I Heart Penguin Classics

As an English major slowly dipping her toes into graphic design, I’m fascinated and enamored with book covers. A few years back, I attended a talk/exhibit of book jacket art by some designers at Penguin Random House. They showed off the best-of-the-best of their work, from famous covers like the pasta/prayer beads/flowers from Eat, Pray, Love to amazing innovations like the first 3D printed book jacket. The sheer variety between all these greatest hits and the possibilities for the future of book art blew me away.

That being said, it’s hard to beat a classic. A Penguin Classic, in particular. Much of my bookshelf is populated with those recognizable, black and orange-clad volumes that have become so cherished and ubiquitous. With all the variety that’s possible with book covers, it’s kind of incredible to see such a perfect design system, a simple repeated template, that seems to never get old.

The original Penguin Classics were as minimalist as a book can be, and essentially were basically all identical save for the title, author, and writing inside. Today, Penguin Classics are all united by design elements like the black spine, typeface, and orange penguin motifs. What I like about the newer Penguin Classics is the beautiful way they introduced variety by including artwork or photography on the front that reflects the identity of the book as a singular unit, while still keeping the design elements that identify it as part of the Penguin Classic family.

The effect is kind of amazing. Whenever I go to a bookstore looking to buy a classic (lowercase c), I always gravitate towards the Penguin Classics. The visual unity among all the books give each of them a powerful authority, especially if you know the history of the imprint.

Their success is especially impressive considering that having a rigid design system for a series of books can go sour pretty quickly. Take the Barnes & Noble Collectible editions of classics. I don’t love these, but that’s just me. The defining design element of this series is a kind of kitschy, retro-feel. There’s almost too much variety between all the books, the only tie between them all being a kind of faux-vintage finish that, in my opinion, makes them look almost like theatre props.

Admittedly, I do own a few of these collectible editions. I think the design works for some books–—I have a little “Pocket Book of Poetry” that looks good because it’s more subtle in its fake vintageness, with fewer Grandma-y flourishes. Also, it’s really small and cute. The end.