I bought The Subterranean Railway this weekend. I’ve yet to read it as I’m still grappling with three doses of Blake, but it’s such a pretty addition to the bookshelves. It’s been a while since I bought a brand new hardback (certainly for my own use) and to have one with such elegant style—its exterior very Pullman and antiquated; a stripped-down, functional sans-serif for the chapter frontispieces; and plates after plates after plates—is a real treat.
I only wish I had spotted the slight ding in the cover before buying it. But books like this are meant to be read, and thumbed, and enjoyed like the archetypal experience of a rich chocolate cake. And it will be. Well, eventually.