I've read a couple of books on typography recently, and been accused of geekishness. I don't particularly care. If you want a chatty, informative and fascinating account of the strange world of typography, I recommend Simon Garfield's new Just My Type.
Amongst the things I learned was the story of John Baskerville. More than the designer of Baskerville type (a very elegant font indeed), this Brummie was a radical atheist and freethinker, friend of Benjamin Franklin and all-round Enlightenment hero.
He was buried - vertically - in his own back garden to make an atheistical point, but when the house changed hands and a canal sliced off some of the land, his body was first discarded, then stored in a warehouse, before being bricked up in the crypt at Warstones Lane Cemetery. The site of his old house, Easy Hill, is now in central Birmingham, and the very spiffy rebuilt 1930s block which replaced it is called Baskerville House, complete with a not-very-good Baskerville typeface sculpture.
I fancy a trip to the grave. Anyone with me?
3 comments:
Every moment of my time between now and judgement day seems to be accounted for... but if we can fit it in somewhere I'm up for it.
What became of his dog?
Hounded out…
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