Printer's Devil

I have mentioned that I work as Printer's Devil in the Literary House Print Shop. But what does this mean, exactly?

Traditionally, "printer's devil" is the term for an apprentice, usually the youngest, in a printing establishment. Whether the term originated because printing, when it was new, seemed magical and frightening, or if it was due to associations between black ink and the black arts, it definitely involved some of the most tedious, least pleasant tasks - bottom of the ladder, go-fer work.

Today's interns detest such mundane tasks as photocopying, or such devilish ones as photocopying with a finicky machine.

My tasks as a printer's devil, though I am directed by a kind and interested master, are similar to those of printer's apprentices and devils long ago. My tasks include: setting lines of type, organizing cases of type, fetching drawers of type, and cleaning the presses. I also help print jobs, and I get to assist in the design process of jobs.

The most devilish task for me is putting away unmarked trays of set type.

Perhaps the best way to explain this is to deviate into the realm of digital music. When you copy a mix CD onto a computer, the tracks are usually titled "Track 1," etc. You have to label each track so that you identify it later on.

For the purposes of this exercise, imagine a digital music library of 100 songs copied from 100 different mix CDs - and left unlabeled. The result would be 100 "Track 1"s. Now you want to go back and label those songs. How do you identify which is which? You play a song, and you listen carefully for certain qualities, initially the beat, then the first few notes, maybe the key, then the lyrics. You try to remember the song's title and perhaps artist. You can go online and search for lyrics to find the exact song information.

With 100 trays of unlabeled type (and we've probably got even more), you have to look at the type for certain qualities and then from that try to identify which font it is. And because it's type, and not on a computer, you have to identify the size and style, too - 12 points? bold?

My familiarity with types is growing, mostly because of this task. I spent several hours returning a 25-line poem set in 12 point Garamond, and so now I can look at a few letters and think "definitely not" or "it's worth checking it against the Garamond case."

I usually spend an embarrassing amount of time pulling out Qs, Bs, Rs, and Ps, or various other letters that may have distinguishing characteristics, and comparing them to various font cases. Does this Q have a fat tail, or a thin one? Is the B's top loop smaller than the bottom, or is it closer in size? Are there serifs? Serifs, by and by, are the little nicks that hang down from the edges of letters, like the nicks at the ends of the crossbars in a T, and the nicks that give the T a bit of a base.

However, once I do identify the type, or give in and ask the Master Printer for assistance, the process of returning the type to its proper case is soothing and rhythmic, destructive knitting. By the end of this semester, I hope to achieve this rhythm in composing type as well.