Hey folks,

I don’t have any capital W writing in the can, so I’m stealing ’s format this week. Here are ten things I thought were worth sharing.

Substack tells me this one is too long for email. Click here to read this in your browser.

The Hours

I bought this combined edition of The Hours by Michael Cunningham / Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf this week from Literati Bookstore in Ann Arbor.1 Isn’t it gorgeous? The cover was designed by Delcan and Co.

From the publisher:

In The Hours, the acclaimed author Michael Cunningham draws inventively on the life and work of Virginia Woolf and the story of her novel, Mrs. Dalloway, to tell the story of a group of contemporary characters struggling with the conflicting claims of love and inheritance, hope and despair. In this edition, Cunningham brings his own Pulitzer Prize–winning novel together with Woolf’s masterpiece, which has long been hailed as a groundbreaking work of literary fiction and one of the finest novels written in English.

The two novels, published side by side with a new introduction by Cunningham, display the extent of their affinity, and each illuminates new facets of the other in this joint volume. In his introduction, Cunningham re-creates the wonderment of his first encounter with Mrs. Dalloway at fifteen—as he writes, “I was lost. I was gone. I never recovered.” With this edition, Cunningham allows us to disappear into the world of Woolf and into his own brilliant mind.

Choosing a Cover Font

Courtesy of Daniel Benneworth-Gray and his great newsletter Meanwhile, here’s Jon Klassen on choosing a cover font for picture books.

Looking at Picture Books

Choosing a Cover Font

I love type and lettering. Maybe more than drawing. I don’t think I have wild taste in fonts or type, but when it’s well excecuted or cleverly-placed, I get just, or even more excited about it than even great illustration. I think great type design can totally save an illustration, and bad type design can almost totally ruin it. This post is mainly a ch…

Read more

a year ago · 320 likes · 14 comments · Jon Klassen

Cover Notes

Over on Substack Notes, has been sharing collections of covers by specific designers. Give her a follow to learn who designed your favorite books!

The Ray Bradbury and Dua Lipa Blunt Rotation

Last weekend, I saw Penny and Sparrow in concert at The Ark. Penny and Sparrow might be my favorite musical act. They are definitely my favorite musical act to see live. They play beautiful music and have funny banter—including a joke about Ray Bradbury and Dua Lipa being the ideal blunt rotation. Context: their song, Bishop, references a Bradbury interview.

The duo reads a lot, and there are more than a few references to books in their songs.

Terrestrial Poems Cover Reveal

shared the cover for Terrestrial Poems, a forthcoming book of regional nature poetry from Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. The lovely cover was designed by Phil Britton, a letterpress printer from Marquette, Michigan. Kickstarter comes at the end of April, so follow Brinksi if you’re interested in this book.

Making Type: James Edmondson of OH no Type Co.

Courtesy of the The Weekly Typographic newsletter: An interview with James Edmondson, the man and type designer behind OH no Type Co.

New Business Cards

I made new business cards. I’m quite fond of them (for now)! They were printed by the good folks at Print-Tech in Saline, Michigan.

A Cover Credit Conundrum

I recently started reading Theo of Golden with my mom for our two-person book club we started a few years ago when she underwent chemotherapy treatment. As I usually do, I checked the back cover to see who designed the book’s cover. The credit read “cover design by 99Designs” and “cover illustrations by the author and Garry Pound.”

If you aren’t familiar, 99Designs is a graphic design platform that connects freelancers and clients. It began as a design contest site but has since expanded its offerings to include freelancer matchmaking as well as their own “Pro Studio” (and is now owned by Vistaprint).

I found it strange that a book from a Big 5 imprint would credit an entire design platform with the cover design, so I did a little digging. After some Googling, I learned that Theo of Golden was originally a self-published book.2 Additionally, I found a cover reveal video by the author that shows what is essentially the same cover as the Atria Books version—but not quite.

Though I am still not entirely sure why an individual designer hasn’t been credited, what I gather from this is that the original, self-published version of the book—which you can still find on Amazon, I think—used a cover designed by someone hired through 99Designs. Simon & Schuster, wanting to capitalize on the success of the self-published book, decided to keep the cover basically the same, with a few tweaks, to optimize recognition. Maybe crediting 99Designs was the bare minimum on their part to credit someone they didn’t hire for a cover that they made changes to. Maybe the cover was provided by 99Designs Pro Studio, making this credit is the most accurate. Maybe this is what the author requested. Maybe the designer didn’t want credit.

If I was curious enough, I might buy the 2023 self-published version and see who that cover credits, but I must admit, my curiosity ends at the prospect of spending money.

Best Book Covers of March

According to Literary Hub, here are the best book covers that appeared in March.

Some good ones in there, but I find there is a lack of variety in the aesthetic taste on this list. I like this one the best:

Thanks for Reading!

Thank you for reading! I mean it.

If you’d like to keep this newsletter going and help me say no to designing soul-sucking books about corporate events, email marketing, and raising capital, consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a coffee.

Until next time,
—Nathaniel

Perhaps this goes without saying, but every designer’s process is different. In my experience, the often loosely-defined “process” is an amalgamation tools, habits, and sensibilities.

If you’ve been reading for a little while, I think you will have a decent feel for my sensibilities. Maybe even my habits—like posting too often on Substack Notes. Today, I thought it might share a little bit about the tools I use to design books.

Notebook

My notebook is extremely important to my book design process. With it I take notes at client meetings, brainstorm ideas, and make sketches. I primarily use an A5 hardcover notebook but I also carry with me a pocket notebook for scrap and making notes when I don’t have my bigger notebook.

Because I know folks will ask: I use a hardcover dot-grid A5 Leuchtturm1917 and, usually, a Field Notes.

Pen

I like to use Sakura Pigma Micron Pens for writing and sketching. This is not a cheap habit. Along with my notebooks, I ask for them for Christmas each year. I try to use Pentel drafting pencils, but I bend the tips without fail, so I use whatever pencil happens to be lying around. Recently I have started using Uni-ball Vision pens.

I also have a couple of fountain pens that I like, but never seem to use for long …

Studio

Perhaps not a tool in the way you might think, I absolutely consider my studio a tool, and an incredibly important one at that. I am an introvert who likes—no, needs—his own space, and none of my cohabitants are tidy creatures.

Until recently, I rented office space above a restaurant in the town where I live. We bought a house in December and, last month, my dad and I (mostly my dad) finished a new studio space in my basement. It’s my favorite little room in the world.

Desk

On something of a whim at IKEA several years ago, I bought this big, standing desk. It has served me well, even if I don’t use it to stand all that often. One of my favorite features is its mesh netting running along the length of the desk’s bottom, helping to keep all of my various cords and cables (sort of) tidy.

Computer

Right now I am using a 2024 Macbook Pro. Before that, I used a 2021 Macbook Pro, until my daughter knocked over the glass of water I left out and onto my backpack containing said computer. Before that, I used a 2012 Macbook Pro. I’m proud that it lasted nine years. The computer, of course, houses the programs I use to create my design work.

I used to be very anal retentive about cleaning my computer. I am less so today—but I still will flinch and possibly break off your finger if you touch the screen intentionally.

Right now, I just use a monitor from my job. Couldn’t even tell you the model if I tried. In the last 18 months, I’ve done a lot of work from the couch while holding a baby.

Adobe Programs

I primarily design front covers in Adobe Photoshop. Full covers and book interiors get designed in InDesign. When setting lots of type, use a program that’s designed for it. I use Illustrator when a cover has flat, vector graphics.1 I’m not much of a (lowercase) illustrator, so I don’t use programs like Procreate or even an iPad. At least not yet.

Adobe has its problems, and on occasion I’m tempted to try out a competitor like Affinity, but I don’t have much motivation (or time) for that. Adobe is still the industry standard and I know it well.

An Adobe subscription also comes with access to Adobe Fonts, which is handy.

Vellum

Vellum is a book formatting software great for self-publishers without the technical know-how to use InDesign. I don’t use it often—I bought a copy seven years ago when AADL was a freelance client and was using the program to lay out their books—but it’s still a tool on the belt, and I did use it for one self-published project last year. If I use it, the client always knows, and I charge accordingly.

Note: The Vellum hyperlink above is an affiliate link. I earn a small commission if you purchase a copy of the program.

Image websites

I use so many damn image websites. I probably use Adobe Stock the most, and then when needed I use iStock and Shutterstock. If the publisher is paying for the images, I’ll sometimes use Getty or one of the other big boys.

I also use a fair amount of public domain imagery. There’s a big list of these sites on my Book Design Resources page.

Camera

I don’t use my own photographs in my book cover designs as much as I would like to, but the camera is still an important tool in my practice. I use the camera to document my finished work as well as works in progress.

As of yet this is not connected to book design (until I make a photo book, that is), but street photography is also an occasional hobby of mine.

I have a Canon Rebel T6s and a Fujifilm X-T30.

Portable Photo Studio

In conjunction with my camera, I use a foldable, portable photo studio to shoot photos for projects and document my work and the ephemera I’ve collected over the years. I’d like to start using it to shoot stock photos.

I bought this one made by Amazon Basics.

A little photoshoot for my job at the library …

… that turned into this social media graphic.

I shot this photo of Cinema Ann Arbor in my photo box, edited it in Lightroom, and added the yellow background in Photoshop.

Phone

When a book cover requires handwriting, I will often just snap a photo with my phone and then send it to myself to process in Photoshop. Scanning is better, but I am sometimes lazy. I also use a few apps like Lightroom, Airtable, Basecamp, and Google Drive.

Airtable

Airtable is my project management tool of choice. I have not been great about updating it since the baby was born. Airtable is a powerful database tool with many automations and features that blow my mind.

A few years ago, I used it to send automated and customized cold emails to potential clients. The success rate wasn’t high, but the process was fast and it did lead to more work. Doing so kickstarted this phase of my freelance career.

Wave

Wave is an online, free accounting software. I use this to track business expenses and export profit/loss sheets for tax time. It’s pretty good for being free and helps keep my overhead lower.

Squarespace

I host and designed my website through Squarespace. It’s not the cheapest option, but I like it and am not a web designer. It works for me. I’m sure someone will chime in with a better alternative in the comments.

Google Workspace

When I first started using Squarespace, it included a year of Google Workspace. After Adobe Creative Cloud stopped letting you sync its folders locally, I decided I wanted a new storage solution and started a Google Workspace subscription with Google directly. I currently have 2 TB and it syncs between the cloud, my computer, and my phone.

Scanner

I use an Epson V600 scanner. From my research, it seemed like the best of the budget-friendly options. You can drop some serious cash on a scanner. I use this to scan collages, handwriting for book covers, and many things in between.

X-Acto knife

I use an X-Acto knife to make collages. I have a bunch now, of various sizes, including my favorite which has rubber grip from top to bottom and can store multiple blades inside itself, accessed by a screw top.

Cutting mat

I use a self-healing cutting mat from Fiskars, 18x24’. I don’t know what I’d do without it. I keep a pocket-sized one inside my backpack for collage-on-the-go.

Hamilton Flat File

I bought this behemoth last year from the local thrift shop for $500. I couldn’t pass it up—it was made by Hamilton, a company that is a former producer of wood type, type furniture, and is now a wood type museum in Two Rivers, Wisconsin. I saw a listing for the same cabinet on Ebay for over $1,800.

I’m still figuring out the best way to use it, but right now I use it to store collage cuts and scraps, vintage ephemera, posters, old design work, photographs, and other stuff. I finally printed labels!

Thanks for Reading!

I may be forgetting a thing or two, but that is basically it. Thanks for reading!

If you’d like to keep this newsletter going and help me say no to designing soul-sucking books about corporate events, email marketing, and raising capital, consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a coffee.

Until next time,
Nathaniel

In 2027, Futura will be 100 years old. It was designed by Paul Renner.

Check out this wonderful walkthrough of the typeface by the good folks at Letterform Archive—Futura: A Typeface for Our Time

Mrs Eaves, a modern Baskerville interpretation designed by Zuzana Licko, was named after William Baskerville’s live-in housekeeper, Sarah Eaves, the woman whom he later married.

You cannot copyright a typeface. You can, however, legally protect font files.

Works Not Protected by Copyright

113KB ∙ PDF file

Download

United States Copyright Office

Download

If you correct someone who says “font” instead of “typeface,” there are better things to do with your time 99% of the time.

Comic Sans was designed for a program called Microsoft Bob in the 1990s. It was never used for said program, but it was included in Microsoft’s operating system, therefore making it available to everyone who used the OS.1

Garamond is named for Claude Garamond, a sixteenth-century Parisian engraver. There is no “original” Garamond typeface.

Futura is on the moon.

Trajan is based on the lettering found on—get this—Trajan’s Column.

Helvetica is named after “Helvetia,” the Latin name for Switzerland, the typeface’s country of origin. The typeface’s designer, Max Miedinger, originally called it Neue Haas Grotesk.

Georgia, Verdana, and Tahoma (among many others) were all designed by a man named Matthew Carter.

Using Papyrus is an irredeemable design sin, but Comic Sans is acceptable in certain circumstances.2

Eric Gill, the designer of the ubiquitous Gill Sans, was a pedophile and sexual abuser.

Though similar, Gill Sans is not the typeface used for the London Underground. That typeface is called Johnston, designed by Edward Johnston. Gill Sans is based on Johnston (the font) and Johnston (the man) was Eric Gill’s teacher.

There is a documentary film about Helvetica directed by Gary Hustwit. (It is wonderful).

Arial is a Monotype clone of Linotype’s Helvetica. The two are metrically compatible.

Thanks for Reading!

Thank you for reading! I mean it.

If you’d like to keep this newsletter going and help me say no to designing soul-sucking books about corporate events, email marketing, and raising capital, consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a coffee.

I love handwriting on a book cover. Whether it be the whole composition, or just the phrase “a novel,” it adds a human touch to the design that is rarely, if ever, replicated by a digital font.1

For a long time, I didn’t know how to add it to my own covers effectively. I had a few problems:

1. My handwriting is not great.

2. Even if a cover called for sloppy, handwritten type, I found it difficult to compose said type. If a designer is worth their salt, even a “sloppy” cover is considered.

3. When I tried to add handwriting to a cover, I struggled to make it look like it was written on the cover instead of just added to the cover digitally. That difference might sound insignificant, but in my opinion, it’s the difference between professional and amateur work (as it pertains to handwritten type, at least).

All of my favorite designers have handwritten type in their bag of tricks, so I was determined to figure out how to add it to mine.

After much time, trial, and error, here is what I do now.

Style & Composition

When a cover calls for just one handwritten word, like “poems,” I typically just write it over and over and over again in my sketchbook. This can take a while, but if I am patient, I can typically come up with something usable. Sometimes I have my wife take a crack at it. Throughout this process, I attempt to make subtle adjustments to how I write the word for different visual flavors. This isn’t natural for me, so I have to pay close attention to the way I make the letters.

This is what I did for my covers for We Interrupt This Broadcast by Gregory Orr and Our Fragile Freedoms by Eric Foner.

If I want to make the title, subtitle, and/or author name handwritten, I need to think more about how the type will be arranged in addition to how each individual letter looks. And I would say that nine times out of ten, I am unsuccessful with the above approach for single words. So I figured out a way to “cheat.”

Now, when I want to use a lot of handwriting on a cover, I set the type in Photoshop first, as if I were designing a cover with my standard digital process. Sometimes it’s a serif/sans serif, sometimes it’s a handwriting font.

Then I:

1. Isolate the type so it’s the only thing showing in the document.

2. Print the type-only composition.

3. Using tracing paper, I trace the type-only composition with a pencil, pen, paint marker, paintbrush, or whatever else the project calls for.

4. Scan the handwriting and bring it back in to Photoshop.

Why not just use a handwriting font, you might ask? Most of the time—and especially at larger sizes—they just aren’t realistic looking enough. There are two problems:

1. At larger sizes, the vectorness of the type becomes apparent, even if it is distressed.

2. Great handwriting fonts have ligatures and alternate glyphs built in, but they will often still repeat glyphs.

Look at the “N”s here—they are exactly the same. Some might not notice, but this gives it away as a font and not real handwriting. When you trace letters, they cannot help but be imperfect and slightly different. This is a good thing!

Isolating the Handwriting

The next step is isolating the handwritten type. This can be a little tricky to do right. You want to select it so that you’re not just grabbing the shape of the letters, but making sure you get all of the texture that gets “bites” into the letters. I do this by selecting using Photoshop’s Select>Color Range menu.

This gets a little technical, and is difficult to write about clearly. So for those interested, here’s a little video demo I made:

After all that, here’s what the final cover looks like:

I felt it was important to use real handwriting on this cover, not just a font, because of the personal aspects of this book blended with its science. If you’re interested, you can preorder The Grassland Queen here. I get a little kickback.

I hope you enjoyed this exploration of handwriting on book covers!

What I’m Reading (links)

Galley Brag #25 by . A great interview with book cover designers Joanne O’Neill and Olivia McGiff.

On Collecting Reference & Inspiration by

A Pocket Notebook Can Change Your Life by

Why My Simple Book Cover Wasn’t Simple by

The Camera as a Social Shield: Robert Rauschenberg on Why We Photograph by

Thanks for Reading!

Thank you for reading! I mean it.

If you’d like to keep this newsletter going and help me say no to designing soul-sucking books about corporate events, email marketing, and raising capital, consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a coffee.

Until next time,
Nathaniel

Later this month, I will climb the stairs to my studio, as it currently exists, for the last time. I’ll pass the neighboring strip club, fight with the back door lock, ascend with the aroma of hot Italian sandwiches, and enter my little room.

I started renting office space above a local restaurant in September 2023. I needed a place to work, and the 960-square foot house I was also renting increasingly lacked available space as the number of children in our home went from zero, to one, to two. My office space—my little room, as I tend to call it—became a 130-square foot refuge where I could focus and knew the mess was mine. Here I designed, collaged, photographed, read, and practiced my shooting form below the room’s tall ceilings.

In December, my wife and I bought a house with more and much needed space. Enough for a home office. My dad and I—okay, mostly my dad—are building it right now. The money I once spent on rent will go toward the mortgage and childcare and the myriad things an adult life and homeownership require a person to spend money on. I’m excited! But I am also sad, and a little nervous that bringing my refuge into my home will remove part of what made it special. “Bittersweet” doesn’t quite do the feeling justice. There’s probably a German word for it.

The closer we get to finishing, the more excited I become. I bought white paint samples from Lowe’s the other day1 and gleefully poured over the chart of oak-patterned vinyl flooring my dad sent me. I’m daydreaming about where to put my reading chair and bookshelves and my Hamilton flat file cabinet. The sadness, and the worry that this new little room won’t be as special, has dulled—but not gone away completely.

I’ve never had these kind of emotions for a single little room before. It’s weird! This room is special to me because, in addition to being a much-needed retreat, it is also where I started taking my freelance book design business more seriously and started working my ass off. It’s a tangible symbol of that shift in my life.

Since my daughter was born 18 months ago, I don’t go to my studio nearly as often as I would like to. I’m home a lot, taking care of her and her older brother. An office in the basement means I can go whenever I like and I don’t need any amount of time to make the trip “worth it.” Kids are in bed and there’s a deadline? Down the stairs I go. But it also means the boundary between my new studio and the rest of my life threatens to be more porous. Just on the other side of the wall, there lies all of the boxes filled with crap from the move I don’t know what to do with. However, porous boundaries or not, what good is a refuge if you can never get to it? As much as I will miss my studio, the tradeoff is undoubtedly worth it.

I’m grateful for my little room. I hope its next occupant can feel how special it was, if just for a time.

What I’m Reading (books)

I just finished American Bulk: Essays on Excess by Emily Mester. Loved it. One of my favorite kinds of books: A broad topic filtered through an extremely personal lens. Lots of underlining. I recommend it. Thanks, Matt!

I started reading The Likeness by Tana French for my book club with my mom. I don’t often read mysteries, but when I do, I really enjoy them.

I started reading Tomb Sweeping: Stories via Libby and the Kindle app on my phone for when I am getting my daughter down to sleep in her dark room. I love a good novel, but man, I really think the short story is the optimal fiction format.

What I’m Working On

Here’s a recent cover I designed for Simon & Schuster:

Here’s a recent one for Princeton University Press:

Thanks for Reading!

Thank you for reading! I mean it.

If you’d like to keep this newsletter going and help me say no to designing soul-sucking books about corporate events, email marketing, and raising capital, consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a coffee.

Until next time,
Nathaniel

Have you ever read a book made out of cheese? What about one made from 6,000 dandelions collected from Mount Auburn Cemetery? How about a book made from 222 two dollar bills?

These are but a few of the books from Catalog Press, the weird and wonderful publishing imprint from artist and designer Ben Denzer.

Catalog Press—and indeed, much of Denzer’s work—originates from one question: “What can a book be?”

“They are both content and object;” Denzer told It’s Nice That in 2019, “simultaneously sculpture and catalog, singular contained multitudes.” The work is funny, unexpected, and—if you buy into this sort of thing —profound. Denzer has made books out of pictures of “accidental vanity plates,” 12,000 skin cells from people with schizophrenia, 77 Lucky 7’s, 20 slices of mortadella, newspaper headlines with the word “die” in them, five ketchup packets, 200 fortune cookie fortunes, and many, many, more.

What’s profound about a book made from 285 sheets of Charmin Ultra Strong Toilet Paper, you ask? Fair question. Maybe nothing. But I think there is something special to the act of binding, and in turn elevating, mundane materials that make up our lives.

These books could easily be dismissed as ridiculous. But I think that, should the viewer move past this initial reaction, Denzer’s work encourages consideration for objects, materials, and images we might not pay close attention to. In short: You might think more, if not differently, about toilet paper and how we interact with it. Seeing a book made from headlines about people dying might encourage you to think about death, news, and our relationship with both. A book made of slices of American cheese makes me think about preservatives and “cheese products” and what we consider food.

I don’t know that Denzer has such lofty ideological ambitions for this project—I think the man just likes playing with materials. But even in a world where fewer people read, books are still special objects. And so turning anything into a book demands a new kind of attention.

I am drawn to projects that ask what a book can be.

Years ago, near the entrance of The Holocaust Center in Farmington Hills, Michigan, there was a hardcover book on display that consisted solely of the word “Jew” six million times. It’s called And Every Single One Was Someone.

I was extremely moved by this object! It was a new way to visualize the sheer magnitude of death in the Holocaust. I also thought about how each three letter word was the reduction of a full and complex life, and how this stripping of human complexity was inherently necessary for those evil actions to ensue.

I have a few project ideas in this vein I hope to one day complete. One such project is a collection of obituaries for people that share my name, as a sort of bookish memento mori.

What do you think about these kinds of projects? Are they gimmicks, or something more? I’d love to hear what you think and if you know of any similar book projects.

Leave a comment

What I’m Reading (books)

I just finished Shark Heart by Emily Habeck for my book club with my mom. I loved it!

I am currently reading American Bulk by Emily Mester, one of the books gave me on my episode of Books on the Bed podcast.

What I’m Working On

Boy am I busy. I’ve gotten 4 new covers in the last 9 days and I have a Zoom meeting with a publisher next week about cover design.

I’ve wrapped a few front covers this year that I can’t share yet, but here is the jacket mechanical I designed for We Interrupt This Broadcast by Gregory Orr, a book of poems available for preorder now.

Thanks for Reading!

Thank you for reading! I mean it.

If you’d like to keep this newsletter going and help me say no to designing soul-sucking books about corporate events, email marketing, and raising capital, consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a coffee.

Until next time,
Nathaniel

I’m on a podcast!

My friend Matt has a show called Books on the Bed. It’s really good! And I am not just saying that because I designed its logo or helped Matt refine the idea. Well, maybe I am—I can’t help it—but all the same, I think it is good.

Here’s the show’s logline:

Inspired by a visit to Tuskegee, Alabama in April of 2021, I’m traveling through the country asking our hosts, ”If I came to your town and stayed at your house, what books would you put on my bed?” Each host will share 6 books for me to carry with me on the journey of my life.

As we go, we’ll build a digital library for you to explore and find the stories that will part a curtain between us, make your heart shift, and change your life.

Matt has had some amazing writers on his show, and I’m honored to join them.

You can listen to my episode of Books on the Bed here. We get into some stuff I’ve written for this newsletter.

To perhaps pique your interest, here are the books I chose:

The Clothing of Books by Jhumpa Lahiri

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

A Man Called Ove by Fredrik Backman

The Dark Interval: Letters on Loss, Grief, and Transformation by Rainer Maria Rilke

Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience by Shaun Usher

Boom Town: The Fantastical Saga of Oklahoma City, Its Chaotic Founding... Its Purloined Basketball Team, and the Dream of Becoming a World-class Metropolis by Sam Anderson

Thanks for listening!

—Nathaniel

One thing I love about contemporary book cover design is the ability to see and share unused designs. The jackets that, for whatever reason—and there are myriad—were deemed the wrong fit for a particular book. Sometimes, it seems there are as many reasons not to choose a cover as there are atoms that make one up. Each feels like a little glimpse into an alternate reality.1

Most of the time, these unused covers are shared via social media. But occasionally, if a designer becomes a big enough deal, they publish a book—what we in the biz call a “monograph.”

Peter Mendelsund is one such designer. His 2014 monograph, Cover, is one of my favorite books and one of the reasons I got into this business in the first place. In his tenure at Alfred A. Knopf, Mendelsund designed the jackets for hundreds of books, many iconic, and none more so than the one for Stieg Larsson’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is a Swedish crime thriller. It was first published posthumously in 2005 under the title Män som hatar kvinnor (Men Who Hate Women) and translated to English in 2008.

For my money, whether you like it or not (and I do), this is one of the most iconic jackets of the 21st Century. But like any book ever published, this book might have gotten a different jacket—and, who knows, may have never become a sensation as a result.

Here are some of the unused covers as shown in Cover.

“My first comp. We came very close to using this white-on-white jacket. This design did a better job of representing the narrative than the final, though, perhaps, would have done a poorer job of selling thee book.”

“There was a moment, early on, where this was the book’s title. Thank god it changed.”

“Almost final. My first inclination was to use the colors of a tattoo … but brighter colors won the day.”

I don’t think these are necessarily unsuccessful designs, and I agree that the first comp is a strong, conceptual design, but none of these feel right. This is most likely a product of such a well-known cover feeling inevitable when viewed in retrospect. Especially because I really like the book itself. I feel the same way about Catch-22.

What do you think? Do you prefer any of these unused covers to the published version? How does something becoming iconic affect someone’s perception of “good” design?

Leave a comment

That’s all for this time. Thanks for reading!

P.S. While Googling around, I found this parody book called The Dragon with the Girl Tattoo. Enjoy.

Happy new year, y’all.

I am alive!

We closed on our house on the 22nd. Movers came on the 23rd. Drove to the west side of Michigan on the 24th for Christmas Eve with the in-laws. Extended family Christmas on the 25th. Wrangled the 4-year-old and 1-year-old all the while. Tried to find where we packed any damn thing every day since.

Life is crazy right now. But I hope to find time to write more soon!

In the meantime, please enjoy this old favorite of mine about why I think you should keep a notebook in the new year:

Thanks for reading this newsletter. That’s crazy and it means the world to me.

—Nathaniel

A few months ago, someone shared an early newsletter of mine, about my ability to tell your book was self-published, with this comment:

Trying to make your book appear more mainstream is one choice

I’m looking to make mine appear more indie not less

My initial response to this comment was one of annoyance—“OK buddy, good luck with that”—but the more I sat with it, the more curious and thoughtful I became.

The advice in that earlier newsletter can be distilled into two categories:

1. Quality Design Choices

2. Adhering to Publishing Conventions

The latter, I assume, is what this “more indie not less” commenter was referring to, despite this category’s relatively smaller presence compared to the former. I will be generous and assume this person was not advocating for poor typographic hierarchy and excessive drop shadows in an effort to look more “indie.”

Whatever their intention, the comment raised some questions in my mind:

• What exactly does “indie” mean?

• Where is the line between indie and mainstream?

• What does indie, yet professional, look like?

• What, if anything, constitutes a book that appears too indie?

• What role does design play in this discussion?

What Does “Indie” Mean?

While I don’t think this comment means nothing, I do think it means less than what its author thinks it means. “Indie,” of course, here means independent. But independent publishing is a broad umbrella that can and does mean many different things. The great may correct me if I am wrong, but “independent” really just means any publishing operation that is not conglomerate owned.1 W. W. Norton, a publishing company with tens, if not hundreds, of millions of dollars in revenue,2 is technically independent. So is Hub City Press, a small, non-profit press in Spartanburg, South Carolina, helmed by Meg Reid. So are writers like Brandon Sanderson and crowdfunding the financial support for their latest books, CEOs hiring hybrid publishers to help them publish books, or your weird uncle selling copies of the memoir he produced at Kinko’s out of the trunk of his wood-paneled hatchback.

Lately, I have noticed a push to specifically label self-publishing as “indie” publishing. This is not necessarily wrong, but this both interesting and, in context of our friend’s comment, somewhat ironic. It seems to me that this push to label self-published books as indie comes from a desire to do away with the stigma or cultural baggage of the term “self-published.” One writer on Substack even admitted as much in an interview they re-published to their newsletter last year (emphasis mine):

Let’s call it mainstream vs indie. I know I’m being pedantic, but a) I’m a writer, and b) it matters. The publishing industry is way behind the curve of every other creative sphere when it comes to valuing independent artists. The word indie is revered in music, food, beauty, hotels, festivals; you name it. Stick the word independent on the front, you can charge double and everyone thinks it’s cool.

But publishing? It works for indie bookstores, it even works for indie publishers, but for indie authors, which is exactly what a self-published author is, forget it. It’s slapped with the denigration vanity publishing. Look too closely and you’ll see embedded into the title self-published is the notion that the contents will be a step down from anything published by a mainstream publishing house, that the production values will be a bit rubbish, that it just won’t be as good.

The point being made here is solid, and I don’t even really disagree, but this use of the term “indie” to refer to self-published books is, ironically, using language to make your book appear more mainstream. The indiest thing you can do is call your book self-published. And, I think, the most impressive thing someone can do is create a terrific looking book that they are unafraid to call self-published.

I know, I know, I am getting caught in the semantic weeds here and another writer is getting dragged into this before I even begin to talk about the role of book design in all of this. But we’re writers—if we cannot talk semantics, who will?

My point is that this “indie” of which we want more of does not mean just one thing. Indie and mainstream publishing exists upon a continuum on which the way your book looks is just a single factor.

Why Look Indie?

Now that we’ve established “indie” is more than one thing, and that “appearing more indie” might mean different things to different books and people, why might anyone want to look more indie in the first place?

The Impact of Book Design on the Indie-Mainstream Continuum

Whether a book is mainstream or indie, attention to design is integral to establishing the credibility of both the work and its author. A well-designed book signals the author or publishing house invested time, attention, and resources into a book. “Good” design, to a degree, is subject to individual tastes, but unless you are targeting the least discerning audience imaginable—hey, I’m not here to judge—you do not want your book to be typeset in 12 point Times New Roman. This choice is certainly “more indie,” yet in this instance I don’t know anyone who would call “indie” a desirable trait.

So then where is the line? How do you make your book look more indie without also looking like shit?

Ways to Look More Indie

One way might be to abandon some of the industry conventions not necessarily in and of themselves necessary for good design. For example, you might decide to do away with blurbs on the back of your book. Here are some creative ideas from for what you might do instead. You might decide not to care about whether or not there is a spine logo (AKA colophon). These can be fun, but in self-publishing, these are largely virtue signaling or camouflage.

Another approach might be to hire a designer who, while professional, is not necessarily a publishing industry veteran. I offer this with a grain—or several—of salt, because your designer(s) need(s) to be up to the technical task of typesetting and/or designing a cover mechanical, but hiring a professional outside of the industry might be a way to insert a fresh take on the medium. One of the best self-published books I have ever seen in the wild was designed by the head of a branding agency. , my internet friend and co-founder of a multi-disciplinary studio, designed both The Midnight Vault anthology and J. Curtis’s latest output Tiny Worlds. Every time I read a book written by a graphic designer who also designed it, the book often diverts from tradition in a way that is both compelling and beautiful.3 My point is this: A pro is a pro.

A tactic I think works well, but is difficult to achieve and depends on the subject and style of the book, is merging strong design principles with a DIY or handmade aesthetic.

Small and University Presses

If it is in your interest for your book to not look “mainstream,” i.e. as if it were from The Big Five, yet you still would like a competent, professionally-designed book, I recommend looking to small and university presses for examples.

These publishers would still like to sell books, of course, but the numbers are not to the scale of the big boys, and in the case of university presses, the mission is often more about the work existing than selling. Small houses are often able and willing to take some risks with design—to produce something professional, but distinctly non-mainstream.

Speaking of Anne Trubek again, I think Belt Publishing is a good example of this approach. If you look at their covers, they are clearly professional. But they don’t look like a Penguin bestseller. There’s a cohesion to Belt’s titles, thanks in large part to the majority of covers being designed by one designer: David Wilson. I’d love to do a cover for Belt, but I don’t think my work would fit.

Here’s another example off my shelf: Abbott Awaits by Chris Bacheldor from Louisiana State University Press. This one is from 2011.

I think this cover is fine. Not amazing, but not bad. It captures the mundanity that is a major through line in the novel. I think it looks fairly “indie.” But it is still professionally typeset on both the back cover and interior. Care is taken with margins, hierarchy, and type choice. There are blurbs and a spine colophon. I think this book sits comfortably in the middle of that indie-mainstream continuum.

I do a lot of work for university presses, so I may be biased. But I think they generally do a good job of straddling that line.

Subjectivity and Irony

I think this comment has been stuck in my craw because of how goddamn subjective the indie-mainstream framework is. The author of this original comment just released a premium, slipcase hardcover version of one of their books with custom illustrations priced at $95. There’s no dust jacket with marketing copy, sure, but I would hardly call that looking “indie.” They’re marketing this premium object via via interviews with well-known YouTubers. Absolutely nothing wrong with that—PR and marketing are essential to selling books—I just find it ironic based on their comment at the beginning of this newsletter.

Maybe this whole newsletter could have been one line: “Looking ‘indie’ is subjective.” Maybe I’m bothered by a comment whose writer probably doesn’t even remember writing it. Maybe this discussion doesn’t even really matter—but, like with so many things, I needed to write about it to be able to approach that conclusion.

I’m spinning my wheels a bit on this, so I’d like to turn this over to you. What does looking “indie” mean to you? “Mainstream”? Where’s the line between the two, and what do you want your book to look like?

Leave a comment

Thanks for Reading!

Thank you for reading! I mean it.

If you’d like to keep this newsletter going and help me say no to designing soul-sucking books about corporate events, email marketing, and raising capital, consider buying me a coffee.

Until next time,
Nathaniel

I bought a new camera recently, so I am on a photography kick.1

I’ve been a hobbyist photographer for a decade. In the fall of 2015, I flew to Florence, Italy, for a semester abroad with my father’s ten-year-old Nikon D200 in tow. Among my classes was an introductory photography class. Should you ever be so lucky, I recommend learning to take pictures in Florence. Easier said than done, I know.

After a panicky, anxious start to the semester, I fell in love with both the city and photography. How could I not? Both together and separately, they felt like magic. I couldn’t believe the images I was getting with my lens. Even my crappiest photos felt magical because of where I was. Taking pictures calmed my mind, helped me learn the city, and gave me something to be excited about every day.

Part and parcel of this budding photographic romance was, thanks to several assignments from my Italian instructor,2 an infatuation with a specific genre of photography: street photography. My god, what a thrill! I’m not sure I’ve ever felt anything like what it feels like to get a good photo in the street. To this day, some of my favorite photos are ones I took of Italians (and Londoners) that fall ten years ago.

Despite my infatuation, I don’t shoot street terribly often. Too many nerves, not enough time, etc., etc. But I’ve been thinking about it for a decade and with increasing frequency. Last year, I took the opportunity to take pictures of other tourists also taking pictures in New York City. Since getting my new camera, I have watched many, many, walking interviews with street photographers on YouTube and checked out several books from the library. I haven’t shot anything that good yet, but I’ve started taking my camera with me everywhere I go. I’m frankly annoying myself with how much I am obsessing over street photography.

Connections between Street Photography, Collage, and Book Design

Why have I been obsessing? What draws me to it so much, and compels me to make it part of my creative practice?

There are several reasons, with nostalgia and a rosy view of my time spent traveling chief among them, but I made another connection the other day as I made my first collage in several weeks: my favorite parts of street photography are also my favorite parts of collage and book cover design: serendipity and juxtaposition.

To my mind, good street photos capture a serendipitous moment—a head on a shoulder, the wind blowing someone’s hair just the right way, a split-second facial expression, a leap over the puddle. Henri Cartier-Bresson’s “decisive moment.” The most memorable images pair this serendipity with juxtaposition, showing us something often unexpected, ironic, or humorous.

Juxtaposition is the very nature of collage: putting seemingly unrelated things together to make a new whole. And, at least with analog collage, the serendipity of materials is what allows for that juxtaposition to take place. Look at the collage above. What are the chances that two pieces, from two different magazines, fit together so well? This is serendipity. The contrasting color and texture within that serendipitous alignment is juxtaposition. This is not to say I think this is the best collage ever made—far from it—but it illustrates my point.

My favorite book covers I have ever designed are brimming with serendipity, or, as I have referred to it, play. Instinctual things happen inside those Photoshop files and on my desk that I was not planning on. And the covers—mine, or others—I get most excited about almost always feature juxtaposition of some sort: between materials, ideas, text and image, aesthetic styles, and more. You name it. This is probably why I am so into collage on book covers, though collage is by no means a requirement for juxtaposition to occur.

I would take juxtaposition over pretty on a book cover any day.

A Conceptual Framework for Future Work

I would probably love and (try to) make this kind of work no matter what. So this realization is a little obvious in hindsight, as many of them tend to be. But it is still incredibly important to me! It feels wonderful to distill and name what it is I am after in creative work. It is enlightening to see the thread tying my creative interests together, and I am excited to use serendipity and juxtaposition as an intentional and conceptual framework for future work, no matter what medium that work happens to be in.

Not that I must use serendipity and juxtaposition in my work. Not every assignment calls for such a conceptual framework. But I think it is good to find words for what you’re after creatively. I find it freeing. It means I don’t need to be a book designer, collage artist, or street photographer, but there will still be creative target no matter what creative work I do in this life.

Thanks for reading! Until next time.
—Nathaniel

If you tell me that book covers are not good at all anymore, I will literally write an entire newsletter to argue with you. I think there have always been good covers, there have always been bad covers, and there will be both until humankind makes itself extinct.

HOWEVER, I do have a particular affinity for mid-twentieth century book design. Perhaps due to techniques available, perhaps due to prevailing tastes, in many covers from this time period,1 there is an economic simplicity I find so damn attractive. I don’t think we should all worship at the feet of Paul Rand, but, I have to admit, I do like modernism.

As such, over the years, I have collected a handful of vintage books with handsome covers. I try to be conservative with my purchases, but still, the collection grows. In an attempt to justify this accumulation, I would like to share some images of these covers with you.

Click here to view in your browser. There’s a lot of images, and this will get cut off in your email inbox.

Let me know which cover you like best, and why!

Leave a comment

Thanks for Reading!

Thank you for reading looking! I mean it.

If you’d like to keep this newsletter going and help me say no to designing soul-sucking books about corporate events, email marketing, and raising capital, consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a coffee.

Until next time,
Nathaniel

Hey there.

Life is busy, I am tired, the house is a terrible mess. Today’s newsletter is a bit of a grab bag. I hope you enjoy!

Leaving the Honeymoon Phase

Lately, the writing comes slow and uneven. When there’s time, there is no energy, and when there is energy, no time. I am still building these muscles; I am still learning what it takes to build a writing practice beyond inspiration. It seems I am leaving the honeymoon phase of writing publicly. It lasted more than a year. For a long time, it was easy to write instead of doing something else. Now the real work begins: showing up when it’s not easy.

I love book design but, surprisingly, I don’t necessarily have something worthwhile to say about it every week. I think that’s okay. I want what I write to be worthwhile. It’s good to remember I am a person, not a brand. Right now, continuing to write in general feels more important than writing about book design. I have a few things coming, but I am taking my time with them.

And so: this is the second newsletter in a row not exactly about book design, and not exactly on a schedule. Thanks for being here anyways.

A New Approach to My Commonplace Book

When I struggle to write, it often means it is time to read. In order to remember what I read, and then do anything with said reading, I must take notes.

I’ve taken notes on what I read for a long time, in a variety of ways. But, like the writing, my approach has become laborious, tedious. As such, I’ve neglected the practice. So I’m taking a slightly new tact.

Up until recently, I organized my book notes by title. But, for whatever reason, I found that this approach compelled me to take comprehensive notes on a title. Which means, with the time and energy I currently do not have, I do not take notes on said title. So instead, I’ve turned to a modified approach to the classic commonplace book. The organizing principle here is subject, not title. Here is what I do:

When I read a line in a book I want to save, I underline it like I always have. I annotate with my thoughts if necessary. Then I write a broader, overarching subject word near the passage. I stole this after reading ’s great post on her commonplace book.

When it’s time to write the passage in my notebook, I simply turn to a new spread, label this spread “commonplace,” write the subject—or “headword”—and then write the quote. More quotes from this source may follow under this headword, or may not. I might write a new headword on the opposite page. I might write a quote from a different source. It doesn’t matter, because it all gets tracked.

Each headword and the page(s) on which it is found get logged at the beginning of my notebook in my commonplace “index.” If more than one quote from a single source is also copied, I will also note the pages in which this title can be found in the index. When I finish a notebook, I copy my favorite quotes into a digital commonplace book that I can search at any time. This ad-hoc—yet organized—approach allows me to write notes as I go and have time for.

Here I should say that, while I hate calling my notebook a bullet journal, I do use the bullet journal system. It is, to oversimplify it, an indexing system. A way to group related pages that may not be next to each other in my notebook. This means my notebook is my planner, sketchbook, diary, and commonplace book all in one. You can read more about how I use my notebook here

.

In this way, you might find my notes on “photography,” for instance, spread across five different pages in my book. But those five pages are grouped together in my index, and they are “threaded” together on each page by writing the subsequent page numbers in the corners of each spread. This same approach is used for every notebook-within-a-notebook.

Confused yet? I understand this may sound like chaos to many, if not most. Why not keep a separate notebook for each usage? Well, because I am certain I would lose them. One notebook fits much better in my backpack. Using five notebooks at once feels more chaotic to me than this system that I have been using and slowly adding to and tinkering with for the last six years. Ultimately, I love seeing everything mixed together. My diary bumping shoulders with my day’s to-do lists as well as my sketches. My notebooks become time capsules of everything I was thinking about, reading, and working on at a particular point in time.

What I’m Reading

While new notebooking techniques are never far from my mind, I started rethinking my book notes thanks to the chapter about commonplace books in Roland Allen’s The Notebook: A History of Thinking on Paper.1

This book is a wonderful read for notebook lovers! It’s thoroughly researched and well-written. It goes deep into the notebook’s origins and the different ways they’ve been used throughout time. Some chapters interest me more than others—my eyes glaze a bit at the seafaring sections—but I am enjoying the book immensely.

I am also reading Hold Still by Sally Mann (another book recommended by Austin Kleon I have been meaning to read for years). Within the first 50 pages, I could tell this was going to be an all-time favorite. Mann, known for her photography, is a terrific writer. In addition to a compelling personal history, there are meaningful reflections on art making. My copy is getting covered in ink, graphite, and sticky tabs.

The third book I am actively reading is The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane by Lisa See. I’m reading this for my two-person book club with my mom. I was put off by the first person, present tense POV at first, but now I am, erm, humming along. There is drama and there is culture clash. The book keeps me turning its pages.

Book Design Milestone

Two books I designed jackets for were recently published. I’ve shared these covers before, but what is special about these books is that they were published by W. W. Norton, one of the largest independent publishers in the U.S. This means that, for the first time, my crappy handwriting book design work will be in major bookstores across the country. Books with my design have been in stores before, but not this scale. It’s an exciting milestone—I’m starting to feel like the real deal.

Thanks for Reading

That’s all for this time. I hope you enjoyed, or at least didn’t mind, this grab bag approach to a newsletter.

If you’d like to keep this newsletter going and help me say no to designing soul-sucking books about corporate events, email marketing, and raising capital, consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a coffee.

Until next time,
Nathaniel

When I was in 10th grade, I wrote a poem about my girlfriend for English class.1 It was called “Your Perfect Imperfections,” and I set the type in a grungy, typewriter font—probably from dafont.com, the enabler of every young designer’s bad type decisions—and, if memory serves, I read it in front of the whole class.2

I don’t remember much from the poem, except for a reference to Polaroids, but I remember having been proud of what I had written.

Oh, sixteen-year-olds.

For better and definitely for worse (see above), I have always flirted with writing, but never really wrote in earnest, outside of diary entries and school papers, until I started this newsletter last year. Before I started writing, I read plenty of books about writing, as if preparing to launch. These fostered my desire in their own safe and distanced way. King and Lamott have definitely helped me as they have millions. But as every writer knows, craft books only get you so far. The real “juice,” so to speak, comes from reading widely and often. Books that, in my case at least, make me ask: “you can do that? I want to do that.”

I read plenty of fiction, and I love it. I feel its impact upon the way in which I write. A list of books that influence my writing would be endless. But, for whatever reason, the books that really make me want to write in the first place are by and large nonfiction. It’s what I’m most interested in writing myself. There is a major through line in these books: wonderful, attentive writing about things I never thought I’d care about.

Here are some of the books that made me want to write.

I Am Sorry to Think I Have Raised a Timid Son by Kent Russell

I bought I Am Sorry to Think I Have Raised a Timid Son several years ago at The Book Cellar in Chicago. It lived in a section labeled “narrative nonfiction” that drew my eye. I suppose I knew it was a genre, or at least style of writing, but I hadn’t yet seen it as a curated section in a book store. Around this time, and because of this experience, I was starting to develop an interest in the personal essay as a form.

I pulled Timid Son off the shelf and was immediately drawn in by the cover image the author holding a hand-lettered cardboard sign. I checked the design credit like I always do, and smiled: it was designed by Peter Mendelsund. I was and am a bit of a Mendelsund fanboy, and I always seem to have a knack for pulling his covers off the shelf. The book sounded good, but this was the clincher.

The book is a series of first-person essays about various and unusual topics—an Insane Clown Posse festival; a man in inoculating himself with snake venom—sprinkled with interludes featuring interactions between the author and his father. Think Consider the Lobster by David Foster Wallace with daddy issues. I fell in love with the idea of writing about something weird, different, or ignored, and doing so with sentences worth underlining.3

Cover by Peter Mendelsund

Speaking of Peter Mendelsund: If you have read this newsletter for some time, it is likely you are aware of the influence he and his monograph Cover have had on me. I might not be a book designer with out it.

But in addition to his influential covers, the book also showcases Mendelsund’s terrific writing. I didn’t know it then, but I think this book was also an influence in my desire to write about book design, not just to practice it. This is a key text to my professional life.

Boom Town by Sam Anderson

I would never have imagined that one of my favorite books would be about Oklahoma City, but here we are. I read Boom Town because as a basketball fan I was interested in the Oklahoma City Thunder narrative, and because recommended it often. His recommendations are, more often than not, golden. Sam Anderson is one of those magical non-fiction writers who writes with such care and attention about their subject that you cannot help but find it as fascinating as they do.

Boom Town is Anderson’s only book, for now, but his work for The New York Times Magazine is also fantastic.

Never Use Futura by Douglas Thomas

Never Use Futura is, essentially, a biography of a typeface. And I know, that probably sounds like the driest notion since toasted bread. But hear me out. Doug Thomas is a great writer, and Futura is, for my money, the font with the most fascinating story. It’s the font that’s on the moon. It nearly didn’t escape Nazi Germany. It’s used by both hyper- and anti-capitalist companies and artists such as Nike, Supreme, Barbara Kruger, and the Guerilla Girls. The book is stuffed with illustrations and images for every point in the typeface’s history.

Because of this book, I looked up potential Masters programs—both domestic and abroad—to study the history of typography so that I might one day write a book like it. I didn’t go, but the influence this book had on me remains.

An honorable mention along similar lines: Just My Type by Simon Garfield.

The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green

I’ve been a fan of John Green for a long time. More for his videos and general internet presence than his Young Adult fiction, though I’ve read those books too, and particular for his podcast, and later book, The Anthropocene Reviewed.

The Anthropocene Reviewed shares some DNA with I Am Sorry to Think I Have Raised a Timid Son and Boom Town in the way it explores esoteric topics with great care, attention, and quality writing. But, to my mind, Anthropocene is almost as much a memoir as it is a collection of essays “reviewing” facets of the human-centered planet.4 Green writes about air-conditioning units, Piggly Wiggly grocery stores, and Haley’s Comet with equal interest and the author is never too removed from the narrative.

This book has almost nothing to do with book design,5 but it is exactly how I hope to write about book design.

An honorable mention that actually is a memoir in essays: The Crane Wife by C.J. Hauser.

On Writing Well by William Zinsser

On Writing Well is on this list for two reasons:

1. I believe reading it improved my writing.

2. The way Zinsser writes about writing is infectious. It made me want to try.

Gratitude by Oliver Sacks

I read Gratitude at the end of every year. It is short, precise, unpretentious, and filled with meaning. It is a reminder of my mortality and reminds me of what is important.

The Clothing of Books by Jhumpa Lahiri

This slim volume actually did make me write—I wrote my newsletter “Book Covers Don’t Matter” as a direct response to this book-length essay.

Honorable Mentions

These books added fuel to the fire the above books kindled.

Now You See It: And Other Essays on Design by Michael Bierut

How to Write an Autobiographical Novel by

The books of

The Book of Difficult Fruit by Kate Lebo

What Are Yours?

Tell me: What are the books that made you want to write?

Leave a comment

Thank you for reading! I mean it.

If you’d like to keep this newsletter going and help me say no to designing soul-sucking books about corporate events, email marketing, and raising capital, consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a coffee.

Paid subscribers get access to How to Design a Book Cover, a bonus series illuminating my book design process, and diary updates on the process of turning this newsletter into a book.

Until next time,
Nathaniel

But I didn’t want to leave you empty-handed this weekend, so please enjoy one of my favorite things I’ve ever written on the subject of book design.

I’m not much of a science guy, but I’ve been thinking about Schrödinger’s cat.

It’s a thought experiment designed to illustrate a paradox of “quantum superposition.” A (theoretical) cat is placed inside of a (theoretical) box along with (theoretical) poison or some other (theoretically) lethal material.1 Until the box is opened, we, the observers, do not know if the cat is alive or dead. Therefore, the theory goes, the cat can be considered both dead and alive simultaneously.

Why, of all things, is a quantum physics thought experiment on my mind?

“The cover is superficial, negligible, irrelevant with respect to the book,” Jhumpa Lahiri writes in her essay, The Clothing of Books. “The cover is an essential, vital component of the book. One must accept that both these sentences are true.” 

If you lock a book jacket in a box along with poisonous market forces, does it live or does it die?

As someone who designs book covers, I find Lahiri’s assertions interesting and resonant—and also uncomfortable. Does what I do matter?

Of course. Not. Maybe?

Hey there, kitty cat.

A book’s cover is part of its form in support of its content.2 We read books for the words on their pages. This is where their meaning—their purpose—lives. But we can also find real, emotional meaning in a book’s cover on its own merit and in conjunction with the words it encloses. A cover is “a sort of translation,” Lahiri writes. “It represents the text, but it isn’t part of it … it has to have its own take on the book.”

Covers are separate from the text—and replaceable—but some get baked into my idea of a book. I am ambivalent about the idea of “author branding,” but covers occupy a space similar to brand, at least by Marty Neumeier’s definition in his book The Brand Gap: “A brand is a person’s gut feeling about a product, service or company.” In tangible terms, Paul Bacon’s iconic cover for Catch-22 is not Catch-22 itself. But to me, Catch-22 without Bacon’s iconic cover is not really Catch-22.3

That being said, Lahiri reminds us, “regardless of its power, if it doesn’t sell the book, [the cover] has no value.” You may quibble with this; I certainly want to instinctually: “this cover is valuable to me!” But remember, a book generally needs to sell in order for you to even know about it and care about its cover in the first place.

Today, a book will often receive a new visual treatment for its paperback edition, released months or years after the hardcover.4 Sometimes, the design is a rearrangement of the same basic elements—maybe adding an award sticker or a new blurb5—that adorned the jacket. Other times, it is a complete redesign in hopes of rejuvenating sales. There are many other reasons why a book sells (or doesn’t), but its cover is a factor in that equation. If books are ephemeral, their jackets are even more so. The cover is intended to sell the book, yet we do not remember the best-selling books from just a century ago. Even The Great Gatsby, with its iconic eyes, is receiving fresh looks now that the title is in the public domain and any publisher may offer their own version of it.6

Further compounding the question of a book jacket’s importance, a cover does not even have to be good in order for the book to sell or be loved by readers. “I remain attached even to certain ugly covers of books I would read and return in high school without ever owning them,” Lahiri says. “In the end, the beauty of the cover has nothing to do with it. Like every true love, that of the reader is blind.” Ugly, or even mediocre-looking books, are often successful. Think about Colleen Hoover or James Patterson books—these covers are more akin to seeing the familiar Starbucks logo on the freeway than a nuanced interpretation of ideas. They matter, but only insofar as they uphold the expected status quo.7

What is the perfect book jacket? It doesn’t exist. The great majority of covers, like our clothes, don’t last forever. They make sense, give pleasure, in only a specific arc of time, after which they are dated. Over the years they need redesign, change, just like old translations. A new jacket is given to a book to reinvigorate it, to make it more current. The only part left intact is the original text, in the language in which it was written.

I was going to write that this is less of an axiom in the university publishing space, where I do so much of my work—but is it? Just last year, I completed a project in which I repackaged three of an author’s previous titles into one compendium. They needed it: The first of the titles was published in 1991, and it shows. But who is to say that in 30 years my cover will not scream “2024”?

Lahiri, a Pulitzer Prize-winning author, has a complicated relationship with her own book covers. Even a writer of her stature does not have more than some say in the clothing of her titles. She writes:

The first time I see one of my covers, while thrilling, is always upsetting. No matter how effective or intriguing it may be, there always exists, between us, a disconnect, a disequilibrium.

And:

A good cover is flattering. I feel myself listened to, understood.

A bad cover is like an enemy; I find it hateful. 

There is a certain awful cover for one of my books that elicits in me an almost violent response. Every time I am asked to autograph that edition, I feel the impulse to rip the cover off the book.8

And finally:

…In my opinion, most of my book jackets don’t fit me, which is why I sometimes think, as a writer too, that a uniform would be the answer.

Lahiri further explores this idea of a uniform, flirting with the idea of editorial series design as a solution to her ambivalence about book covers. Think of those orange Penguins, or more contemporary and less uniform, Penguin Classics, NYRB Classics, and McNally Editions. They are also, according to the author, more common in Italy, where she lives, than the United States.

The authors published in a series belong to one another, and they all belong to the publishing house. Each book represents the choice, the taste of the editor, but the series confers on the book an identity, a sort of citizenship … this raises an interesting and much debated question. Is the series more important, or the individual books within?

She admits these series have “a somewhat formal, even pompous effect,” but I get the sense Lahiri would prefer this to a jacket with a poor aesthetic or conceptual fit.

This is, at least in part, because a poor conceptual fit for one of Lahiri’s books could be damaging and perpetuate stereotypes. “For some publishing houses, my name and photograph are enough to quickly commission a cover that teems with stereotyped references to India: elephants, exotic flowers, henna-painted hands, the Ganges, religious and spiritual symbols. No one considers that the greater part of my stories are set in the United States, and therefore pretty far from the river Ganges.”

Stereotypes on book covers are still an issue, though perhaps now driven more by comp titles and past financial success than cultural stereotype. 

“[Lisa] wanted the art to be gender neutral—no pinks or purples. No images of Black people or linked hands, no variegated splotches suggestive of DEI or unity,” Tajja Issen writes in “The Hidden Racism of Book Cover Design,”  her recent piece for The Walrus. “She’d seen it done to too many other books by Black women—think Maame by Jessica George, or Brit Bennett’s The Vanishing Half. By giving a clear sense of her limits, Lisa figured she’d avoid the problem.”

Spoiler: She didn’t.

“If a book adorned by racially reductive imagery was gobbled up by the target audience in the past, publishers will be motivated to do it again. The goal is commercial viability.”

In this regard then, getting the book cover right—or at least not getting it horribly wrong—matters a great deal toward combatting stereotypes. But continuing our little paradox, if a stereotypical book cover sells (our previous heuristic for the value of a book cover), does a more nuanced and less stereotypical cover? And if it doesn’t sell, what does that mean for the continued existence of the book—or its jacket?

The Clothing of Books makes me think of Peter Mendelsund, my favorite cover designer and arguably why I got into this racket in the first place. He (mostly) no longer designs book jackets. Mendelsund is still in the design world—he left his Art Director job at Knopf to be the Creative Director at The Atlantic—but these days his priority seems to be writing books. He’s written several, both fiction and nonfiction. One of today’s most brilliant cover designers hung up InDesign and opened his word processor.9

I’m never surprised anymore when book designers like Mendelsund, Chip Kidd, or Tree Abraham turn to writing their own books. Is every successful book cover designer an aspiring, failed, or soon-to-be writer? No, but sometimes it feels like it. What we do is ephemeral, oriented toward the marketplace, and while attention grabbing, ultimately in service of a more important work. Is writing the “real” job here? I think of this newsletter and my own aspirations to write. We do book design because we love books, right? Is it just the next best thing to writing one?

What I love about this question is that for some of you reading, the answer may be a definitive “no.” For others, a clear “yes.” Ask me on different days and you’ll get different answers. Like so many things in book design, it depends.

As it often happens with this newsletter, and my thoughts in general, I don’t have a solid conclusion. I’m not arguing that book covers shouldn’t be replaced, or anything else to protect a fragile sense of designer self importance. I think graphic design is more important than the average person does, but I also think it’s probably less important than the average designer does. Like David Carson (supposedly) said: “Graphic design will save the world right after rock & roll does.”

So here we are, in this liminal space, asking questions of books with paradoxical answers.

Do book covers matter? Of course. Not. Maybe! Meow.

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I don’t hate you, Comic Sans.

You were designed in the 1990s for a program called Microsoft Bob.

You were based, in part, on the lettering from Watchmen.

You ultimately weren’t used for Microsoft Bob, because it was designed with Times New Roman measurements.

Eventually, you were included in Windows 95.

Designed for a single purpose, you were put into the hands of the world to do whatever it would with you. And the world ... made some choices.

Now, you’re hated by designers and non-designers alike. But it’s not your fault, you were just being who you were. I don’t look good in orange, either.

You’re certainly flawed, but who isn’t? You aren’t without your redeeming qualities, unlike Papyrus. Fuck Papyrus.

I can’t say I love you, and I’m not 100% sure that I like you. But I don’t hate you, Comic Sans. And nobody should.

I learned about the history of Comic Sans from a book called Just My Type by Simon Garfield. I heartily recommend it.

After I read it, I became a little obsessed. I was the design editor at my university newspaper at the time, and I wrote an earlier version of this as a column in the paper. I think people mostly liked it. They also said “why the hell is this in the newspaper?”

Garfield also has a new entire book about the font as part of a trilogy of books about the typefaces Albertus, Baskerville, and Comic Sans. I haven’t read them yet, but I would like to.

Like I wrote in “Cover Your Book with Beautiful Garbage,” one of my favorite book covers of all-time, designed by Ben Denzer, uses Comic Sans.

Fun fact: Did you know that if you Google “Comic Sans,” your search results are returned in Comic Sans?

So tell me. What are your thoughts on Comic Sans?

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Thank you for reading! I mean it.

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Until next time,
Nathaniel

I wouldn’t be a graphic designer if it was not for an accountant with a hobby. Life is weird.

In his younger years, my father liked to draw and take photographs. He shot with a Canon AE-1 and, on at least one occasion, drew a portrait of my mother when they dated as teenagers. Perhaps I owe my very existence to this hobby, not just my career.

I’m not sure if a career in the arts was ever a consideration for my father, serious or not, but born to a teacher and electrician in 1957, he joined his engineer siblings in choosing a respectable, well-paying profession. When my parents got married, they didn’t have much—$1,500 in savings, and $1,500 in debt, the story goes—but my dad doggedly pursued his career in accounting and became the CFO of a mid-sized binding company in Metro Detroit.

As long as I can remember, there have been cameras in our house. One time, on vacation, my dad let me pocket the family point-and-shoot in my basketball shorts and hop down a short ledge to take a picture. The camera fell out of my shorts and broke. It’s a wonder he ever let me use his stuff ever again.1

Where there was photography, there was also photo editing software. While he would eventually move on to the Creative Suite versions of Adobe Photoshop, then Lightroom, the software installed on our dining room PC when I was old enough to care was Adobe Photoshop Elements 5—a version of the software designed for casual users.2 This is where my journey with graphic design would begin.

Even so, I may have never opened the software if it was not for basketball. I did not inherit the love of this sport from my family; I don’t remember how or when I started loving basketball, but it must have been because of my grade school friends Tim, Tommy, and Kanon. Peer pressure isn’t always a bad thing. These boys—and the 2004 Detroit Pistons championship—solidified a lifelong love affair with the game.

So it was there, in those aughts, armed with my father’s copy of Photoshop Elements and my love of basketball, where I found myself part of a budding community of nba.com forum users creating skinny, horizontal graphics featuring all of our favorite players for the signatures of forum posts—AKA “sigs.” In retrospect, it was a beautiful, nerdy time filled with making and improving. I’m not even sure if I would have even called it graphic design then, or really known what that was. There are some graphics I made that, to this day, I’m not completely sure how I made them—or if I could even do so today. And I never will know: at one point, I deleted the Photoshop files because of how much space they occupied. I wish I hadn’t.

My hobby, derived from my father’s, led to my taking a “graphic design” class at my high school.3 I took Web Design and Yearbook. My mother hated that I was placed into what she viewed as a worthless class, but yearbook proved to be a valuable place to practice my skills and was prescient of my future career in book design. I took it again the following year with her blessing. I went to college, took the prerequisite design classes, and got into the graphic design program.4 I started working at my university’s newspaper thanks to a fellow designer recruiting me from our printmaking class. I didn’t design newspapers for long, but doing so has had a major impact on my life and career.

Newspaper layout design guided me toward book design, but I don’t know if I would have ever wanted to or thought to do so in the first place without the influence of my mother. As I’ve written before, she bought me Cover by Peter Mendelsund in 2014, a book that unlocked the idea of designing book covers for me. But I wouldn’t want to design them if I didn’t love them, and I don’t know if I would love books so much if it was not for my mother. She read to my sisters and I, the usual youthful affair, and things like Little House on the Prairie. She took me to the library and indulged my obsession with the Jedi Apprentice and Eragon books. Even in the disaffected, fallow-reading years, there was always an eclectic mix of books on my bed’s headboard bookshelf. Books were and are a major part of my life because of my mom. Now, we read them together.

It is both gratifying and unnerving to examine the impact of my parents upon what I do. A career is not the sum of a person, but I have a difficult time imagining my life without the manipulation of images and text.

While I was expected to do reasonably well in school, there were never firm expectations to become an engineer, accountant, doctor, or any other sort of “respectable” profession. They supported my decision to study graphic design, though I suspect this may have been purely out of relief—mom likes to joke that she thought I would “major in girlfriend and minor in basketball.” Even still, their influence on my chosen path is profound in hindsight.

I’m never sure if this sort of navel gazing is healthy, or worthwhile—especially at this stage of the “career” I keep yammering on about—but I can’t help it. Overthinking and reflection is as much a part of me as my love of books and identity as a designer. It gets stronger as I age, have children, and watch them grow. Who am I? How did I get here? Who will they become, and how will I influence that? Do they see me read enough? Will they know how much I love design? Do I let them watch too much TV? How much will my anxiety impact their lives? Behind these questions is the fear that I will fuck them up. And I will, I know. Every parent does somehow. I just hope it’s not too much. I just hope they find something they love to do as much as I love what I do—whether or not it has anything to do with me.

So mom, when you get around to reading this, and dad, when mom shows you this: thanks. For being my parents. But also, for being yourselves.

The Latest for Paid Subscribers

What I’m Reading (links)

• Re-Noted: Guillermo del Toro’s Mystical Notes by

• My 10 favorite reads of 2025 (so far) by

• The Daily Heller: A Book Cover Where AI Says it All (Print Mag)

What I’m Working On

Here’s a recent book cover I designed for Wayne State University Press:

Thanks for Reading!

Thank you for reading! I mean it.

If you’d like to keep this newsletter going and help me say no to designing soul-sucking books about corporate events, email marketing, and raising capital, consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a coffee.

Paid subscribers get access to How to Design a Book Cover, a bonus series illuminating my book design process, and diary updates on the process of turning this newsletter into a book.

Until next time,
—Nathaniel

Welcome to How to Design a Book Cover, a bonus series from A Book Designer’s Notebook in which I walk you through a particular cover design from start to finish. This is a bonus series for paid-tier subscribers.

Paid subscribers get access to How to Design a Book Cover and diary updates on the process of turning this newsletter into a book.

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This week, I’m sharing the process behind my cover for Appropriated Tales: Race and the Disney Fairy-Tale Mode by Michelle Anya Anjirbag.

The Brief

Every book cover projects starts with a creative brief. This brief usually shares a description of the book, technical specifications, potential art direction from the author, and art direction from the press itself. When it’s a self-published client, I build the brief myself.

Here’s a look at what I received for this project:

Title: Appropriated Tales

Subtitle: Race and the Disney Fairy-Tale Mode

Byline: Michelle Anya Anjirbag

Trim: 6” x 9”

Format: paperback; hardcover/printed case

Series: Donald Haase Series in Fairy-Tale Studies

About the Book: The manuscript defines and analyzes what the author calls the “Disney fairy-tale mode” and its impact on fairy-tale structures and conceptions of the fairy tale in popular imagination. These impacts on the establishment and reiteration of normative imaginary worlds are illustrated by interrogation of Disney’s inclusion of racial, ethnic, and national difference beyond the United States. Thus, the book aims to theorize Disney’s method of storytelling as the “authorized” creator of United States cultural fairy tales, on the one hand, and the gap between the corporation’s stated intentions and their real community impacts, on the other. [Appropriated Tales] would join WSUP’s strong list in critical fairy-tale studies and the influence of conceptions of race on story formation and reception.

Read more

When I go to bookstores, I am obsessed with looking at books’ back flap to see who designed the jacket.

If I particularly like it, I look them up. I usually follow them on Instagram. I add them to my little mental Rolodex of designers whom I am jealous of. They become famous to me like the world’s most niche celebrities. Yes, I am very normal.

Now, I subject you share my obsession with you. Lucky you!

Here is a designer I think you should know: Lauren Peters Collaer.

The Book

Title: Colored Television by Danzy Senna

Cover Designer: Lauren Peters-Collaer

Publisher: Riverhead Books

Publication Date: July 30, 2024

Jane has high hopes that her life is about to turn around. After a long, precarious stretch bouncing among sketchy rentals and sublets, she and her family are living in luxury for a year, house-sitting in the hills above Los Angeles. The gig magically coincides with Jane’s sabbatical, giving her the time and space she needs to finish her second novel—a centuries-spanning epic her artist husband, Lenny, dubs her “mulatto War and Peace.” Finally, some semblance of stability and success seems to be within her grasp.

But things don’t work out quite as hoped. Desperate for a plan B, like countless writers before her Jane turns her gaze to Hollywood. When she finagles a meeting with Hampton Ford, a hot producer with a major development deal at a streaming network, he seems excited to work with a “real writer,” and together they begin to develop “the Jackie Robinson of biracial comedies.” Things finally seem to be going right for Jane—until they go terribly wrong.

Funny, piercing, and page turning, Colored Television is Senna’s most on-the-pulse, ambitious, and rewarding novel yet.

The Designer

Lauren Peters-Collaer is a multidisciplinary graphic designer currently working as an associate art director at Riverhead Books.

Links:

• Website

• Instagram

• I Need A Book Cover Page

• Dumb Questions for Smart Designers: Lauren Peters-Collaer

• Spine Magazine: Lauren Peters-Collaer gets Creative with Collage for Feast Your Eyes

• Lauren’s Band, Bears of Alaska

Other Covers

Here are some other excellent book covers from Lauren Peters-Collaer.

Heaven and Earth Grocery Store by James McBride (Riverhead, 2023)

No One Is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood (Riverhead, 2022)

Feast Your Eyes by Myla Goldberg (Scribner, 2020)

After the Sun by Jonas Eika (Riverhead, 2022)

The Library Book by Susan Orlean (Simon & Schuster, 2019)

Thrust by Lidia Yuknavitch (Riverhead, 2023)

Audition by Katie Kitamura (Riverhead, 2025)

The Empusium: A Health Resort Horror Story by Olga Tokarczuk (Riverhead, 2024)

White on White by Aysegul Savas (Riverhead, 2021)

Other Work

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this look at the work of Lauren Peters-Collaer, one of my favorite working book cover designers.

If you love this newsletter and want to support it, you can do so by “buying me a coffee” or becoming a paid subscriber.

Paid subscribers get access to How to Design a Book Cover, a bonus series in which I break down my book cover designs from creative brief to final cover.

If your notebook is not at least a little bit ugly, I don’t think I trust you.

Notebooks can be beautiful too, of course, but a notebook that is only beautiful is like a person that is only beautiful: a performance.

A notebook should be ugly, at least sometimes, because life is ugly, at least sometimes. A good notebook, for me, is a companion through life.

An ugly notebook meets you where you are.

When a notebook is ugly, it is a safe place to begin—to try things that do not work but might become things that do.

A messy notebook is interesting because perfection is boring.

An ugly notebook is better than no notebook at all. It exists.

My notebook is like a garden filled with flowers, vegetables, and weeds. Some of the peppers are deformed, but they are still nourishing.

If you keep an ugly notebook, it is not a problem when your infant daughter vomits in it or coffee stains its pages.

Ugly notebooks are important tools because good aesthetics are not a prerequisite for good ideas.

An ugly notebook has nothing to prove to anyone, and by extension neither do you.

Here are some photos of my most recently completed notebook between January and May.

Thanks for Reading!

Thank you for reading! I mean it.

If you’d like to keep this newsletter going and help me say no to designing soul-sucking books about corporate events, email marketing, and raising capital, consider becoming a paid subscriber or buying me a coffee.

Paid subscribers get access to How to Design a Book Cover, a bonus series illuminating my book design process and diary updates on the process of turning this newsletter into a book.

Until next time,
Nathaniel