Bonefolder
I’m on my second week of my introductory bookmaking class, and I adore it; although I’m not the most crafty of gents, I think that with practice I’ll be able to bind the books that I want to. My end goal is to be able to offer limited hand bound editions of certain books that I believe will be treasured, chiefly, Upanisads transcreated by P. Lal, as well as other worthy poetry and creative writing. I want to learn bookbinding myself because I want to do this old-school, cottage industry style, and don’t want to have to accumulate a large initial investment.
All this long-term stuff aside, I now just love the act of folding pages and gluing covers. I love my bone-folder: a piece of bone used to fold pages and make creases. My teacher told me that it needs oil, so now I carry it around as a bookmark and rub it on my neck while I’m reading. I’m like a little boy with a favorite new toy.
I admit that my interest in hand bookmaking is reactionary; the world of publishing is supposed to be obsessed with the e-book. I am excited and optimistic about e-books: I think that with some technological improvement (which I am, of course, unable to participate in), they could really bring about a renissaince in reading and writing, and, in the best case, could create a more open and participatory literary environment. The challenge is to make e-books literary, to make sure they’re edited, and to get people to pay for them.
But I wonder where my place will be as an aspiring publisher in the e-book world. I forsee a near-future where the e-book market is easy to enter; like iTunes, publishers (or just authors!) will simply submit a book to the apple bookstore, and it’ll get uploaded and subsequently downloaded. Which is good, but doesn’t constitute a real vocation.
That’s why I’m interested in raising the aesthetic and material value of paper books. In the publishing company I envision, e-books will be an available afterthought, but customers will be more excited to have access to beautiful, unique textual objects that manifest the personal values that they place on text. When I show someone a hand-bound and gold-stamped book from, say, Writers Workshop, I like to watch the way they hold them: gently, carefully, caressing the cover, or putting their hand on top of it as if it were a bible on which they were swearing an oath. Placed in such a setting, words gain more authority and beauty (assuming the content is there–that’s the important part, but a whole other game than what I’m talking about: I’m lucky to be working with breathtaking translations of ancient holy texts). These books aren’t for everyone, or almost anyone–that’s why they come in limited editions–but those who do end up posessing them will treasure them. And, anyone who wants to simply read the text can get the e-book (or, we can always consider doing a traditional mass print run if e-books fail to manifest their potential in the next few years).
I think that as a culture, we need to conciously and mindfully re-create and re-think the place of literature in our culture. It’s not as easy or as gratifying as TV or movies, but it is vital to our health and development. Part of that might be to raise the aesthetic and personal value of books. These books will help show younger generations the importance of writing, illustrate why literature ought to occupy a more sacred position in culture than TV. They can be valued as a legacy and a tradition, constantly being added to and improved upon.
Jai, Jai Saraswati!