Typography in Real Life
Marquand’s Managing Editor Marie Weiler writes on adventures in type:
Maybe I’m a little bit compulsive. I recall that when I was a child I would come home from school and eat my bowl of Cheerios at the breadboard at one end of the kitchen counter. With each mouthful of cereal, I would walk around the kitchen, matching my steps to my chews – the rhythm of chewing. Then I took piano lessons, and when I wasn’t at the piano I would think about the music and press the keys into the palms of my hands. But an overabundance of hymns and a paucity of popular music turned me away from playing. When I was older yet – a junior in high school now – I learned to type. Ever since, I type words in my mind or sometimes press the letters into my palms as I think or read them. I can’t stop it – the rhythm of words.
I spent my formative years on five acres at the end of a dead-end road. My two older sisters and I spent our time riding bicycles on the gravel road, wandering through the woods next to our property, and climbing trees to spy on the neighbors with the cheap periscopes that were popular at the time. In junior high school, I was a track star and soccer goalie. I was still eating Cheerios every day and had the muscles to prove it – no wimp here.
Now, I’ve been making books for over twenty years and working with typography for nearly as long. The forms of letters and words run in my veins. If I need to solve a typography problem, the answer is nearly always, Give it some presence; give it small caps.
A few years ago my husband and I bought a new car. Actually, we decided to trade in two “nice” cars for one “very nice” car (mine) and a ratty pickup (his). For the sedan, we had an idea what we wanted, but first we went to the Acura dealership. We went for a test drive, then talked to the salesman, who was very accommodating until he found out the car was for me, not my husband. He was sure we were aiming too high for “just a woman’s car” and suggested an inferior alternative. So much for Acura. Then we drove Infinity – no character, Lexus – overwheening, Mercedes – stodgy and sluggish, and BMW – claustrophobic. Nothing quite fit. Nothing quite met our expectations. We saved the best until last and finally visited the Audi dealership. We drove one model – comfortable but too stiff. We tried another – sublime. This A6 had substance without being overbearing; it was elegant and sophisticated, but not pretty or snooty. It had a gentle purr and moved smoothly along at a steady pace. It had its four feet planted squarely on the ground and would be at home anywhere. This, I said, is a small-caps car.
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