Review: The Book Beautiful by Pradeep Sebastian
Descriptions of hand presses, paper, engravings and editions, and the book designs of Valenti Angelo all feature in this memoir on collecting rare and fine books
There is much to be said for the eccentricity of the seasoned hobbyist who, having immersed himself in a chosen subculture, is now entirely familiar with its dialects, processes and professional circles. Such an individual is best able to present the beauty and the alienness of that inner world of conflicting discourses and unspoken hierarchies, and draw the reader into a realm hitherto unobserved. This is what Pradeep Sebastian does in The Book Beautiful.
To begin with, he tells us about his transition from casual bibliophile to committed collector of fine press books, which came about after he stumbled on online auction houses. While there is no anecdote provided here to throw light on this conversion, the rest of the book doesn’t lack specificity. Sebastian’s knowledge regarding various hand presses, paper, engravings and editions lends itself to meticulous detail. At one point, he describes an early find: “...the handmade Tovil paper dampened for printing, the use of two admired typefaces in fine printing, Centaur and Arrighi… in red and black, and most beautiful of all, the hand-flourished calligraphic initials in bright blue, in the fashion of an Ashenden Press book itself!” There is a thrilling luxury to it all.
The author approaches the prospect of each purchase, each discovery, with the delight of a gourmand, describing his encounters with such books as “sweet” and “delicious”. “How long has this thing been sitting…tucked in somewhere…it was almost as if it was waiting for me…” At moments like these, The Book Beautiful truly shines, balancing an entertaining perspective with a rich trove of information on the field. But since this is not a volume for fellow bibliophiles, Sebastian avoids real discussion and instead provides a digestible reading experience through plenty of anecdotes and stories. He is also entirely concerned (perhaps to the dismay of some) with the form and value of rare and fine editions, and does not particularly bother himself, at least throughout this volume, with the actual process of reading. At points, he cannot seem to decide whether to have the reader educated or entertained. This results is a series of charming outbursts contained within (and perhaps imprisoned by) a number of cut and dry observations. Take, for example, the sixth chapter, where he writes on how to identify and appreciate the book designs of Valenti Angelo. Much of this could have been an appraisal of the minutiae of Angelo’s idiosyncrasies. Instead, it is a lacklustre recounting of the life of the man himself. When Sebastian finally does launch into appraisals of the work, his prose feels half formed: “(The book is) printed in a really satisfying way, the metal typeface sharp and crisp in the paper, the decorations, initials, and illustrations nicely impressed into the paper.”
{{/usCountry}}The author approaches the prospect of each purchase, each discovery, with the delight of a gourmand, describing his encounters with such books as “sweet” and “delicious”. “How long has this thing been sitting…tucked in somewhere…it was almost as if it was waiting for me…” At moments like these, The Book Beautiful truly shines, balancing an entertaining perspective with a rich trove of information on the field. But since this is not a volume for fellow bibliophiles, Sebastian avoids real discussion and instead provides a digestible reading experience through plenty of anecdotes and stories. He is also entirely concerned (perhaps to the dismay of some) with the form and value of rare and fine editions, and does not particularly bother himself, at least throughout this volume, with the actual process of reading. At points, he cannot seem to decide whether to have the reader educated or entertained. This results is a series of charming outbursts contained within (and perhaps imprisoned by) a number of cut and dry observations. Take, for example, the sixth chapter, where he writes on how to identify and appreciate the book designs of Valenti Angelo. Much of this could have been an appraisal of the minutiae of Angelo’s idiosyncrasies. Instead, it is a lacklustre recounting of the life of the man himself. When Sebastian finally does launch into appraisals of the work, his prose feels half formed: “(The book is) printed in a really satisfying way, the metal typeface sharp and crisp in the paper, the decorations, initials, and illustrations nicely impressed into the paper.”
{{/usCountry}}Despite these irritants, the book is quite witty. This is especially so when the author chooses to illustrate his various points via conversations with other collectors and dealers. Chapter eight is almost entirely comprised of a string of emails exchanged between him and a fellow bibliophile, and the result is charming. In places, he even concerns himself with the morality and viability of the auctioning process, which is more than can be said for your average collector of fine and rare things.
There are moments of true joy to be found in The Book Beautiful, like Sebastian’s trepidation on discovering a sublime medieval manuscript and the conversations between dealer and collector, which are shot through with wry humour. One only wishes that the author’s enthusiasm for the field and its intricacies would make itself known more often.
Nishat Sen is a writer. He lives in New Delhi.
