This is a lavishly cared for book. Simon Garfield, unlike his lazy, pie-thieving namesake, has produced a carefully detailed, conscientious account of compelling typographical discourse.

Typography is something I love. Letterforms speak to me, their delicate, considered curves, their angular, jutting serifs constructing a message in every stroke. Garfield is obviously someone who shares the intimacy of the medium. His writing is neither prosaic or procedural. The book is not a history of type and does not pander to the hobbyist mentality of being spoon fed half-truths.

Typography is the culmination of language and culture. It’s inception is one of the single most important innovations and Garfield does it justice without ever seeming bogged down with the weight of the breakthrough.

Several notable typefaces are considered in their own mini chapters:

• Gill Sans
• • One of the classiest faces I have ever seen. The weight variants personify just how versatile Gill is.
• Albertus
• • A new face to me but one which is an interesting projection back to the humanist strain. London’s streets are posted in Albertus and it’s just this quality which bridges the gap between retaining the anachronism whilst looking to the future.
• Futura vs. Verdana
• • It’s hard to sympathise with Verdana as a web designer. Default system faces are the scourge of every designer chomping at the bit to find alternative ways of delivering a message in a medium which has fast become homogenous. Futura is luxuriant. I can’t help but feel it’s form is a little queasy when used in bulk. It’s almost too good. I can’t help but see the face when I should be seeing the message. It is undeniably brilliant and if it were a friend of mine I would tell it, reassuringly, that it can do better than Ikea.
• Doves
• • The, thrilling, story behind Doves is more notable to me than the actual face and I wonder if it would have it’s own chapter in the book had it not lived – and died – through such a wonderful narrative.

  • As the weeks went on, he would take as many blocks as he could manage, wrap them in paper tied with string, walk about half a mile from his press to the best spot, and then drop them into the water after nightfall, often waiting for heavy traffic to obscure the sound of the splash.

  • Although this sounds like a recipe for madness, it’s a remarkable tale of the destruction of a handcrafted artifact.
• Mrs Eaves & Mr Eaves
• • Two retrospective, complementary faces which retain some of the great Baskerville face from whence they came.
• Frutiger
• • Respect is due to any face which is universally accepted as one which does a great service to conveying information. Sometimes we all accept that utilitarianism is good. Finding your way with Frutiger is easy. (I’m in this for more drama though, aren’t you?)
• Optima
• • Make perfume? Use Optima. Fast class.
• Sabon

• • One of the most readable of all book fonts

  • Nothing to scoff at there. Just My Type is set in Sabon and I’m relieved to have been told. I had wondered on several occasions.
• Vendome
• Vendome is probably a face we’ll see regurgitated back into circulation once many of the ubiquitous faces we see become known by name, at which point their use will cease to be appropriate. It certainly has some charm.

At the present moment, my font would be Trade Gothic. Jason Santa Maria puts it well.