Made Thing

Of all the books of poetry published in the last several years, Richard Siken’s Crush is the one I hear other poets talk about most when it comes to design. (As the winner of the Yale Younger Poets Prize, it’s talked about quite a bit for its contents, too.) The cover photograph fits the subject matter more perfectly than any other collection I’ve seen, and the photo is provocative precisely for what it doesn’t show. We can’t see the subject’s eyes, which would tell us so much about his mood and the occasion. And it’s impossible to know what liquid has settled into the groves of the thumbprint — engine oil, ink, blood? 

Since my goal in my MFA program is to write and publish a book of poetry, I’m trying to learn everything I can about the books I admire. This is what I know about the design of Crush:

• The back cover says the photograph was purchased from Getty Images, a popular stock agency. (I can’t find any information on the photographer, either through Getty or the web-at-large.) My guess is that the photo leaped out at the book designer as she was trolling through possible art, but that’s just me supposing.
• The book was designed by Mary Valencia at Yale University Press. The cover earned her an award from the American Association of University Presses in 2006. Another award-winner by Valencia: Ball and Hammer.
• The type is set in Fournier, a family of typefaces that fonts-online.com describes as “some of the most influential designs of the eighteenth century, being among the earliest of the transitional style of typeface, and were a stepping stone to the more severe modern style made popular by Bodoni later in the century.”

Only a little so far, but I’d love to interview the designer (and photographer, if I can identify him) to learn more. Come to think of it, it might be fun to interview several book designers about designing collections of poetry, to ask what if anything separates that process from designing books of prose. 

For lots of reasons, but these four bear repeating:

• Strangers keep following me, and some of them are even people (as opposed to marketing drones or spam bots). Because my mama raised me to be polite, I usually reciprocate by following them, and then, as Pennywise said to George, we’re not strangers anymore, are we?
• I can’t explain why it’s so attractive. The last thing I need is another way to avoid paid work on my computer. And yet Twitter feels useful to me; it feels purposeful in addition to fascinating and fun. It’s like holding your hand next to a live electrical wire — it positively hums with potential. 
• I’m not the only person in Northwest Arkansas who Twitters. Not only do other people in Arkansas have the Internet, some of them know there’s more to it than MySpace. This is news to me. Why do I never run into these people on Dickson Street? The last time I tried talking to a stranger about the things I do online, she asked me to watch her drink while she went to the bathroom. And then never came back for it.
• Earlier today, reading the warning about tomorrow’s scheduled downtime, I felt supremely put out. That’s how you know you’ve created something indispensable — your users feel entitled to it.

(I’m twitter.com/johnwilliams, by the way.)