It's funny how the stories we bring back from our travels our often the catastrophes.
Saved from bandits by the Tuareg rebels, or crashing a motorcyle in Grenada.
Okay, so it was a scooter, and ‘crash’ is rather an overly emphatic word for it, but slipping off that bike round the bend is surely my most memorable event of the last week. That and reading
The Elements of Typographic Style, by Robert Bringhurst. This, along with
Dust or Magic, is one of the few design books in the sea of bloated annuals that I would consider absolutely necessary for anyone working in this field.
How’s that for a clumsy segue?
The book is almost entirely about typography for print, but the sensitivities it ingrains in the reader apply to everything web design entails, from concept to motion graphics. As I read this book on the flight over, I scratched frenetic notes and diagrams in my little yellow
engineer’s field book, and over the next few days I’ll be transcribing those notes here. In some cass they’re merely summaries of the text. In other cases I extrapolate a little further from what he is saying. And often I’m just faffing about.
The first lesson I learned was a heightened sensitivity to type. Of course I had learned the tricks to distinguish one typeface from another, but Bringhurst’s analysis of type encompasses much more than watching for rising stems or square dots. His analysis is at once philisophical and practical.
So let’s start by looking at the attributes that define a letterform:
Suddenly, the simplistic ‘serif or not’ deliniations we use to categorize type seem inadequate. Simply commenting on whether a letterform has feet or not prevents us from looking at the characteristics that truly define how that letterform strikes us on a page. And as Bringhurt’s book analyzes the letterform for it’s use as type, not decoration, an analysis that takes into account it’s overall appearance as black- and white-space on a page seems in order.
So I started looking at type from another simplistic perspective, but one simplified along the lines of impact rather than adornment.
Here we are looking at type along the lines of its contrast (the ratio of its thickest stroke to its thinnest) and blackness (the ratio of its outer shell to the hole in the middle).
At the left we have the letterforms with low-contrast, even strokes; to the right we have letterforms with high contrast, varying stoke width. From bottom to top the blackness increases.
For demonstration purposes I have only used four extreme samples, but we can plot any typeface on these axes.
When we are choosing a typeface for large reams of readable text, we tend to go for medium contrast, low–mid-blackness serifs; for digital media a light, low contrast sans-serif is generally preferable. For display purposes, the serif is selected for its acquired historical symbolism, and the contrast and blackness for the sort of impact we need.
. . . . . . . .
Bringhurst goes into a detailed breakdown of the historical classes of type (scribal, baroque, romantic, geometric, etc.), and how the cultural and physical attributes of these letters can help us choose appropriate typefaces.
For instance, both Bodoni and Futura are strongly geometric letter-forms, and this explains why the pairing of these two type-faces is so sucessful.
. . . . . . . .
Here are some of the simple rules Bringhurst introduces, which I have distilled into thumbnail diagrams. Once you’ve read the accompanying text, hopefully these little icons will make sense, and then merely looking over the icons would refresh you about the various nitty-picky rules below.
Note that he introduces these rules with the following caveat:
‘The principles of typography as I understand them are not a set of dead conventions but the tribal customs of the magic forest.… Originality is everywhere, but much originality is blocked if the way back to earlier discoveries is cut or overgrown.’