Limp Paper Binding

The third type of bookbinding I learned at the San Francisco Center for the Book's Bookbinding Core Certificate Program was limp paper binding. This was the most difficult to learn because it used unfamiliar methods, and we had a bit of a hole punch shortage. Our big breakthroughs this week were learning how to sew endbands and how to use a sewing frame.

Like in the previous two weeks, we prepared the text block by folding the signatures (4 pages folded in half to make 8 page signatures) and using the awl to punch the sewing stations. We also prepared endsheets of a light blue color by gluing the edge of a thicker fabric-like paper to the outside bend of the folded endsheet. We sewed the textblock together using the sewing frame, so before we could begin sewing, we had to set up the sewing frame with the pig-skin thongs to sew around on the spine. This was easier that setting up other sewing cords because the pig skin thongs were fairly rigid so we did not have to use the keys. I like positioning my body around the sewing frame and using both hands strategically as if I were embracing my sewing tools in a close hug. It made the binding process feel more intimate.

Next, we used another two thinner, longer pig skin thongs to sew the endbands around, and their length was to be used to lace the text block into the cover once it was ready. Sewing the headband and tailband was tricky and I can't say I am particularly proud of the end result. It was hard to determine when to dive down into the gutter of the signatures (how many beads to put in between each diving down, how to space out the diving down so it is aesthetically pleasing and sturdy at the same time). As with most endbands, the first one ends up being your tailband and the second one your headband because the second one is always better :) They are hearty enough to hold the binding together well anyway.

At this point I had a nice text block with two pig skin thongs flapping out of the middle of its spine and 1 each at its head and tail. It was waiting for its cover, but its cover wasn't a case that would be glued on to the endsheets. Its pig skin thongs were going to be tightly threaded through its cover.

Since vellum or parchment would have been prohibitively expensive for the workshop, we used handmade cave paper that was very sensually pleasing in its texture, weight, and sturdiness. I chose an apple red color while everyone else chose a shaded brown color (I figured the red went well with the blue endsheets and white thongs -- very patriotic).

The steps involved in making the cover included cutting it to size, folding flaps along the top and bottom edges to slip the endsheets into, cutting out room for the spine and endbands, cutting slits and tabs to connect the fore edge flaps to the tail and end flaps, and finally punching the appropriate holes through the appropriate sides (the flaps or the covers) for the thongs. I punched the wrong hole -- punched a hole clear through the cover where there shouldn't have been one! -- and really nearly gave up (I may have cried a little bit). Thankfully my awesome instructor, Rhiannon Alpers, pointed out that I could make it look like I did it on purpose and add another hole punch on the top and thread the thongs through once more. She taught me an important lesson about improvising in the face of a screw up and owning what design possibilities it may have precipitated.

Eventually I threaded the thongs through my folded up cave paper cover and it was like a rich man's textbook cover. Way better than any book covers I could have made from paper grocery bags in 8th grade, although I made some cool ones of those in my day.

Front cover of my limp paper binding

Detail of the headband -- notice the extra weave of the thong -- that's my mistake there.

Inside cover, in where I did an accurate and good job of punching and threading

Detail of the gutter between the text block and the endsheet

More detail of my mistake, as well as where my errant punch made its way through some of the endsheet and textblock.
The headband looks good though!

The back cover of the book, where the extra weavings of the thongs are apparent. 

Jane Greenfield, writing in ABC of bookbinding, defines limp binding as, "A binding with flexible sides of paper, parchment or fabric without boards. Also called flexible binding" (1998, p. 42) while Pamela Barrios points out one common aspect of the form: the rise of the small octavo book, like prayer books and textbooks that fit comfortably in the dexterity of your hands for long periods (2006, p. 24). Holding my little red limp paper binding felt good; not only was its size comfortable, but its agility and flexibility thanks to the lack of boards welcomed a close communion like a journal or an important notebook would.

My physical impressions of my modest binding are in step with the form's genesis, as Bernard C. Middleton, writing in A History of English craft bookbinding technique, pinpoints the first use and date of the form: "The earliest limp vellum bindings are found on account books and the like, at least as early as the fourteenth century, and in all probability were in use considerably earlier... most account books were quite thin, and could be carried around more easily with limp covers" (1963, p. 139-140). Middleton goes on to discuss the application of the form within the printed book, saying, "during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the limp-vellum style was used almost exclusively for the covering of books being sold retail, and as an alternative to leather bindings" (p. 141).

Like most of the evolution of prevalent styles of book bindings, the rise of limp binding is connected to the rise of printed material and the need to economize bindings. Nicholas Pickwoad says, "binders in the 16th century, faced by ever growing quantities of books from the printing presses, took this familiar structure and turned it into something much cheaper -- a possibility inherent in the limp binding structure, where there are many fewer steps required to complete the binding after sewing the textleaves than with books bound in boards" (1994, p. 72). Pickwoad also traces the form out of Italy, where it was popular by the beginning of the 16th century and from where "its use spread across Europe rapidly from that time" (p. 72).

By the 18th century the form had diminished in popularity, but John Carter, writing in ABC for book collectors, says, "limp vellum... was revived by private presses at the end of the 19th [century]" (1980, p. 134). Currently, the form is used by bookbinders, book artists, and conservators, and several recent articles describe the steps in depth. One is Jen Lindsay's "A limp vellum binding sewn on alum-tawed thongs," in where she says, "It is impossible to convey in words the essence of vellum as a material or the sensation of handling a well made limp vellum binding. It is a type of binding that reveals and tests, perhaps more than most, the innate sensibility of the binder and his inherent understanding, respect and affinity for natural materials" (1991, n. p.). So we have this comfortable little package that was both innovated as a way to increase economy and tests the skills of the book binder perhaps more than other forms. It's nearly a paradox: it takes serious skills to save money!

In addition to Lindsay's article, Pamela Barrios's guide to the form and its variations in the Spring, 2006 issue of The Bonefolder presents a useful discussion of construction styles, diagrams, pictures, and common deterioration of limp vellum binding.  

Works Cited

Barrios, P. (2006). Notes on the limp vellum binding. The Bonefolder: an e-journal for the bookbinder and book artist, 2(2), 24-27.

Carter, J. (1980). ABC for book collectors. London, U.K.; New York, NY: Granada.

Greenfield, J. (1998). ABC of bookbinding: a unique glossary with over 700 illustrations for collectors & librarians. New Castle, Delaware: Oak Knoll Press; New York, NY: Lyons Press.

Lindsay, J. (1991). A limp vellum binding sewn on alum-tawed thongs. The New Bookbinder, 11.

Middleton, B. C. (1963). A history of english craft bookbinding technique. New York, NY: Hafner.

Pickwoad, N. (1994). Onward and downward: How binders coped with the printing press before 1800. In R. Myers & M. Harris (Eds.), A millennium of the book: Production, design, & illustration in manuscript & print, 900-1900. Winchester, U.K.: St. Paul's Bibliographies; New Castle, Delaware: Oak Knoll Press.