mechanical evolution seems to proceed in the same manner. The
earliest railway carriages followed the lines of the stage-coach; the
earliest steamships were schooners and brigantines with funnels and
paddle-boxes; and the earliest motor-car was a horseless-carriage
complete with tail-board. It is not surprising to learn that the
earliest printed books were imitations of manuscripts, but it is
surprising to find a nineteenth-century printer of genius imitating the
imitations.
[Illustration: A page from _Poems By The Way_, written by Morris and
set in the Kelmscott Golden type. This small quarto was the first book
printed at the Press in two colors, black and red. Issued in October,
1891, in an edition of 300 copies on paper and 13 on vellum.]
There is, however, more than one difference between these mechanical
devices and the Kelmscott books. The engineers copied because they
could not think of anything better. Now and then they even made
concessions to beauty, in the form of superadded decorations, much as
Morris did. But there was a marked difference between them, for Morris
knew better. Although to him beauty meant decoration or ornament,
yet in the first edition of _The Roots of the Mountains_ he actually
produced an undecorated book of great distinction. The book is not
only admirable in itself, but it has had a better influence on recent
typography than all the Kelmscott books together. Morris himself was
delighted with the book. He declared it to be "the best-looking book
issued since the seventeenth century," and added: "I am so pleased with
my book, typography, binding, and must I say it, literary matter, that
I am any day to be seen huggling it up, and am become a spectacle to
Gods and men because of it." His enthusiasm rings true, but this was
a passing fancy, for even then he was in hot pursuit of more opulent
beauties.
It was the magnificence of the Kelmscott adventure which impressed and
influenced printers, professional and amateur, and resuscitated the
curious vogue for so-called "Private Press" books artificially rarefied
and deliberately beautified. But, in spite of many extravagances and
some few absurdities, the Kelmscott influence has been beneficial.
Morris reasserted sound principles, and the richness of his books
helped to secure their acceptance. "The road of excess leads to the
palace of wisdom." The style of the books themselves, because of their
massive individuality, must always provoke differences of opinion, but
in the house of books there are many mansions, and room for all tastes,
whims, and even fads.
I prefer my books pocketable, flexible, and legible. In the Kelmscott
books these qualities are not sufficiently balanced. Each is there in
some measure, but something is invariably added to weaken proportion.
William Morris (or worse, Burne-Jones) is always getting between
reader and author. I like my Chaucer neat. Morris produced Chaucer as
Henry Irving and Beerbohm Tree produced Shakespeare. I suspect that
enthusiasts for such productions are not readers. The idea is supported
by the fact that the majority of Kelmscotts are still in mint state; it
is not easy to meet a copy bearing the honourable and endearing scars
of use.
[Illustration: A page from the first book printed in the Kelmscott
Troy type, _The Recuyell of the Histories of Troye_, a large quarto
printed in black and red and published by Bernard Quaritch in 1892.
The edition: Two volumes, 300 copies on paper and 5 on vellum. "As to
the matter of the book," wrote Morris, "it makes a thoroughly amusing
story, instinct with medieval thought and manners."]
Legibility is relative, as I am reminded by my own experience,
for myself when young did eagerly frequent Pickering's _Diamond
Classics_--a practice I should probably have defended with conviction
based upon sight rather than insight. I take a different view today,
not only of miniature types, but of rules and spacings generally.
Morris granted the necessity of legibility. In this he differed from
another poet and amateur of printing, Robert Bridges, who used Gothic
characters for the Daniel Press edition of his poems to induce slow
ingestion. Morris believed that solidity of type and setting made for
easy reading. By solid type he meant "without needless excrescences" or
"the thickening or thinning of the line," which, with reservations, can
be defended. Density of type area is a different matter and, if I admit
charm, I reserve the right to question even aesthetical propriety in
favour of legibility. The solid page is impressive: solidity inspires
confidence, but confidence, as we know, is often illusion and not
always guiltless of trickery. The first edition of _The Roots of the
Mountains_ would probably have been more readable with than without
rules.
But although legibility must always be the first rule of printing,
there are other important principles. Morris summed them up in the
word "beauty" with impressive but dubious results, because of his
predilection for ornamentation. Any plain space for him was an
opportunity for decoration, or, in Ruskin's words, for "the expression
of man's joy in his work." He would go out of his way to make books
bigger than they need be so that he might have more space to fill with
his and Burne-Jones's illustrations. His type-faces became picturesque,
his margins inclined to pomposity, and his paper was pretentious.
The Kelmscott books are overdressed. They ask you to look at them
rather than to read them. You can't get away from their overwhelming
typography, and, even if you could, you might still be cheated of your
author by their high-minded purpose, for in addition to being the
creations of an impressive genius the Kelmscott books were protests
against the logical conclusions of mechanical book-production.
All these things are hindrances to reading, and I still believe that to
be read is the destiny of a book, and that reading is best when you are
least conscious of print or paper or binding. Since the Kelmscott books
are not likely to induce that condition they must remain museum pieces,
typographical monuments--beautiful and ineffectual angels beating in
the void their luminous wings in vain.
COMPOSED IN EMERSON TYPES
_Stanley Morison_
FIRST PRINCIPLES OF TYPOGRAPHY
Published 1951 by the syndics of the Cambridge University Press.
Reprinted by permission of the publisher.
NOTE: This essay towards a rationale of book-typography was first
attempted as an article, s.v. "Typography," in the twelfth edition
of the _Encyclopedia Britannica_ (Chicago and London, 1929). It
was reconsidered and entirely rewritten for No. 7 of _The Fleuron_
(Cambridge, 1930) when it also went out of print.... Although several
reprints have been brought out and extracts have been made, demands
continue for the whole text from printers as well as from those
outside the trade for whom the article was originally written....
As the brevity of the essay seems to be one of its most approved
qualities, no expansion, and only slight revision, was made.... The
present reprint is that of the Amsterdam edition published in 1947, in
which the first paragraph was interpolated.... It may be added that
while the principles here set forth apply to the typography of books,
the sections dealing with composition may be adapted to the design of
newspapers and publicity....
S.M.
I
Letters of the alphabet that are cast or founded for the purpose of
impressing upon paper are known as "types" and the impression thus
made as a "print." But every impression, from any raised surface, is a
"print." Hence the impression from the particular raised surfaces known
as "types" is called a "typographical" impression; or, to use a more
old-fashioned term, "letter-press." The precise form of the "types" and
the exact position they need to occupy upon the selected paper involve
skill in the art that is called "typography."
Typography may be defined as the art of rightly disposing printing
material in accordance with specific purpose; of so arranging the
letters, distributing the space and controlling the type as to aid to
the maximum the reader's comprehension of the text. Typography is the
efficient means to an essentially utilitarian and only accidentally
aesthetic end, for enjoyment of patterns is rarely the reader's
chief aim. Therefore, any disposition of printing material which,
whatever the intention, has the effect of coming between author and
reader is wrong. It follows that in the printing of books meant to
be read there is little room for "bright" typography. Even dullness
and monotony in the type-setting are far less vicious to a reader
than typographical eccentricity or pleasantry. Cunning of this sort
is desirable, even essential in the typography of propaganda, whether
for commerce, politics, or religion, because in such printing only the
freshest survives inattention. But the typography of books, apart from
the category of narrowly limited editions, requires an obedience to
convention which is almost absolute--and with reason.
Since printing is essentially a means of multiplying, it must not only
be good in itself--but be good for a common purpose. The wider that
purpose, the stricter are the limitations imposed upon the printer. He
may try an experiment in a tract printed in an edition of 50 copies,
but he shows little common sense if he experiments to the same degree
in the tract having a run of 50,000. Again, a novelty, fitly introduced
into a 16-page pamphlet, will be highly undesirable in a 160-page book.
It is of the essence of typography and of the nature of the printed
book _qua_ book, that it perform a public service. For single or
individual purpose there remains the manuscript, the codex; so there
is something ridiculous in the unique copy of a printed book, though
the number of copies printed may justifiably be limited when a book is
the medium of typographical experiment. It is always desirable that
experiments be made, and it is a pity that such "laboratory" pieces are
so limited in number and in courage. Typography today does not so much
need Inspiration or Revival as Investigation. It is proposed here to
formulate some of the principles already known to book-printers, which
investigation confirms and which non-printers may like to consider for
themselves.
II
The laws governing the typography of books intended for general
circulation are based first upon the essential nature of alphabetical
writing, and secondly upon the traditions, explicit or implicit,
prevailing in the society for which the printer is working. While a
universal character or typography applicable to all books produced in
a given national area is practicable, to impose a universal detailed
formula upon all books printed in Roman types is not. National
tradition expresses itself in the varying separation of the book into
prelims, chapters, etc., no less than in the design of the type. But at
least there are physical rules of linear composition which are obeyed
by all printers who know their job.
The normal Roman type (in simple form without special sorts, etc.)
consists of an upright design, and a sloping form of it:
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ&
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
_ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ&_
_abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz_
The printer needs to be very careful in choosing his type, realizing
that the more often he is going to use it, the more closely its
design must approximate to the general idea held in the mind's eye
of readers perforce ruled by the familiar magazine, newspaper and
book. It does no harm to print a Christmas card in =black-letter=,
but who nowadays would read a book in that type? I may believe, as I
do, that black-letter is in design more homogeneous, more lively and
more economic a type than the grey round Roman we use, but I do not
now expect people to read a book in it. Aldus' and Caslon's are both
relatively feeble types, but they represent the forms accepted by the
community; and the printer, as a servant of the community, must use
them, or one of their variants. No printer should say, "I am an artist,
therefore I am not to be dictated to. I will create my own letter
forms," for, in this humble job, no printer is an artist in this sense.
Nor is it possible today, as it just was in the infancy of the craft,
to persuade society into the acceptance of strongly marked and highly
individualistic types--because literate society is so much greater in
mass and correspondingly slower in movement. Type design moves at the
pace of the most conservative reader. The good type-designer therefore
realizes that, for a new fount to be successful, it has to be so good
that only very few recognize its novelty. If readers do not notice the
consummate reticence and rare discipline of a new type, it is probably
a good letter. But if my friends think that the tail of my lower-case
r or the lip of my lower-case e is rather jolly, you may know that the
fount would have been better had neither been made. A type which is to
have anything like a present, let alone a future, will neither be very
"different" nor very "jolly."
So much for Type. The printer possesses also Spaces and Leads as a
normal part of his typographical material, straight lines of metal
known as rules, braces, and finally a more or less indiscriminate
collection of ornaments--head and tailpieces, flowers, decorated
initial letters, vignettes and flourishes. Another decorative medium at
his option lies in his command of colour; red is, with sound instinct,
the most frequently used. For emphasis, heavy faces are used. White
space is an important item of composing-room equipment--margins,
blanks, etc., being filled in with what are known as "quotations." The
selecting and arranging of these elements is known as Composition.
Imposition is the placing of the composed matter upon the sheet.
Printing includes impressing in due order, perfecting the sheet in
due register (backing up), regulating the inking, and achieving a
crisp type-page. Finally the tone, weight and texture of the paper are
important factors entering into the completed result.
Typography, therefore, controls the composition, imposition, impression
and paper. Of paper, it is at least necessary to demand that it be
capable of expressing the value of the composition; of imposition,
that the margins be proportionate to the area of the text, affording
decent space for thumbs and fingers at the side and bottom of the page.
The old-style margins are handsome in themselves and agreeable to the
purpose of a certain kind of book, but are obviously not convenient in
books where the page dimension is unavoidably small or narrow, or the
purpose of the book is to be carried in the pocket. For these and other
kinds of book, the type may be centred on the measure of the page, and
slightly raised above ocular centre.
Imposition is the most important element in typography--for no page,
however well composed in detail, can be admired if the _mise-en-page_
is careless or ill-considered. In practical printing today,
these details of imposition are on the whole adequately cared for;
so that it is possible to report that the mass of books presents a
tolerable appearance. Even a badly composed work may give a good
appearance if it is well imposed--good imposition redeeming bad
composition, while a good composition would be effectively ruined by
bad imposition.
III
The designer of the book, therefore, first determines his imposition
and then tackles the details of composition. The first principles of
composition do not require much discussion since they necessarily
follow from the conventions of alphabetical printing in the Roman
letter accepted by those for whom we are printing. The matter is
relatively simple. First, it is certain that the eye cannot read with
ease any considerable number of words composed of letters embodying
sharply contrasted thicks and thins; secondly, it is none the less
certain that the eye cannot agreeably read a mass of words composed
even in a rightly constructed letter, if the lines are beyond a
certain length. The most expert reader's eye cannot seize more than
a certain number of words in a given size except in a proportionate
length of line. Thirdly, practice proves that the size of the letter
must be related to the length of line. Respect for these principles
will generally protect the reader from the risk of "doubling" (reading
the same line twice). The average line of words which the reader's
eye can conveniently seize is between ten and twelve. Nevertheless,
the typographer, while exerting himself to the utmost to respect this
ocular truth, is daily confronted with the fact that unavoidable
conditions make it impossible for him to secure a type of the duly
related size, and that he is driven to use a relatively small type.
To obviate here the risk of "doubling," he consistently inserts
proportionate leads through the matter, so opening the lines that the
eye comfortably travels and returns from beginning to end and from end
to beginning.
The practice of leading, denounced in certain quarters as essentially
evil, is an inevitable necessity to a large proportion of printing; and
the skilled typographer, making the best use of his material, makes in
turn, wise use of leads. The orthodox high-brow view that leads produce
in every instance an unhappy weak-looking effect will not survive a
wide experience. On the contrary, it will be found that their absence
may effectively ruin even a composition in large type, so that it is
true to say that the intelligent use of leading distinguishes the
expert from the inexpert printer. A slight differentiation of type-face
may make the practice advisable. Clearly, while a letter of the size
now under the reader's eye, with fairly long ascenders and descenders,
would not require leading unless set to a measure of more than 3-1/2
in., there exist letters with short descenders designed rather to
sustain leading by rule than by exception. Baskerville's is a type to
which leading is invariably an advantage. The problem of determining
the amount to be given is not to be settled by considering only the
ascenders or the body of the type, because breadth of letter is also
a factor to be reckoned with--some letters are narrow in respect to
their height, while others are wide. A composition in a round, open,
wide letter, chosen because it is rather loose (that is to say, the
space between the letters is greater, or appears greater, by reason
of the curves of the c, o, e, g), gains in consistency when there is
a satisfactory lead between the lines. It is often argued that loose
setting is not admirable in itself; to which it might be replied
that the printer is generally bound to carry out the instructions of
his customer; often to respect the wishes of an artist who may be
illustrating the work; and, not seldom, committed by the publisher to a
paper-size dictated by irrelevant considerations.
Further, it is obvious that the space between words composed in a
condensed letter may be less than that between words in a round, wide
form of letter. Where there is no leading between the lines, and the
composition is, for extrinsic reasons, necessarily tight, it may be
an advantage to set leads between the paragraphs, even though this
result in pages with uneven tails. In paragraphing, it is important
to realize that the opening sentence of a work should automatically
manifest itself as such. This may be secured by the use of the large
initial letter; the printing of the first word in CAPITALS, or SMALL
CAPITALS ; CAPITALS _and_ SMALL CAPITALS ; or by setting the first
word into the margin. On no account should the opening of a chapter be
indented, since indention should mark (and always mark) the subsequent
sections, i.e., the paragraphs, of the text. The abolition of
paragraph-indentions is plainly an undesirable practice; nor is setting
the first word in capitals or small capitals an agreeable substitute
for the indention. The space of the indention should be sufficient to
be noticeable.
As both measures must be related, displaying a proportion pleasing to
the eye, the depth of the page follows from its width. It seems that
the proportions of the oblong are more pleasing than those of the
square; and as a horizontal oblong drives out the line to an impossible
length, and a two-column arrangement is tedious, the vertical oblong
has become the normal page.
Such are the elements of typography; and a volume built up of
type-pages composed in accordance with them will be generally
satisfactory. There remain only the page headings and the folio. By
ranging the headings inside towards the gutter, to the left and right
respectively, two pages are fixed as a unity; but they can also be
ranged outside to the right and left, or they may be centered. The
folio may be centered at the foot, or range either way at the top or
bottom (preferably, for quicker reference, on the outside), but it
cannot be centered at the top without cancelling the running page
headline--only to be done by exception. The running headlines may be
set in capitals of the text, in upper and lower-case of the text, or
in a combination of capitals. Full-sized capitals overemphasize what
is, after all, a repetitive page-feature inserted chiefly for the
convenience of librarians and readers interested in the identification
of leaves which have worked loose. If set in upper and lower-case,
the headline loses in levelness, so that it seems well to employ
S M A L L C A P I T A L S; these are best separated by hair spaces,
since the unrelieved rectangular structure and perpendicularity of
capitals tend to defeat instantaneous recognition. Full-sized capitals
may well be used for chapter headings, with the number of the chapter
in smalls; both indications being hair-spaced.
The reader, travelling from the generally invariable blank at the end
of a chapter to the beginning of the next, finds a dropped chapter
head an agreeably consistent feature, which saves him from feeling
suffocated or overpowered by the text.
IV
The foregoing elementary directions affect the main part of the
book, its body. There remains a section which goes before the text,
known as the "preliminaries," often complicated both in respect to
arrangement and draftsmanship. Before considering these, it may be
well to summarize our present findings--to concentrate them into a
formula. According to our doctrine, a well-built book is made up from
vertical oblong pages arranged in paragraphs having an average line of
ten to twelve consistently spaced words, set in a fount of comfortable
size and familiar design; the lines sufficiently separated to prevent
doubling and the composition being headed by a running title. This
rectangle is so imposed upon the page as to provide centre, head,
fore-edge and tail margins of dimensions suitably related not only to
the length of line but to the disposition of space at those points
where the text is cut into chapters, and where the body joins the
prefatory and other pages known as "preliminaries."