The first time I saw someone reading a book that I had designed, I could barely contain my excitement. It was on a subway platform in Boston. When the train came, I made sure to follow the fellow onto the same car so I could watch him as he kept reading. It was such a heady moment. This was no longer design theory, this was design in action — the abstract had become concrete. How thrilling! How satisfying! I was hooked!

Why is book design so compelling? When compared to the ephemeral aspects of print and web media, it’s easy to understand — books are durable and tactile. Books last, newspapers and brochures don’t. Though physically bounded by a front and back cover, the stories, information, and journeys of imagination contained within are an achievement of boundlessness. Books are a portable means to transport you — an ingenious blend of the literal and the figurative.

In order to design a book you need to read it. Since most book designers are also avid readers, our vocation is a natural extension of a pre-existing passion. Reading a book in manuscript form is a delightful form of intimacy that brings with it a sense of privilege. You’re part of a very small group of people who have access to an author’s words in this vestal state. And all the while you’re reading, you’re also sketching and thinking, trying to craft the physical form that will carry these words to the reader. How can I make the reading experience convey, if not enhance,  the author’s intent? To be in service of the words, to be devoted to them with an unfailing attention to every little detail, is to feel quietly and privately masterful.

More than thirty years years later, I’m still hooked.