—Not much. It's as true now as it was then.
—But all this talking and writing and lecturing....
—Two or three thousand persons, perhaps—two or three thousand have become "book conscious" as they say—the limited edition crowd. I'm dealing with the ten million.... There's a lot of whoosh in all that book beautiful stuff, you know.
—Mr. —— thinks it helps to tell them about type and paper, etc.
—I know. It doesn't. They don't understand his little notices—it's all shop talk. He likes 'em. He thinks they give the books tone, I daresay. I think it doesn't matter a damn one way or the other. All that shop detail is zero. They don't care to know and they don't need to know. Just make your book so it will read handily and let it go at that.
—Have you got this "new angle" idea to a point where you could describe a book made that way?
—Well. I might. Take the cover—I'd have board covers and cloth. But I wouldn't stamp them. Bright color. Gay. Patterned cloth sometimes. I'd have the simplest kind of paper label on the backbone. Printed from type—standard affair—library label that you could read. No embroidery, just plain function. On the least expensive terms possible. Make it a kind of house-trademark feature.... Inside I'd forget all I knew about fine printing—the art—it's a great art—forget all I knew—start fresh with the use.
—You like fine printing.
—That's right. I do. In its place. The place isn't trade books. You can't have fine printing in trade books. All you can have along that line is cheap imitation—celluloid collar and no shirt. If you go out with your imitation fine printing as a mark to shoot at you come back with what we turn out now, all of us—shabby genteel, to the limit. My book won't try to get by with a paper collar. My book won't have any collar. It will get down to the basis of realism—a handy, efficient, cheap tool for temporary use. Read it—throw it away. Who saves a book now? If you save it, where are you going to put it? In the car?
—That suggests question of size—what do you think about size?