Master Typographer” works. Doubleday’s essay on Tschichold’s work for Penguin, during which Tschichold designed today’s Penguin logo and unified their cover designs, introducing the iconic Penguin Paperbacks, is particularly interesting. Possibly because of Penguin Paperbacks recent resurgence in popularity, but more likely because of the intimate details of the essay. Original notes, sketches, and a detailed chronology give stunning insight into the remaking of the Penguin Paperback. A discussion on Tschichold and poster design succeeds on the same fronts. A detailed chronology of Tschichold’s poster designs brings us hidden gems of modern poster design. Sadly, the broad analysis of the posters leaves something to be desired. By highlighting these two essays I don’t mean to discount the others in “Master Typographer”. With the exception of the section on Sabon Next, which is mainly a feast for the eyes, each section is an insightful examination of Tschichold’s character and works.

For all of the successes of “Master Typographer”, I think it’s fair to note that it would be difficult to write a book on Tschichold that wasn’t at least a bit compelling. Tschichold was an opinionated man who led an amazing life. At one point changing his name to Iwan as a sign of support for the Russian Revolution; writing and exploring with the likes of Moholy-Nagy, El Lissitsky, and Renner; fleeing Nazi Germany; and taking part in Post-War reestablishment of printing in England. Tschichold’s life is amazing.

I see this volume as an enticing introduction to Tschichold, and a insightful companion to the Tschichold follower. Tschichold remains a largely unrecognized figure in modern design outside of type circles. I’m hopeful that compilations like “Master Typographer” work to strengthen his legacy.

Lastly, the designers of Master Typographer, Corine Teuben and Cees W. de Jong, deserve praise. The layout and composition in Master Typographer are top-notch.

Chris Hamamoto is a visual designer in San Francisco. He co-designed Typographica.org.

Judith started to search for blackletter typefaces that are available in digital form. She soon discovered hundreds upon hundreds, lots of them being true creations of the digital age which haven’t been featured in a type book before. Hence, Judith compiled her own collection. The outcome was published by Hermann Schmidt Mainz in 2006. Now, a second, revised and enlarged edition is available.

The book’s design is exceptional: a massive black block from the outside, about 8 × 5 × 2 inch, more than 700 pages thick, with titles, edges and endpapers all colored in a loud pink! This “porn bible style”, as it was referred to, certainly is not to everyone’s taste. In an interview for Fontblog, Judith admits she herself was a bit shocked about her fetish book. “I was surprised how intense it turned out. Someone told me: ‘What you’re doing, that’s type sex’. He had a point.” Her chutzpah earned her a number of awards, including the TDC Award for Typographic Excellence.

The layout and the typography is more conventional: the accompanying texts are set very well in FF Profile. There’s an introduction with a brief history of the genre, some thoughts on its difficult image and its role today, plus a few descriptive words at the beginning of each chapter: Rotunda & Bastarda, Textura, Schwabacher, Fraktur, Decoratives & Initials, Modern, Contemporary, Display. All those texts are bilingual. The English translation was provided mainly by Jay Rutherford, a Canadian expat who is professor for typography at the Bauhaus-Universität in Weimar.

With as many as 333 featured typefaces — 64 of them newly added — it was a good idea to attach a triple index: by typeface name, designer, and foundry. The range is wide. Fraktur Mon Amour has the classics like Wittenberger, Goudy Text, Rudolf Koch’s Wilhelm-Klingspor-Gotisch; along with more contemporary faces like Lucida Blackletter, Letterror’s FF Brokenscript or San Marco by Karlgeorg Hoefer; as well as fresh additions including Blaktur, Fakir, and Darka. Several fonts debut exclusively in Fraktur Mon Amour, or, like Tim Ahrens’ Herb, haven’t officially been released yet.

The “Modern” chapter contains a number of entries that I wouldn’t classify as strictly blackletter: Eckmann, Fanfare, Banco. However, I think the inclusion of those “greyletter” designs is reasonable: the boundaries are not that sharp, especially when it comes to written forms. Large parts of “Contemporary” and “Display” aren’t worth a long look; dozens of grungy free fonts and PoMo exercises in deconstruction that I am honestly not that interested in. Then again, some intriguing insights into unexplored terrain: blackletter pixel fonts and textura FontStructions — modular renderings of medieval forms, not dusty reactionary but rather cutting-edge hipness. Two ribbon page markers help navigating the tome.

Each typeface is presented on a double page. The recto shows the character set; upper- and lowercase alphabet, umlauts, alternates and ligatures (if present), a few special characters including punctuation, and figures. In some cases, there’s an accompanying style; a bolder weight, a swash variant, or even an oblique. That secondary style is not shown in full, only a handful exemplary glyphs are included. Below, there are three lines of continuous text set in a smaller size, with the wording carefully adjusted from page to page, in order to integrate each typeface’s special features, like ligatures or matching Lombardic caps. The point size always is stated: the character set is shown at a size of 30 to 40pt, while the text settings vary from 9 to 14 pt. All in all, the specimens are pretty useful.

The verso is the playground. It is filled with a kaleidoscopic pattern made from repeating letters of the respective font. While that may look nice, those pink-and-black arabesques don’t make much for me. After having looked at the first twenty or thirty of those ornamental textures, the typographer in me wished that space had been used for something less contemplative and more useful: background information that goes beyond the minimum data — designer, foundry and year of release — like a list of significant usages, or specifications regarding the language support. On the other hand, I can understand that this rather pictorial half of the book, together with the unconventional color, helped to address a wider — and different — audience. Introducing novices to the beauty of blackletter and tempting them to take a closer look is not the worst goal to strive for, I guess.

The appendix, in turn, is very informative. Friedrich Forssman, author of Detailtypografie, explains all the ſpecial rules that need to be considered when typesetting blackletter text. Also, a few books are listed that invite further reading.

The book comes with a CD, packed with 150 fonts — often “free for personal use, not to be used commercially”. A great deal stems from Petra Heidorn’s, Manfred Klein’s, and Dieter Steffmann’s large collections — digitizations both of well-known classics and obscure display gems, of mixed quality. That doesn’t mean they’re all trash. Most of them can’t compete with the commercial offerings of professional foundries, and I won’t recommend using these fonts for an elaborate blackletter project. Still, it’s nice to see this digital addendum. Having access to these fonts helped me to quickly explain the differences of Schwabacher and Fraktur to my students. And the CD holds some really nice surprises in store, too: Georg Seifert’s attempt at a modernized-yet-unromanized Fraktur, RosenRot, and its monolinear companion Rostrot — to name but one example.

Blackletter is alive, and it ain’t a zombie. Fraktur Mon Amour is both a document and a promoter of this resurrection.

There is too much separation from the display to the printed page for a designer to see how the curves, the straights, and the joins truly interact. The best way to review and analyze the utility of a typeface is through viewing the samples in print. Nothing can replace this.

To this end, “FontBook” is a type reference worth much more than its weight in gold. And it weighs a lot! (More than six-and-a-half pounds, in fact.)

Some might say, “but it’s a book and it can’t be updated.” True. Containing font releases up to 2006, “FontBook” is best used in conjunction with FontShop.com and other online vendors for a more current view of what’s available. But the book offers insight not found online, such as the “see also” cross-references, and offset printed samples complete enough to really give a good idea of what you’ll get when you go to press.

This comprehensive reference is curated, organized, and printed with loving and tender care — a vital tool for keeping things original and fresh for each client and project.

Tiffany Wardle de Sousa is a typographer living and working in San Jose, California. She earned her MA in the Theory and History of Typography at Reading. Active in the type community, Tiffany has written for several design publications and serves as a SOTA board member and Typophile moderator.

Zapf then goes on to describe the typical height at which he drew letters, the difference between drawing for a punchcutter and a scanner, and a desire to show his own hand in his typefaces. While it’s odd not to mention the author in the introduction to a retrospective of his work, Zapf’s comments encompass the sensibility of Young’s book. An ode to intense scrutiny, “Curves” demonstrates Young’s dedication to type, nuance, and the human hand in design.

“Curves” is a collection of logotypes and typefaces designed by Young. Each piece is presented from preliminary sketch to finished product, showcasing the process as much as the finished design. Young describes the context in which the design was developed, and the motivations that drive decisions to completion — ranging from a client’s desire for “something bolder still,” to thorough discussion of the limitations of a Bodoni. Young’s work, while almost purely typographic and rarely pictorial, is amazing in breadth. From casual scripts to serifless romans Young’s designs present the immense variation possible with logotypes and type design.

While not a workbook (although it claims to be on the dust jacket), “Curves” offers practical advice and suggestions on how to improve technique. Useful for young designers, Young references the typefaces he uses and reveals the faces’ historical usage and associations. Young discusses the characteristics of a typeface or logo in refreshingly tangible terms, offering criticisms mostly free from vague emotional terms that so often accompany descriptions of design.

“Curves” can feel self-serving at times, and the organization is less than ideal. Arranged alphabetically rather than by subject-matter, or date, the reader is left wishing for the context of time period and stylistic categorization for ease of comparison. The best way to approach reading “Curves”: expect to bask in its pages rather than follow a narrative arc.

This book excels when Young discusses the revision process. Offering insight into the shortcomings of an initial design and the decisions made before delivering a final design. Young’s straightforward writing guides the reader through the process. Also liberating is Young’s willingness to critique and alter established typefaces if the project demanded. In the age of digital typography designers often accept the characters provided for them as inmalliable. Possibly the result of never drawing a typeface or the percevied barrier a mouse creates between the hand and work on screen, it’s rare that designers take such care and liberty to modify type. A good lesson can be learned from Young regarding appropriateness and appropriation.

Chris Hamamoto is a visual designer for FontShop in San Francisco. He also co-designed Typographica.

Book Design as a Process
Anyone with an interest in books, including bibliophiles and graphic designers, will welcome the chance to get acquainted with some of Jost Hochuli’s ideas in the paperback version of Designing books: practice and theory. There are other economical volumes on book design, of course — The Thames and Hudson Manual of Typography comes to mind. Designing books sets itself apart with its manifest intention of combining thinking and doing. It is also distinguished by a concise yet thorough treatment of the subject matter, its refined design, and an emphasis on a non-dogmatic approach.

Hochuli, for example, invokes Immanuel Kant and his motto of enlightenment: “Have courage to use your own understanding!”. Kinross echoes this thought in his introduction, where he writes that “each individual book requires fresh thought and an open mind”. Hochuli also argues that a book is something that has a function, and that typography should be placed in the service of the reader: “…the motto that ‘typography serves’ holds good for almost every book, where it serves with special modesty. Modest, not uncaring: even the simplest typography can be decent, appropriate, yes even beautiful”.

The book opens with a first-rate example of Hochuli’s rigorous approach: in “Book design as a school of thought”, he discusses the symmetry inherent in the form of the book, the distinction between function and functionalism in book typography, and the perils of forcing ideologies upon design systems. The second, more practical section consists of short texts about designing various types of books. A generous selection of covers and interiors (most of them from European and American publishers) accompanies these texts. The third part, written for the Hyphen Press edition, shows 27 examples of Hochuli’s own work, presented in chronological order and with brief comments by Kinross.

Hochuli’s design for this volume is seemingly traditional, yet he has provided ample white space in the layout and used simple black and red diagrams to illustrate his points, making for an uncluttered book which is easy on the eyes. It is truly pleasurable to read, and one more example of the principles outlined in its pages. Yes, the reproductions have been considerably reduced, but with good reason: to make their page structure visible. Designing books is concerned with layout, or macrotypography — Hochuli already addressed issues of microtypography in Detail in typography. Perhaps Hyphen would consider publishing a new English edition of that hard-to-find work? It would make a fine companion piece to this lucid volume.

Connecting Typography to Everyday Life
In contrast to Designing books, the new edition of Modern typography: an essay in critical history, by Robin Kinross, has several differences with the earlier one (published in 1992). As Joshua Lurie-Terell noted here last year, the most noticeable change is its smaller size, combined with a tighter layout (by Françoise Berserik). The previously black-and-white photographs near the back of the book have been replaced with newly-made color images. And there are changes to the text. In some cases, the changes are small, reflecting recent research. But the closing chapter has been rewritten and expanded, putting into perspective the last few years of typographic development in the Western world.

The main theme of the essay remains the same: the ongoing rationalization of typography. The author has taken Jürgen Habermas’s idea of “modernity as a continuing project” and applied it to the field of typography. (In 1980, the German philosopher compared the goals of modernity to those of the Enlightenment: to use science, morality and art “for the enrichment of everyday life”.) As for his approach, Kinross makes clear that Modern typography is “an attempt to criticize the existing model for the [history of typography] genre”. It is a book with an emphasis on ideas — “the thought that accompanies making” is just as important as technology and production. It is also a book informed by other books, and the author likens this to “one voice in dialogue with many others”. This is part of what makes his account a marvel to read.

So, what constitutes modernity, typographically speaking? For Kinross, it is “the discussion, description and ordering of practice, rather than mere practice and mere products”. For example, the book doesn’t start in the 1450s, with Gutenberg — the author makes the case that while printing was fundamental to the development of the modern world, “recognizably modern attitudes in typography only began to emerge some 250 years after its introduction”. Kinross proposes that printing and typography are two different things, the former developing into the latter around 1700, with the appearance of the first printing manuals and the division of labor within print shops. With this sharing of knowledge about itself, printing begins to move away from being a mysterious “black art” — a process that continues even now.

The author traces the history of this “rational approach” chronologically, limiting his scope to the Western world and to typography that employs the Latin alphabet. Kinross is always an engaging writer, and his broad interests are evident in the way that he relates other disciplines to the practice of typography. To keep things brief, he has had to condense his material. However, condensation does not mean oversimplification. One of the author’s goals is to suggest “new directions for typographic history”, and he goes into great detail about people, events and ideas barely mentioned (if at all) in other histories.

Kinross presents his material in a way that makes you want to find out more. For the curious reader, he provides an entire chapter in which he discusses his sources, plus a bibliography, an index, and a postscript on how and why the items in the photo section were selected and reproduced. These things may seem like trifles, but they indicate a seriousness of purpose, and they make the book into more than just the essay its author intended — it is a compact, useful reference work. Many of the subjects presented here could be the starting point for further studies. (I am aware of at least one current research project that touches upon similar subject matter, although it was not inspired by this book.)

Respect for the Reader
These books are well worth getting hold of — Hochuli’s is an exemplary manual which contains some clear-headed thinking about the practice of book design. Kinross’s presents a history of typography that is rich in ideas and precise, pithy arguments. Both authors speak of “respect for the reader” when designing or typesetting a book, but their own respect begins at an earlier stage: in their writing, which is never hasty or sloppy. According to Hans Peter Willberg, “A good typographer gets involved in the subject matter of the work he is designing, and particularly if it concerns ‘his’ subject — letters.” Let it be said, then, that Hochuli and Kinross get involved with their subject matter, whether they are writing, designing, or publishing. We are lucky to have these challenging, stimulating works available.

See also: New(ish) & Notable Books : Crewdson’s “New Series” : Type Spaces — How Aldus Measured Text

Right from its start in 1973, U&lc rocked the socks off graphic designers and type lovers across America and the world. Unlike many other design publications, it could not be bought at newsstands yet it cost nothing to subscribe to this quarterly magazine. I have not found any estimates of circulation during the earlier years, but at its peak approximately 200,000 copies were distributed worldwide.

The estimated pass along rate for U&lc was five to one, provided, of course, you could even pry a copy away from its owner. That’s what made each issue so special, not everyone had or could get a copy, making the subscriber “special” as well.

U&lc: influencing design and typography is a recently published book that chronicles the acclaimed magazine from its birth in 1973 through the last issue printed in 1999. John D. Berry, U&lc editor for the last two years of printed issues and creator of its companion web publication, U&lc Online, takes us back to the inception and raison d’être for the magazine.

From the beginning, ITC (International Typeface Corporation) founders Herb Lubalin, Aaron Burns and Ed Rondthaler, needed to promote ITC typefaces, and this new vehicle was to “soft market” the faces with a mix of flamboyant designs and intriguing content. It would have been a lofty goal anywhere else in the world. But this was New York City, the very center of advertising graphics and typography, and all of the ITC owners were very well known in this close-knit world of design giants.

With Herb as designer and editor, plus additional content by friends like Lou Dorfsman, Ernie Smith, Seymour Chwast, to name a few, the first issue was launched in basic black ink printed on tabloid sized newsprint. All of these alchemic ingredients blended with astounding results. As U&lc began arriving in mailboxes every three months, inspired readers grew into savvy in-the-know designers and more importantly, specifiers of ITC typefaces.

So began, the nearly one-hundred quarterly issues that changed typography and the business of selling type forever. The book itself displays all the U&lc covers in mini-gallery fashion on front and back foldout endpapers, and nearly 150 pages contain page spreads from selected issues of the magazine.

For those who have never seen an actual copy of U&lc, the page reproductions are quite good and even retain the yellow brown patina of aged newsprint, except shrunk down from the original tabloid size to fit the book’s 9 1/4 × 12 7/8 inch dull coated offset sheets.

The only shortfall that I feel about this book is that definitive spreads from each volume should have been distributed more evenly. The first ten years of U&lc only occupies thirty-four pages, and for some unknown reason Vol. 20, Nos. 1–4 span across eighteen pages of the book.

Which brings up what many faithful readers consider the most shocking of all U&lc issues — Vol. 25, No. 1, the infamous break from tradition. Berry describes in wonderful detail the events leading up to the 25th-anniverary issue. Just before he arrived as the new editor, the decision had been made to reduce the issues down from the large tabloid format to a more conventional 8 × 11 inch page size … the pre-shock to the earthquake.

He then goes on to explain how he and Mark van Bronkhorst, designer, had “hatched a subversive idea: to radically change the logo of U&lc.” In his article, Berry admits that nothing during his tenure as editor “created as much of a stir as changing the logo.”

In addition to Berry’s article on The business of type, there are stories by Joyce Rutter Kaye, Rhonda Rubinstein and Steven Heller, three veterans of U&lc, each bringing behind-the-scene views and insights into what made the magazine remarkable.

Towards the back of the book are two lists; one cataloging the contents of each issue, and the other listing editors and designers of each issue. Outside of a mysterious omission of Vol. 3, No. 1 on both lists (the issue did exist), I did discover something that was a disappointment to me.

I have for ages felt especially proud be an owner of U&lc Vol. One, No. One, intact with my personal mailing address and dated 1974. Whoops! Wait a minute … the reproduction from the book reads, “Volume One, Number One, 1973.” Both my copy and the book’s repro of Vo. 1, No. 2 are dated 1974, which means at some point between the FIRST printing of the FIRST issue of U&lc in 1973 and the printing of issue No. 2, there had to be another print run of issue No. 1, more than likely for an additional mailing.

What a bummer! I guess I just have to be happy that I still own a tall stack of yellowing issues representing the first ten years of the phenomenon known as U&lc. If you don’t happen to own any back issues, the U&lc: influencing design and typography book from Mark Batty Publisher is as close as it gets. Just be aware that your graphic designer friends will want to borrow the book, it’s all part of the U&lc pass-along readership legacy.

Written for “anyone who regularly and enthusiastically commits acts of visual communication”, as well as to accompany her own courses in typography at Maryland Institute College of Art, designer, author and curator Ellen Lupton’s new handbook, Thinking with Type: A Critical Guide for Designers, Writers, Editors, & Students, provides not only the how but also the why of basic typesetting practices for both print and screen, grounding this practical knowledge in a historical and theoretical context. Much care has gone into the creation of this third title in the Design Briefs series from Princeton Architectural Press, bringing the instruction of typography into the twenty-first century.

The book is organized into three main sections — Letter, Text and Grid —, each of which starts with a well-researched, thought-provoking essay. The article on Letter furnishes a brief overview of major trends in typeface design, from the fifteenth century to the present. The second essay articulates the evolution of text from linear page to non-linear screen. The third piece presents the different ways in which grids have been used to organize typographic matter.

Each essay is followed by an amply-illustrated how-to section and exercises. And like any good educator, Lupton doesn’t just tell you typographic dos and don’ts, she shows you, with examples that are smart and humorous. The different typographic choices available to today’s computer-enabled designer are displayed, along with reasons for picking one over the other.

An Appendix offers a crash course in editing and proofreading, as practiced today, and some excellent free advice to boot.

The book is beautifully designed and finely illustrated. Carefully chosen graphics of historic and contemporary works inform the text, and vice-versa. Every surface has been used to communicate some aspect of type, and Lupton’s wit is evident throughout. Even the title page, a tightly rendered sketch that echoes the cover layout, seems to imply that thinking, or designing, with type is best done on paper, before one sits at the computer. Color is used subtly, not only to differentiate page content and sections, but also to demarcate examples and reproductions. Relevant quotations are judiciously placed throughout the text — Lupton practices what she preaches, providing the reader with plenty of points of entry and exit on each page.

It’s hard to find something not to like about this volume. I suppose that some readers, wanting more, will find Thinking with Type too brief! It is meant to be a basic text. Nevertheless, the author covers a lot of ground in just 176 small (7 in. × 8.5 in.) pages. For those whose interest is piqued, there is an impressive bibliography at the end. Lupton has also created a companion website that includes much of the practical instruction from the book and adds a special section for educators. (The essays and examples of designers’ work are not on the website, but some additional didactic material not found in the book is included).

This is a rewarding and recommendable guide, all the more so because of Lupton’s gifts as an educator and critic. Her expositional style is sophisticated yet approachable, and her analyses refuse to take anything for granted. By taking apart even the oldest of typographic conventions, Lupton casts them in a new light, bridging the gap between type’s long-standing traditions and its newest, most up-to-date practices.