If the future looks as rosy as the past, we’re fortunate indeed.
Are you prepared to plunge into the digital age and never look back?
Once you’ve mastered eye-catching symmetrical design, equitation should come pretty easily.
A design so enchanting that we never made it past the endpapers.
How do you tame the hair of an unkempt bibliomaniac?
The “Fertility Loaf” on p. 52 looks like the Venus of Willendorf.
The sommelier recommends a format that will fit discreetly into a clutch purse or tuxedo pocket.
If a book’s maker challenged you to cut up his book, would you obey? (Happily, one previous owner didn’t.)
Best subtitle wins a tureen of cauliflower bisque.
But we’re still looking for a typeface called “Monkey’s Paw.”
“Breasts and bosoms have I known, of various shapes and sizes / From poignant disillusionments to jubilant surprises…”
An informal survey reveals that 60% of Monkey’s Paw customers look suspiciously like amateur cheesemakers.
By 1977, the most desperate conflict of our time was already taking shape.
“A visitor from Mercury walked up to the clerk in a bookstore and demanded, in a clear and ringing voice, ‘Take me to Lolita.'”
On the 2015 edition, they’d BOTH have elegant mustaches.
How do you say “stiff upper lip” in German?
Tell us, Clonar: What is the difference between utopia and dystopia?
Is that vixen wearing a belted tunic and slacks? Hit the brakes!
Includes a reassuring two-page chapter on “inveterate smokers who have reached very great ages.”
But how do you handle a leering middle-aged dad with gin breath when he offers you a ride home at 11:45pm?
Instead of a frontispiece featuring of an adorable wiener dog, the publisher chose to insert a didactic, almost rabid, lesson on the respectful handling of books.
The Stroboconn; the Thyratone; the Solovox; the Organo; etc.
The memoir of an armless man who learned to write with his mouth (and to shave and play cards with his toes) is inherently interesting; but the fact that it’s SIGNED BY THE AUTHOR is positively astounding.
To whom it may concern:
Condition of dustjacket suggests the book was used as a pillow in a hobo jungle.
For maximum impact, a title should never exceed three syllables.
The previously unrecognized art of bandage surrealism.
Imagine a public transit system so beloved that riders would read entire books about its latest expansion.
Fixated on the geometric perfection of unused ovulation stickers.
“It never accommodates more than one person — and that one is myself.”
The melodrama of an accordion-fold appendix demands immediate attention.
In the presence of the actual artifact, it’s tough advice to follow: “You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books…”
A pop-up book about personal computers proves that print can still be pertinent in the digital age.
Shelved beside “Glamour Meals for a Used-Book Tycoon.”
Celebrating symmetry in both physique and typography.
The captain has turned off the No Smoking sign.
For those concerned about the Death of Print: troubling evidence.
800 pages deep in a monolithic type specimen book, the letterforms degenerate into wisps of pure abstraction.
Indulging a creepy impulse to peer into unguarded nests.
The runic magnetism of German brand logos.
Can’t think of anything to say about pop art endpapers.
It’s LADIES’ NIGHT at the Edward Gorey dustjacket factory.
Scrutinized under the harsh light of fame: Dewey the lion, Caesar the bear, Victoria the rhino, Kruger the chimp, Lopez the jaguar, Old Mose the tortoise, Fatima the python, etc.
An antiquarian bookshop provides access to otherwise uncharted topographies.
Have you ever wondered what the poet meant by “a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore” — ?
A good Halloween mask conceals your face but exposes your id.
Found on an astronaut’s bedside table.
Picture an off-duty clown, alone in his wagon at night, meticulously clipping newspaper ads for his scrapbook.
“The art of mixing Absinthe is probably one of the most subtle and least understood.”
The institutional colour palette of 1956, demonstrated via tipped-in paint swatches.
A certifiable bibliomaniac goes nuts for an evocative bookplate.
Sometimes it seems like life consists of just three activities, repeated over and over.
Got a wicked paper cut on page 66, and for a moment had the impression that a sharp skate blade was responsible.
“The complete Toronto story is available at last, revealed in all its odious repugnance.”
It’s the first day of the fall term at Hogwarts.
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