Bring Back Handcrafting Letter Stamps

In the second chapter of The Book, Borsuk investigates the evolution of book content from the font to the binding and how that changed the way in which people approach books today. Borsuk begins with the origins of the modern codex, which lies with Gutenberg’s printing press in the 1440’s. But as Borsuk notes, “as much as we laud Gutenberg, he was not actually the first person to print with movable type,” instead,  it was “Chinese engineer, Bi Shen who developed a technique for printing from clay type he carved by hand” (73). I appreciated this acknowledgement because, not only does it highlight the reality of the movable type’s history, but it also shows how book practices developed relatively independently, as explored in the previous chapter.

Today, when typing, plenty of people don’t even have to consider their font choices so seriously. Though we might change it from Arial to Times New Roman, or if we’re feeling silly, Papyrus or Comic Sans, the labor, artistry, and history of creating fonts isn’t taken into account. In this chapter of The Book Borsuk, when discussing the printing press, goes into how Gutenberg and others had to literally create their own font. This task was more than just designing how letters would appear, but also how. The metal cast had to be strong enough to withstand the force of a printing press but not so hard that it destroyed the paper it was going on. In Gutenberg’s case, he “formulate[ed] his own alloy of tin and lead” (66) that was strong and had a low melting point. Borsuk then explains the complicated process of creating the stamps for the movable type, which was a lot to take in. With this page-long explanation, I realized the convenience of modern screens, keyboards, and printers. Gone are the days of arduous labor that required people to handcraft a single letter and put their full weight into pressing those handcrafted stamps onto handcrafted paper with an ink that was also made by hand. I think because of our disconnect with the labor that goes into the crafting of a book, in addition to its more automated route of creation, the path to fetishization of the book becomes easier.

The Church, Power, and Gutenberg

When reading chapter 2 of “The Book,” I questioned why Gutenberg was mentioned so prominently when it came to the printing press (yes he made many great achievements but he was not the first, see page 72’s mention of Bi Sheng). The answer that came to light is from page 72-73, “Evidence suggests that Gutenberg printed Latin schoolbooks and papal indulgences before completing his Bible as a means of supporting his press and currying favor with the Church” (Borsuk 72-73). One of the main reasons why I think Gutenberg has his place in history is because he curried favor with the Church—one of, if not, the most powerful entity of the time. The Church had overwhelming influence and a seemingly endless amount of funds. Gutenberg was first, and foremost, an entrepreneur, as seen in his earlier pursuits of gem-polishing, and “producing and selling mirrors to pilgrims” (Borsuk 65). And his print shop was one of his business ventures. Therefore, Gutenberg’s first motive is money—not necessarily the spread of knowledge. (It also helps that he was born into a rich family.)

In knowing this, it is not far-fetched to assume Gutenberg made a business decision to fall in line with what the Church wanted—it was a symbiotic relationship; the Church got to spread their message with ease, and Gutenberg was able to continue his business. On top of this, Gutenberg most likely knew that people were likely to buy religious books, because the Church was so powerful and most people subscribed to its faith. In printing the Bible and other religious texts, Gutenberg secured himself in the Church’s eyes, and thus in history.

Those with (and in) power are often able to either write history, or make us see it through their lens. Gutenberg’s story is an example of controlling the narrative. By making sure Gutenberg’s print shop stays alive through the Church’s funding, the Church is able to decide what is printed. If Gutenberg printed something the church was against, they could pull their funding and force Gutenberg out of business. They can decide to censor other perspectives and voices. It echoes the same problem today, of those in power trying to control and censor knowledge.

The Changing Methods of Creating the Book

Somehow, I feel that our obsession with the ideas within books restricts us from our understanding of them as commodity. As Borsuk illustrates in chapter 2 of The Book, the actual item of a book gradually morphed from something hand-done by scribes to production on an industrialized scale. Sandcasting has been done since ancient times, and in the renaissance it was utilized to form fonts, you had pressmen organizing and creating spreads of pages. This was a sector of the economies of the times that must have employed a large percentage of the working populace as literacy rates increased and the demand for books became something ravenous.

What really captured me was the realization that these early books were often created without covers. Borsuk writes that prior to “the nineteenth century, the cover [was] certainly part of the codex, but it [was] not, in fact, part of the book,” and the cover was only affixed to the pages as customers ordered books and publishers bound them once the purchase was made (74-76). I think many bibliophiles can conjure up the dream image of their own library, each book on the shelves bound in matching leather covers, as the aristocracy of prior centuries once did. As the book became a more widespread commodity, this fell largely by the wayside, though there are some contemporary bookbinders that will create wonderfully decorated bindings for the pages of your favorite book, like McCall. However, this practice has become a boutique niche well off the beaten path for most readers.

It’s hard to look at any of this and not think of the fears that must have arose from the workers in these sectors, as type became easier to create and set, as the pressing of pages became automated, as covers and bindings became cheaper to produce or changed in some way, these workers must have been terribly worried about the security of their jobs and the livelihoods of their families. I think in no small way that this mirrors many of the same fears we have today with the rise of digitization and the exponential expanse of AI in our world. What will become of us? What are we to do?

If we look to the book and its manufacture, I think there should be some answers that lay to rest the fears many in society now have in regard to this. As the creation of books changed with the values of consumers, so too did the industry. While at one time, bookbinders might have been employed in the thousands, it is now largely automated and a few have continued the practice. I think that the book, and knowledge, or humanity in general, will follow much the same path. The way we arrive to its end might be ever shifting, but there will always be a need for the human hand to mark the world in some way. It might be tempting to agonize over the looming iRobot or Wall-E end of civilization, but given the tenacity of mankind, this is terribly unlikely. As bookbinders faded from the forefront, artists took up the mantle, creating the wonderfully decorated covers we see today. As readers once relied on a few authors to create the vast majority of content, now there are an uncountable number of those laying words to paper. There is an ebb and a flow to all things. I think that no matter how our perceptions or stereotypes of it might shift, the book will always be.