(Laughter)

I did that for two reasons.

First of all, I wanted to give you

a good visual first impression.

But the main reason I did it is that

that's what happens to me when I'm forced to wear

a Lady Gaga skanky mic.

(Laughter)

I'm used to a stationary mic.

It's the sensible shoe of public address.

(Laughter)

But you clamp this thing on my head, and something happens.

I just become skanky.

(Laughter) So I'm sorry about that.

And I'm already off-message.

(Laughter)

Ladies and gentlemen,

I have devoted the past 25 years of my life

to designing books.

("Yes, BOOKS. You know, the bound volumes with ink on paper.

You cannot turn them off with a switch.

Tell your kids.")

It all sort of started as a benign mistake,

like penicillin. (Laughter)

What I really wanted

was to be a graphic designer

at one of the big design firms in New York City.

But upon arrival there,

in the fall of 1986, and doing a lot of interviews,

I found that the only thing I was offered

was to be Assistant to the Art Director at Alfred A. Knopf,

a book publisher.

Now I was stupid,

but not so stupid that I turned it down.

I had absolutely no idea

what I was about to become part of,

and I was incredibly lucky.

Soon, it had occurred to me what my job was.

My job was to ask this question:

"What do the stories look like?"

Because that is what Knopf is.

It is the story factory, one of the very best in the world.

We bring stories to the public.

The stories can be anything,

and some of them are actually true.

But they all have one thing in common:

They all need to look like something.

They all need a face.

Why? To give you a first impression

of what you are about to get into.

A book designer gives form to content,

but also

manages a very careful balance between the two.

Now, the first day

of my graphic design training at Penn State University,

the teacher, Lanny Sommese, came into the room

and he drew a picture of an apple on the blackboard,

and wrote the word "Apple" underneath,

and he said, "OK. Lesson one. Listen up."

And he covered up the picture and he said,

"You either say this," and then he covered up the word,

"or you show this.

But you don't do this."

Because this is treating your audience like a moron.

(Laughter)

And they deserve better.

And lo and behold, soon enough,

I was able to put this theory to the test

on two books that I was working on for Knopf.

The first was Katharine Hepburn's memoirs,

and the second was a biography of Marlene Dietrich.

Now the Hepburn book

was written in a very conversational style,

it was like she was sitting across a table telling it all to you.

The Dietrich book was an observation

by her daughter; it was a biography.

So the Hepburn story is words

and the Dietrich story is pictures, and so we did this.

So there you are.

Pure content and pure form, side by side.

No fighting, ladies.

("What's a Jurassic Park?")

Now, what is the story here?

Someone

is re-engineering dinosaurs

by extracting their DNA

from prehistoric amber.

Genius!

(Laughter)

Now, luckily for me,

I live and work in New York City,

where there are plenty of dinosaurs.

(Laughter)

So,

I went to the Museum of Natural History,

and I checked out the bones, and I went to the gift shop,

and I bought a book.

And I was particularly taken with this page of the book,

and more specifically the lower right-hand corner.

Now I took this diagram,

and I put it in a Photostat machine,

(Laughter)

and I took a piece of tracing paper,

and I taped it over the Photostat

with a piece of Scotch tape -- stop me if I'm going too fast --

(Laughter) --

and then I took a Rapidograph pen --

explain it to the youngsters --

(Laughter)

and I just started to reconstitute the dinosaur.

I had no idea what I was doing,

I had no idea where I was going,

but at some point, I stopped --

when to keep going would seem like I was going too far.

And what I ended up with was a graphic representation

of us seeing this animal coming into being.

We're in the middle of the process.

And then I just threw some typography on it.

Very basic stuff,

slightly suggestive of public park signage.

(Laughter)

Everybody in house loved it,

and so off it goes to the author.

And even back then,

Michael was on the cutting edge.

("Michael Crichton responds by fax:")

("Wow! Fucking Fantastic Jacket")

(Laughter) (Applause)

That was a relief to see that pour out of the machine.

(Laughter)

I miss Michael.

And sure enough, somebody from MCA Universal

calls our legal department to see if they can

maybe look into buying the rights to the image,

just in case they might want to use it.

Well, they used it.

(Laughter) (Applause)

And I was thrilled.

We all know it was an amazing movie,

and it was so interesting to see it

go out into the culture and become this phenomenon

and to see all the different permutations of it.

But not too long ago,

I came upon this on the Web.

No, that is not me.

But whoever it is,

I can't help but thinking they woke up one day like,

"Oh my God, that wasn't there last night. Ooooohh!

I was so wasted."

(Laughter)

But if you think about it, from my head

to my hands to his leg.

(Laughter)

That's a responsibility.

And it's a responsibility that I don't take lightly.

The book designer's responsibility is threefold:

to the reader, to the publisher and, most of all, to the author.

I want you to look at the author's book

and say, "Wow! I need to read that."

David Sedaris is one of my favorite writers,

and the title essay

in this collection is about his trip to a nudist colony.

And the reason he went is because

he had a fear of his body image,

and he wanted to explore what was underlying that.

For me, it was simply an excuse to design a book

that you could literally take the pants off of.

But when you do,

you don't get what you expect.

You get something that goes much deeper than that.

And David especially loved this design

because at book signings, which he does a lot of,

he could take a magic marker and do this.

(Laughter)

Hello!

(Laughter)

Augusten Burroughs wrote a memoir

called ["Dry"], and it's about his time in rehab.

In his 20s, he was a hotshot ad executive,

and as Mad Men has told us, a raging alcoholic.

He did not think so, however,

but his coworkers did an intervention and they said,

"You are going to rehab, or you will be fired and you will die."

Now to me, this was always going to be a typographic solution,

what I would call the opposite of Type 101.

What does that mean?

Usually on the first day of Introduction to Typography,

you get the assignment of, select a word

and make it look like what it says it is. So that's Type 101, right?

Very simple stuff.

This is going to be the opposite of that.

I want this book to look like it's lying to you,

desperately and hopelessly, the way an alcoholic would.

The answer was the most low-tech thing you can imagine.

I set up the type, I printed it out on an Epson printer

with water-soluble ink, taped it to the wall

and threw a bucket of water at it. Presto!

Then when we went to press,

the printer put a spot gloss on the ink

and it really looked like it was running.

Not long after it came out, Augusten was waylaid in an airport

and he was hiding out in the bookstore

spying on who was buying his books.

And this woman came up to it,

and she squinted, and she took it to the register,

and she said to the man behind the counter, "This one's ruined."

(Laughter)

And the guy behind the counter said, "I know, lady. They all came in that way."

(Laughter)

Now, that's a good printing job.

A book cover

is a distillation.

It is a haiku,

if you will, of the story.

This particular story

by Osama Tezuka

is his epic life of the Buddha,

and it's eight volumes in all. But the best thing is

when it's on your shelf, you get a shelf life

of the Buddha, moving from one age to the next.

All of these solutions

derive their origins from the text of the book,

but once the book designer has read the text,

then he has to be an interpreter

and a translator.

This story was a real puzzle.

This is what it's about.

("Intrigue and murder among 16th century Ottoman court painters.")

(Laughter)

All right, so I got a collection of the paintings together

and I looked at them and I deconstructed them

and I put them back together.

And so, here's the design, right?

And so here's the front and the spine, and it's flat.

But the real story starts when you wrap it around a book and put it on the shelf.

Ahh! We come upon them,

the clandestine lovers. Let's draw them out.

Huhh! They've been discovered by the sultan.

He will not be pleased.

Huhh! And now the sultan is in danger.

And now, we have to open it up

to find out what's going to happen next.

Try experiencing that on a Kindle.

(Laughter)

Don't get me started.

Seriously.

Much is to be gained by eBooks:

ease, convenience, portability.

But something is definitely lost: tradition,

a sensual experience, the comfort of thingy-ness --

a little bit of humanity.

Do you know what John Updike used to do

the first thing when he would get a copy

of one of his new books from Alfred A. Knopf?

He'd smell it.

Then he'd run his hand over the rag paper,

and the pungent ink and the deckled edges of the pages.

All those years, all those books, he never got tired of it.

Now, I am all for the iPad,