This week I got to take part in the press check for the book I’m producing at work. As a “work for hire,” this will be neither my great American novel nor a deeply personal memoir, but it does represent a few years of work and a heck of a lot of blood, sweat, and tears from me and the designer. It was pretty satisfying to watch the final phase begin.
It was also fascinating! I am a 100% novice to the modern printing field. That said, I spent a chunk of my college years in a rare books library examining things like Layamon’s Brut, and I’d argue that watching a huge, four-color offset printing press produce a book’s signatures is not so intellectually distant from poring over a manuscript’s quire numbers. A medieval scribe, given the chance, could probably guess at the purpose of the recyclable aluminum bookplates that held each of this book’s eight-page signatures.
Still, what a machine the press was. A giant of a thing, taking up half a warehouse, with the pressman and his assistant continuously pacing back and forth to exchange plates, check ink, adjust registrations, etc. I got to walk the length of the press as the second signature ran through, and it felt as though a train was rumbling under my feet (or, to extend the medieval metaphor, a dragon).
At 448 pages, this is a honker of a book (technical term!) so the complete press check took two full days. Bless the designer, that man was present to review and approve every last section. I just dropped in at the beginning of the first day, embracing the role of “client:” no print expertise to offer, no constructive suggestions to make, and a stupid grin on my face. As the first prints of each signature rolled off, the pressman would pull samples from the feed and take them to a special reviewing desk, where he checked registrations, folded and compared the sheet to the book’s proof, adjusted settings via a panel at his right, and generally ensured that things looked good. Only then would he signal the designer to come approve a section.
It’s a photo-heavy book, and getting the colors right is important. The designer sometimes pulled out his jeweler’s loupe for close examination, sometimes stood back to check margins. The expressionless pressman stood silently to the side of the station, but watched like a hawk, almost daring the designer to find a problem. By the end of the two days, the two had come to appreciate each others’ skills. Not everyone cares this much; for those who do, it must be a thrill to transform thoughts into tangible objects.
The beautiful thing about partnering with a real designer on layout is that his eye catches things that I simply do not understand or notice. I would like to think that over the years I’ve gained some knowledge about, say, paper stock, or why you’d reproduce a black and white image in four-color ink, but the reality is that the designer is a specialist and I am not. It’s frustrating when he insists on changes that only 2% of people could consciously perceive. Yet minuscule adjustments and rigid standards across a publication do elevate the end result, and it’s a substantive impact, if difficult to describe. We may not consciously understand why a certain piece seems high quality, but our eyes and our minds know the difference. This quality control starts with layout, and carries all the way through to the final press check.
And now it’s all printed! The dust jacket and reams of eight-page signatures sit drying in the printer’s warehouse this weekend. The binding process begins next week: folding, compressing, trimming; sewing, binding, foil stamping; and the final wrapping of the hard-bound copy in the dust jacket, which must be done by hand. (I like that this step and other elements of the process remain high-touch—another connection with manuscript- and book-makers of the past.)
This project has been a real privilege, because it hits a sweet spot for hands-on, small-run publishing. If I were to self-publish a more personal work, I’d never be able to afford my own designer; if I’d had a novel “discovered” by some giant publishing house, I’d never be able to get so up close and personal to the printing and production stages. I’m grateful to have had the chance to see how all the pieces fit together. And I’m even more grateful that the whole damn thing is done.
Once, when I was the editor of a Major Magazine, the press people flew me by private jet (those were different days in the magazine business) to Wisconsin, to witness two million copies being printed. At one point I was standing on a scaffolding in the heart of a three-story tall press with multiple signatures whirring all around me and exactly your stupid grin on my face. Thank goodness the world isn’t entirely made up of English majors.
Thanks for being someone who understands the importance of quality at all stages and who cares enough to let the experts do their work - it's rare these days.