Today I came across Anne Carson’s book, Nox, in the bookstore. I’d heard a bit about it — Carson’s tribute to her brother and her attempt to make sense of his early death — but was taken by the beauty of the book as an object and the way in which its physical structure was representative of the book’s subject. The content is a collection of letters, family photographs and poetry. Some is printed, some appears to be attached somehow between accordian folded pages and all is housed in a beautifully-bound box. It is exactly¬† the sort of book we aim to create.

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