Seeing and Reading
A Viewer’s Guide to Periodic LiteratureBy Kenneth FitzGerald
This is a slightly revised version of an
essay that appeared in the catalog to Emigre in Norfolk, an
exhibit at Old Dominion University, October 1–November 6,
2005.
An unfortunate aspect of graphic
design's history is the field's estrangement from
writing. Whether it's outright hostility to the word or
simply a predilection for the visual, design regards literature
warily. Literature readily returns the favor. The origin of
this rift is the Modern promulgation of the idea of a discrete
"visual language." Unfortunately, this effort
required demeaning that other, established language. What
emerged was a contentious division as injurious as it's
artificial.
One result of the split has been the
stunting of a distinct graphic design literature. Theories and
histories of design's activity are still scant,
especially compared to the (other) liberal arts. But while the
suspicion of text is ingrained in the field, it's never
been universal. The past two decades in graphic design can be
seen as response to diverse attempts to realign and integrate
the disciplines. The introduction of literary theory - via
Cranbrook Academy in the early 1980s - into graphic design
thinking was a major action along these lines.
At about the same time, a new forum for
contentious graphic design work and thinking emerged: Emigre magazine. Apart
from the specific opinions expressed in its pages, Emigre's very
existence worked to bridge the design/literature divide. The
importance and necessity of writing in and on design was
regularly championed and demonstrated. Design couldn't
stand apart from the word, nor can literature disdain design.
Design is where literature manifests
physical form. An author takes the first and most essential
step in making literature corporeal. But it's not the
last. Even if you believe - as many do - that to set
words into type is (or should be) a straightforward exercise,
we can discuss how standards of typesetting originated. And why
many designers choose to diverge. Emigre magazine provides a distinctive opportunity
to discuss literature's physical nature and import.
If you look at an issue of Emigre magazine
from the past three years (in its latest and final incarnation)
you would assume - correctly - that it was a literary
magazine. The majority of pages are dedicated to texts
presented in a conventional, bookish format. A discerning eye
would spot contemporary aspects enlivening a usually staid
genre. Prominent amongst them is the occasional non-standard
(and plainly irregular) text typeface. The design says this is
a magazine for serious reading. Only a brief section at the end
is given over to graphics.
This last variation of Emigre's format, which
progressed from assertively alternative toward an increasing
convention, is both further departure - and a return. An
all-text art publication isn't unusual. Critical theory
that stands apart from evaluating specific objects is long
established in art. But in design, it's virtually
commercial suicide. It is, however, true to its principles, and
the material published. Throughout its history, Emigre matched
form and meaning.
Emigre began as
a self-published, cultural tabloid. Wanting an outlet for their
creative work, a small group of expatriates invented their own
forum. The first issues have the requisite fare: stories,
poetry, scripts, interviews, photography, and illustration. Emigre's
distinction was its founders' status as immigrants to the
U.S. (providing the direct interpretation for its slogan,
"The Magazine that Ignores Boundaries.") And, of
course, there was the design. The layouts are vibrant collages
equally determined by a deliberate D.I.Y. aesthetic and a
limited budget. The design here says: this magazine is
different.
Every magazine - and every design
artifact - takes a stance on how content should be
represented. Though not expressed as such in its text, Emigre magazine
immediately challenged the "serious" presentation
of serious literature. It asserts that the physical nature of
the characters can't help but affect the reader's
expectations. Designers count on it. Critiquing the verities of
design will be Emigre's constant theme for the next twenty
years.
Within the field, Emigre's move to an
emphasis on graphic design as subject matter (with issue 9) is
taken as a transition. Emigre themselves state as much in their materials.
This is good marketing for the publication within the
profession. Unfortunately, it limits Emigre's wider regard,
relegating it to the status of trade publication. But culture
continues to be Emigre's true subject matter. Only now, culture
is scrutinized tangentially - through an innovative study
of design activity.
Emigre eschews
the professional-orientation of design publications expressed
in Print
magazine. This restricts Emigre's field of vision - and expands it.
Graphic design is the subject of every article but the insights
intend to reach beyond design. And they recognize that design
is an active - often a defining - player within
culture. Even if one wishes to make a commercial determination
on the efficacy of a design strategy, you must confront this
reality to gain a meaningful answer.
Design is another "text" that
we read: sometimes incoherent but never neutral. Emigre's art
direction reflects this, doing more than packaging its contents
alluringly. The magazine is taking on the world, and the whole
history of representation. At the least, it's honest
advertising, advocating its ideas through its form.
Due to the variety of writers Emigre featured, those
ideas are diverse. Their convergence is in a challenge to
design orthodoxies. If not given entire credit for establishing
a graphic design literature - one that, within its pages,
is wildly variable in form and quality - Emigre can claim
a sizeable chunk of it. It became a locus of design writing, a
place where all paths converged.
Emigre harbors
sympathy for many of its writers' stances. However, the
magazine's core belief is of the necessity and value of
an open dialog, and a design literature of substance.
Designer/editor Rudy VanderLans openly admits to disagreement
or dislike with some of the material he publishes. He also
candidly muses (in issue 47) on how "[m]uch of my more
expressive layouts in earlier issues were the result of being
insecure about my writing and interviews. Such layouts were
used to strengthen (or obscure?) the perhaps inadequate
writing."
This frankness is a regular feature of the
magazine. While actively sponsoring new design writing, and
questioning the received wisdoms of the field, Emigre remained
self-critical. The typographic debates raging within its
pages - and across to those of other journals - are
impassioned but problematic. Debaters often talk past one
another, speculating in abstract terms. Disagreement festers
over a small percentage of design work - both as a
category, and in actual pieces printed overall. From the
essays, devastating illegibility and irrationality - or
oppressive blandness and conformity - can result from minor
shape variations in a letterform. Emigre's editorial voice is frequently one
that's idealistic but practical.
Though some design arguments may be taken
to absurd lengths, to dismiss them totally is myopic. The fact
that literature is a material artifact is frequently
overlooked. We're long past the dominance of the oral
tradition to sustain literature. Readings have made a comeback,
but as part of the author's book tour - just like the
concert tour it emulates.
Literature is often regarded as
non-corporeal; an essence that takes many forms. A wide variety
of creative people are regularly included in the
"literary" circle. Writers plus graphic novelists,
musicians, DJs, and performance artists all can be celebrated
for their literary pursuits. The implication is that literature
is transcendent. It can occupy a diverse array of vessels. The
physical manifestations of literature are, therefore,
irrelevant.
The importance of the materiality of
literature is not just the province of book collectors or
designers. Prominent writers have devised or demanded specific
design handling - typography - for their words. William
Faulkner first requested that different colors of ink be used
to differentiate the thoughts of the separate characters in The Sound and the Fury.
As this wasn't practically possible at the time, italics
were employed instead.
James Joyce insisted that quotation marks
never be used in his published texts to indicate when a
character speaks. He opts for a European convention of placing
an "em" dash at the beginning of the sentence
containing the quote. This makes Joyce's prose
additionally challenging to read, as it becomes difficult to
differentiate between characters when two or more are in
dialog.
These writings are expressions of Modernism
that can be found across the arts. The material characteristic
is an integral part of the artwork. For instance, the painting
declares that it's paint on canvas. Design is the
substance of literature. The formal arrangement carries meaning
in addition to what's expressed in the words.
Dismissing the typeset of the text, the
cover design, or the paper stock as mere marketing concerns
understates the situation. We live in a consumer culture where
literature is product. The impact of the design doesn't
end when the book is purchased (nor does that mean that the
design was successful). Ideally, literature would be evaluated
on its own merit: the essential words shorn of materiality. But
this is an impossible condition.
While the motivated reader may reach a
state of pure appreciation (as in being unaffected by
materiality) it can, ironically, trigger a devotion to the
object. Enthusiasm for first, or particular editions, of books
is common. And publishers lavish the most design attention to
the classics.
Literature's increasing movement
towards engaging its physicality - its design - is
represented by some of the most publicized writing of the past
few years. Dave Eggars' McSweeney's is a fiction collection that changes format
with every issue. In the worlds of design and artist's
books, Eggars' productions are familiar and tame. But in
mainstream publishing, they're fashionably
exotic - and PR friendly.
Jonathan Safran Foer's novel Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close also intrudes into the designed. Foer
employs typographic tricks (including the colored ink that was
denied Faulkner), pages intentionally left blank, and a
photographic flipbook coda. Originating from the literary end
of the arts spectrum, Eggars and Foer's projects are
given the high cultural credence denied to designer-involved
literature. That they're not designers make them
acceptable. In the literary mainstream, it's still
possible to have too much a design awareness and imagination.
An example is VAS:
An Opera in Flatland, a
collaboration by writer Steve Tomasula and designer Stephen
Farrell that was published in 2002. It's one of the most
effective demonstrations of the materiality of literature, and
the potential of design as literature. The book's design
elements are integral to the experience, and symbiotic with the
text. The book can be rightly considered a new literary genre.
However, on the literary side, it has received limited
attention.
Meanwhile, some of Tomasula and
Farrell's earlier collaborations were published in Emigre magazine. In
addition to introducing a greater appreciation of design in
(and as) literature, projects such as VAS might serve to make
designers more appreciative of writing. Through its different
incarnations, Emigre magazine furthered both causes.
In 1940, William Addison
Dwiggins - book and type designer, illustrator, author,
puppeteer, and coiner of the term "graphic
design" - contributed an idiosyncratic article to the
premier issue of Print magazine. "The Five Hundred Years: A
Time-Problem and Its Solution," was a fiction that took
the form of a report claiming to have discovered a history of
letterforms and printing from the year 2440. It was an
imaginative and uniquely literary approach to contemplating
graphic design.
Dwiggins was a prolific and versatile
writer, critiquing graphic design in practical terms and as a
cultural force. His writing created a potential - and a
challenge - for the field. For decades, both went
unappreciated within design.
Though unique in their achievement, Emigre can be
seen as reclaiming and extending Dwiggins' legacy. Design
and literature are inseparable, each dependent upon and defined
by the other. Though designers are notorious for prizing the
image over the word, it's no coincidence that often
design's foremost practitioners are - and have
been - effective and dedicated writers.
The web may be the force to truly test the
significance of literature's materiality. Whatever
happens in the short term, the physical word, rendered in type
on paper or screen, will be with us for some time. Unless we
return to an oral tradition - or develop a telepathic
one - we'll keep on looking and reading.
Thanks to John McVey for introducing me to
"The Five Hundred Years."
Kenneth FitzGerald is an Assistant
Professor of Art at Old Dominion University in Norfolk,
Virginia.
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