September 23, 2016
Yes, I seriously read a typographic style manual, but believe me, it was worth it. Not only is this a detailed, informative, and surpassingly witty survey of typography, but it's simply a beautiful book to hold and to read. It's a bit like taking an introductory lesson from a friendly architecture professor, learning about intricacies and critical minutia you had never before considered, and slowly realizing your teacher designed the room, the building, perhaps even the chair you're sitting in, and that the entirety of your surroundings is an expression of the lesson itself. I feel similarly about Tufte's books, except there the classroom is a church, and the professor is a jerk.
I picked this up as a sort of sideways approach to improving my web design (planning on moving on to The Elements of Typographic Style Applied to the Web next). I hope I absorbed a little (because there's a lot to know), but I think the main thing I've learned is a finer appreciation for the discipline. Invisibility is the mark of almost all good design, but good typography is hard to see even when you're looking right at it. Words are hard not to read, but at least now I know to at least try and take a closer look.
Did I mention this book is hilarious? There's this one note on setting ragged text, in which Bringhurst cautions against giving software free reign over "an honest rag." "Unless the measure is excruciatingly narrow," he writes, "you may prefer the greater variations of a hard rag. This means fixed word spaces, no minimum line, no letterspacing, and no hyphenation beyond what is inherent in the text. In a hard rag, hyphenated linebreaks may occur in words like self-consciousness, which are hyphenated anyway, but they cannot occur without manual intervention in words like hyphenation or pseudosophistication, which aren't." The note, of course, is set with a hard rag. I mean, how many ironic involutions can you fit in a paragraph? I guess paragraphs about paragraphs provide extraordinary opportunities.
I'm finding myself increasingly fascinated with (and amused by) expertise in all its forms, and this book is a prime example. Parts of it are akin to reading wine labels that speak of odors and flavors you could never even imagine, let alone recognize in a glass of wine. The specimen section is particularly wine label-like, where Bringhurst analyzes an assortment of notable typefaces. He describes Quadraat as "not pretty; its beauty is deeper and stranger than that" (p. 244). Throw in some talk of ascenders and bicamerality and you've got attributes just as arcane and remarkable as "hay-scented" and "overtones of kumquat."
Some words I learned and will soon forget:
elision (n): an omission, particularly of parts of a word.
helpmeet (n): a helper. (p. 227)
I picked this up as a sort of sideways approach to improving my web design (planning on moving on to The Elements of Typographic Style Applied to the Web next). I hope I absorbed a little (because there's a lot to know), but I think the main thing I've learned is a finer appreciation for the discipline. Invisibility is the mark of almost all good design, but good typography is hard to see even when you're looking right at it. Words are hard not to read, but at least now I know to at least try and take a closer look.
Did I mention this book is hilarious? There's this one note on setting ragged text, in which Bringhurst cautions against giving software free reign over "an honest rag." "Unless the measure is excruciatingly narrow," he writes, "you may prefer the greater variations of a hard rag. This means fixed word spaces, no minimum line, no letterspacing, and no hyphenation beyond what is inherent in the text. In a hard rag, hyphenated linebreaks may occur in words like self-consciousness, which are hyphenated anyway, but they cannot occur without manual intervention in words like hyphenation or pseudosophistication, which aren't." The note, of course, is set with a hard rag. I mean, how many ironic involutions can you fit in a paragraph? I guess paragraphs about paragraphs provide extraordinary opportunities.
I'm finding myself increasingly fascinated with (and amused by) expertise in all its forms, and this book is a prime example. Parts of it are akin to reading wine labels that speak of odors and flavors you could never even imagine, let alone recognize in a glass of wine. The specimen section is particularly wine label-like, where Bringhurst analyzes an assortment of notable typefaces. He describes Quadraat as "not pretty; its beauty is deeper and stranger than that" (p. 244). Throw in some talk of ascenders and bicamerality and you've got attributes just as arcane and remarkable as "hay-scented" and "overtones of kumquat."
Some words I learned and will soon forget:
elision (n): an omission, particularly of parts of a word.
helpmeet (n): a helper. (p. 227)