Judging a book by its binding was once obligatory: how else would the most monkish of men in the 13th century decide which clag of parchment to open in their chained libraries? Choosing a hardback in Waterstones is a little different these days, although the bookbinding retains its ancient purpose; without it we’d be carting around pages in a shoebox.
David Pearson’s sumptuous survey stretches from a North African codex in the second century to the skilled chisellers of today. He argues successfully that a history of bookbinding exposes not merely the spine and pasteboards of a volume but deep seams of provenance amid its protection and cohesion. To ignore this storied craft would be to ignore not only how books are made, but what their owners would have them be. Books have always been symbols of power, or at the very least aspiration, be it for furnishing a room or poking out of a jacket pocket, and bindings have played this same role in private collections and libraries. Beyond their basic function they were code, and the deciphering is both forensic and fascinating.
The modern bindery uses many of the same tools and materials as the Medieval one did, its glossary full of ‘doublures’ (an ornamental lining) and ‘gauffering’ (leaf edge decoration). The craft is less essential today, of course, and its practice more treasured and luxurious, art upon art. The extraordinary bindings gifted to shortlisted Booker-prize authors each year, not displayed here, are well worth seeking out online; it’s unfair to single one out, but Sue Doggett’s tactile finish for Kiran Desai’s latest novel makes you want to hug it.
David Pearson’s volume is also bound to please, doing double duty as a celebration of the rare wonders at the Bodleian in Oxford, from where most of the images are drawn and historical details gleaned. The library’s two copies of Shakespeare’s First Folios, for example, bound more than 150 years apart, provide contrasting evidence of how the playwright was regarded in different eras – the first plain and functional in the 1620s, the second far fancier with gold tooling and proud monogram in the late 18th century. But it is the older, duller copy that is most prized by scholars today, being closer to the root.
Pearson’s approach is thematic, and we learn plenty about threading and clasps, and the role binding played in noble patronage. The emergence of women from perfunctory paper-folding roles is gradual but gratifying. But the Bodleian connection necessarily excludes much from elsewhere, including my favourite modern binding of all, Russell Norman’s Polpo, the exposed green stitching on its spine as delicious as the Venetian recipes within.
One is left with a moral dilemma. Viewing all this leather finery, should one retool or not retool? Should one re-cover a well-read classic, or let its flakiness be? The digital world, a place where spines tend not to disintegrate, has little time for such questions.
Simon Garfield’s latest book, ‘The Pen: A Human History’, will be published by Canongate in Sept 2026
A version of this article appears in the July 2026 issue of ‘The World of Interiors’. Learn about our subscription offers. Sign up for our bi-weekly newsletter, and be the first to receive exclusive stories like this one, direct to your inbox
